Today’s Drabble
Wednesday brings another short fiction series, something I call The Family…
And any resemblance
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. And if these characters
resemble your family you have my sympathies.
Cry Havoc
Grandpa always asked the same question before he got into an
argument with Grandma. He rolled out the words, “Should my havoc fly?” And that was the signal for the havoc to fly,
but it was Grandma’s havoc, while Grandpa generally ended up apologising or
sleeping in the doghouse with Goofy, their St. Bernard.
That’s why I made it a point to avoid any “havoc” in my
personal relationships, lest I inherited Grandpa’s technique instead of
Grandma’s. Until Bob. That man just asked for the havoc, so I gave it to him. With
both barrels.
I hope he likes it out in the doghouse.
A Different Thanksgiving Tradition
We can't find
Grandpa's teeth.
They went missing
during Thanksgiving dinner, after we served the pumpkin pie. Poor Grandpa, he should have known better
than to get between Uncle Jim and Cousin Sam when they started fighting over
that last piece of pie.
Before you could
spit, the annual Thanksgiving free-for-all began and Grandpa was on the bottom
of the pile. When everyone came up for
air, the teeth were missing. We
searched, but couldn't find a trace of his wooden choppers.
I just hope the dog hasn't
run off and buried them again.
Aunt Agatha’s Gift
“Nooooooooooo!”
I fling the offending package, silently cursing the postal
system that brought me this abomination. My eyes still smart from the gaudy
assault of crimson, gold and burnt orange hues that jumped out when I opened
the box from its prison of paper.
Why must Aunt Agatha
torment me so? Doesn't she understand
I want no part of her crazy pastime?
But there it is, another hideous result sprawled over my
floor, waiting to be stuffed in the closet with the others. I sigh and pick up
the hand-knitted wool sweater.
Oh, no, there’s
grinning kittens on the front.
Start the Game
A man in a stained trench coat delivered the strange
message.
“You must find the Pork Pie.”
Then he handed me the clue and left me standing there,
unhappy. I hoped I would never be pulled into Grandma’s crazy game, yet, here I
was holding the bag, so to speak.
I open the clue. It
read: Find the Pork Pie where guests go
to rest. To discover the name find Serenity’s creator. Seek the cold storage.
I sighed. “Grandma you got to get a better hobby.”
I pulled out my cell phone and called Jeremy; I would need
some help.
Jeremy Wears a Hat
He arrived my doorstep wearing a pork pie hat. Sometimes my new
boyfriend is an idiot.
“Jeremy, I’m not looking for a hat, take that silly thing
off.”
“What? I’m just getting into the theme.” But he took off the
hat.
“I figured out most of this silly clue.” I showed him the
paper. “Guests go to rest at a hotel and I think the name thing is part of
Granny’s sci-fi obsession. Cold storage we’ll figure out later.” I pulled him back out the door. “It’s a ten
minute drive, come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Whedon Hotel.”
The Whedon Hotel
“Let's throw her in the pond and see if she sinks.”
Before I could protest, two drunken fools tossed me into the
ornamental pond. Well, I didn’t sink (mostly because I can swim), but I got wet,
and those nuts each got a black eye. I sloshed back to the hotel and bummed a
towel off a maid. While I was drying my hair Jeremy rushed over, excited.
“I found it, I found it! Hey, what happened to you?”
“Never mind. You found what?”
“The Holy Grail, of course!”
“What the Pork Pie? It’s here?”
“Yep. Seen it with my own eyes.”
“What are we waiting for, show me.”
The Picnic
There were enough pickles for everyone.
And potato salad, coleslaw, macaroni salad, grilled hot dogs,
lemonade and strawberry shortcake waiting on the side table, and enough bread
rolls to choke a horse. What a spread! Maybe the trouble my crazy Grandma put
me through for this family picnic would be worth it. The last thing we put on
the table was the main attraction, the two oversized pork pies Grandma stashed
in the freezer at the Whedon Hotel.
“Let them in Jeremy, it’s ready.”
He threw open the doors and the annual family reunion
started with a whoop from Grandma.
Beware of Old Sayings
Grandpa’s a wise man, ripe with the benefits of experience. Many
times he’s said: ‘Beware the armadillos of
March’, ‘Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day’, ‘Teach him how to fish
and he'll drown in the lake’, ‘Better to light a candle than to curse the
priest’, and ‘Never send a Chihuahua to do a man's job’.
That may seem strange, but considering how Cousin Bud got
trampled, that Uncle Winston died his first time fishing and that church
incident, it makes sense to the family. Plus, the less said about Aunt Agatha’s Chihuahua the better.
Mom Knows Best
Mother always warned me.
So did Uncle Dan, Aunt Agatha and Grandpa. But I kept wondering, every year.
I mused about it through the April rain, drinking Aunt
Agatha’s special Sangria at the family barbeque, swimming at the lake.
I tried to put it out of my mind, but it lurked there,
creeping back with the first touch of frost, with the initial snowflake falling
down to touch my nose. Then, this December, there was “the cinnamon
incident”. It called to me and I had to
lick it.
And Mother was right, your tongue will stick to icicles in
winter.
