THE
BLUE BOX (Recycled Ideas)
by Don Cox
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Last weekend I had my annual visitors from Toronto. It's
a fine tradition, they arrive, we visit the market, we eat
well, we burn down the old nostalgia, and discuss weighty
topics far into the night. This year as usual the high point
of the weekend was the trip to the Masson market, and the
high point at the Masson market is Honest Charlie's boutique.
Last Saturday Charlie had a wide selection of compact disks
with classical music. "You should buy this CD",
he told us, holding up his featured fifty cent special,
"Wagner's music is better than it sounds."
Our next stop was at Mickey's, just the place for one of
my visitors, Frank, to pick up a pair of jeans. There was
a wide selection, and Frank took his time making a choice.
I was a bit impatient, but Mickey was relaxed, "Omnia
aliena sunt, tempus tantum nostrum est", he said. "Nothing
is ours except time", I translated for the benefit
of my friends who were not familiar with Latin. Frank found
it hard to make a decision, and finally Mickey's patience
wore thin. He took what appeared to be Frank's first choice
and put the jeans in a bag. "That will be twenty dollars",
he said, "qui tacet, consentire videtur." "Silence
gives consent", I informed Frank.
The rest of the weekend was a flurry of activity. We cleared
out the path by the river and planted the garden. We also
put a chicken wire fence around it to keep out Adolph the
rooster and his small flock of four hens. Both dog houses
were overturned and new floors installed, and I promised
to put fresh new rugs inside them for the comfort of Benz
and Mercedes, my canine companions.
All too soon it was the evening before departure. Time
to toast the future and remember the past. As usual we hung
out my collection of union jacks and placed the portrait
of Queen Victoria where she could see the festivities. Next
I detailed a squad of our fittest men to unlimber the cannon.
They moved a few obstructing articles from the porch, laid
down some planks for tracks, and slowly wheeled old Fire
Mouth out into the lane in front of the house. It's an exacting
manoeuvre. I keep an extra set of keys for the house hidden
in the barrel, and fortunately remembered to remove them
before loading.
It's a fine moment, the flags flutter, the bonfire glows
by the garden, the Queen watches us, silent and unamused.
All hands at the ready, the charge is packed, the load is
rammed, and old Fire Mouth speaks once more into the night.
The Empire lives!
Bluebox ©2001 Don Cox
Website ©2001 OttawaWEB
