Waiting for the Woodpeckers

I was sitting on your doorstep
trying to think
in an Canadian way,
while waiting
for the woodpeckers to come,

I imagined taking a walk
with you, or waiting to meet
your parents, using my best French,
which I don’t speak
by the way,

Imagination takes me
far away, and closer to you
but I do miss seeing
your eyes light up
when the Danish Sun
goes down,

If you are in Copenhagen
and I, in Aalborg
then the time zone we share
would make it seem
as if you were a bit closer
to me,

Just without
the Woodpeckers of Montréal

My Fastest Car

I avowed

to drive my fastest car

leaving Europe in my wake,

with “Canada, or Bust” as my motto,

 

The road, seemed uncertain

as I circumvented the seas, the wars and the

borders of Sovereign Nations,

 

As I pulled into the outskirts of Montréal

I realized, I’d forgotten

her address, being back

on my kitchen table,

in Denmark,

 

“Drat, and Dagnabbit”, I yelled out

 

I felt as if

it were all a bad dream, having  to

call my wife for the answer….

 

-and wondering how old, I’d be

when her laughter finally

died down?

 

What the Canadians Saw

What did the Canadians see, while here in Northern Denmark?

Well that is a story for the deaf, and a sight for the blind…..

To the north of Aalborg is a Viking Burial Site called Lindholm Høje.

lindholm-hoje

Source: Google Maps

aalb-norres

Source: Google Maps

There are a number of stones which date back to the Iron Age, and the time of Vikings.

img_6696

Here is the description on Wikipedia   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindholm_H%C3%B8je

img_6697img_6698img_6699img_6700

These 4 cold and dreary looking photos perfectly describe the mood at the time. It was cold, and wet, and drizzly. My iPhone 4 was about to go white, but I didn’t suspect anything at the time. The Canadians might have jinxed it, or put some sort of spell on it, because the next photo looked like this:

 

OK. It didn’t look like that, but it could have! If you looked closely, you might have seen one of them……but I couldn’t. I was blinded by their French Language, and their Pure Foreignness!

Then we went various places, but you wouldn’t believe me without the photos that were/could have been numerous, but weren’t all the same.

Then the sightseeing became even more exciting!

Remember, this is not bathroom humor.

Just imagine, you are up at night to answer the call of Nature, when the unthinkable happens…the seat falls down and wakes up your dear one!

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Here is the same toilet that they experienced, with the Soft Closing Lid!

Here is a silent advertisement, showing the same thing.

 

 

The added feature is that the seat can be removed for easy cleaning!

 

They professed to never have seen the likes of such a wonder, either in Montréal or in Trois-Rivières!

Then they were dazzled by eating Russian Borscht, and Lentil Chili. Then Untried Chicken Curry with Red Lentils, finished off with Spongy Carrot Cake!

Don’t be fooled in thinking that I too did not get something out of their visit. While at the Aalborg Airport, I was allowed to park my car numerous times, in the cold and dreary, Danish Weather, and…

And when they finally arrived, the gate had been changed, but don’t worry – I managed to get a text message calling me a “Ninny…….”

Gotta Love Those Canadians…..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More Blog One-Liners

“but I still couldn’t make up my mind, my wife or…”

pulling the trigger is easy, finding the bullets is something else, then he…

My foot, my arm and my left ear. Then she asked me what my favorite part of her was..

when she said, “Pole Dancing!” Was it horizontal, or vertigo, because I got dizzy, when..

“No I didn’t like the way he taped my mouth, but then he did warn me if I said that again.”

If she only had been particularly pretty, or had lived in Copenhagen, then I would have…

“No, my wife has never been to Viborg, but her mother warned her about that!”

he laughed when she said that Canada was cold, “Cold, you don’t know cold until you’ve been to Enid! Martians sucked me up once in California and took me to……”

“is not Down Under like everyone says, If you stand on your head, or on circumstance, then sing, “Walla, walla, Wallaby” then you might just find yourself near to…..”

No, she said she was the Ice Princess, but I wasn’t about to leave my senses in order to….

The gorilla said, “Uf” and the monkey laughed so hard that the banana shot from his hand, and…

wanted me to leave my wife and fly away to Far-Away-Istan where we could make beautiful Whoopee together, but I got lukewarm feet, while she balanced a peanut on her nose, and said….

No, I didn’t want the Martian Lady to take me to Enid, but then I was mesmerized, or bamboozled into thinking that she was the Queen of Denmark, and….

No, I don’t usually experience bananas shooting by my head, but once in Viborg….

“What I did, when she touched me there?” I said, “Baby take me to your lair, you vixen…..”

 “Pluie et grésil”, but that is what she always said, and in French, no less.
 

 

 

 

I Told My Wife

Dear You

I told my wife about you today. Yes, on this first day of 2017, I finally admitted to knowing you and your ways, in ways that she didn’t know that I knew you before.

Confused? That’s what I asked her, when the look on her face said something of too much orange juice and not enough vodka during last night’s party. She looked at me in that way that she had looked at me before, but not before knowing that you had known me in another way, which didn’t have to do with vodka and orange juice, but sitting on your veranda sipping Pinot Noir, and wondering when she would find out about us.

“Have you known her for a long time?” which is what she said before we started to look funny at each other and wonder why the vodka ran out before the orange juice? Yes, I admitted to having known her, but not in the way that they knew each other in the old or the new testaments, which would mean that I knew her and she knew me, but then my wife wouldn’t want to know me, or about me anymore.

You might think that all of this is very complicated, but then I have never visited Montréal before in my imagination, and never with my wife along asking about knowing and not knowing!

The next time, I visit you and your cat, and your surplus of Pinot Noir, then I will kindly ask my wife not to invade my thoughts in inopportune moments, when I might think about knowing you, and your fine collection of red wine.

Here is hoping for the best wishes for you in the New Year, and the next time you uncork a bottle of the red, then think of me, won’t you?

Sincerely, Him

PS. When you do manage to pull the cork out, or unscrew the bottle, whichever the case might be, then I wouldn’t be thinking of my wife if I were you, otherwise the whole mess will start all over again……

Nipping at the Cooking Sherry – Chapter 13

I thought, I had seen it all. I’d seen my mother happy, and I’d seen her mad. Mostly mad, but never sad and regretful. Until one night when my father was out of town at a convention for Insurance Salesmen.

Mom and I ate our dinner in almost total silence, which was unusual in itself, as she almost always was telling me to sit straight in my chair, and not slouch, and to watch my ps and qs when we were in church, and of course not to associate with the Girl next door!

Part of me wanted to know, just what she meant by “associate” which could have meant a lot of things, if you asked me. Did it mean, walking back and forth in front of her house, hoping she’s see me and come out? Or did it mean that I wasn’t to speak to her, if we casually met each other on the street? Or did it mean, that I wasn’t allowed to make myself all crazy and everything, thinking, and hoping about the next time we would be together? I guess, I would never really know until I asked, but which I wouldn’t do anyway.

After we had cleaned up and had washed the dishes, I turned on the old Boob Tube to see what was on tonight. I know how disappointed mom was when the Ed Sullivan Show of Shows announced that it was finally ending its 23 year run. She didn’t care for all of the acts that appeared, but especially when The Rolling Stones, or the Doors appeared, she began stomping her feet, and ranting about how the country was going to “Heck in a Hand Basket.” I’d never heard my mother swear like that before, and worried that she might suffer an attack of the vapors, or have to have a cold compress put upon her forehead. I wasn’t really sure what a cold compress was, and hoped that a small taste of her cooking sherry would be able to do the trick, calming her nerves and all!

There wasn’t really anything interesting on TV. Not interesting, or acceptable by my mother’s standards, anyway, which made me turn on a few lights and begin to read my latest comic’s digest. Mom disappeared into the kitchen while I read, but I lost track of time and figured, it was time for bed. The funny thing was that my mother usually would have been yelling at me at this point in time, telling me that lack of sleep would stunt my growth, just like smoking cigarettes or drinking soda pop. I decided to look into the kitchen to see just what she was doing, but was surprised at what I found.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of Cooking Sherry beside her, with my mother holding a glass filled to the brim with something I never thought I would have seen in my life! She turned to me, having a not so focused look on her face and said, “Do you know why I don’t like Canadians? Well, Do you?”

Honestly, at that point in time, I wish I had just gone off to bed, leaving well enough alone, but since I was here, then….

“No. No I don’t, but you do seem to mention them a lot. What is wrong with Canadians?”

“You see, before I met your father, I was in love with another man.”

What? How could she do that to my father. He was a good guy. OK maybe a bit too involved with his garage, but still a decent enough bread winner.

“He came from Canada”, my mother continued. “Montréal to be exact. I was much younger and he….he seemed so worldly, speaking French and living in another country. And I…. I was just a girl on vacation with her parents. I, I mean we fell in love with each other and promised to take me with him to Canada….”

“My parents didn’t know a thing about us, but had told me that it was time to move on to the next stop on our vacation. I waited outside the trailer park, waited for him to come…but he didn’t. He didn’t come. He just didn’t!”

She downed the glass in her hand, and filled it up again, as if it were one of those trick glasses you saw in the magic shops. No matter how many times you emptied it, Hocus pocus, it filled up again in no time. She looked at me and said, “I never told your father about him. I wanted to, just to make him jealous, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

All of a sudden, mom began to cry. “Why didn’t he come for me? Why? I returned home again and thought it through, frame by frame. What did I say, or do that was wrong? Was he just using me? Why didn’t he come back?”

I didn’t know what to say during my mother’s story? I felt like leaving my mother to her memories, and sneaking out to my room, there was, however, something that kept me hanging on. I really wanted to understand my mother, and my father for that matter. It seemed like my mother was never really satisfied with my father. Him not being her Canadian lover that is.

“At the end of that summer”, she continued on, “I met your father. Your not-Canadian-fixit-father, who didn’t sweep me off my feet, nor did he whisper sweet nothings in my ear, in French no less…”

My mother said that OK he might be boring, but he’ll be one to provide for your needs. Love if it were meant to be, would come later on.

My mother began to put her head down on the table, but not before she downed one last glass of sherry. “If only he told me that I was special. If only he treated me, like I was the only one. If only he said something to me in French, just like…….”

That being my cue, I finally took my leave, finally mounting the stairs to my bedroom.

As I lay in bed, I wondered, how my father was going to react when my mother told him about her wishes? I’m sure it’ll come out of left field for him, just like it did for me! I wasn’t even sure, what it was that triggered my mother’s sudden affection to Cooking Sherry? I admit to drinking my share of Dr Peppers, but not to excess, like my mother seemed to be doing tonight. I’ll try to speak to her tomorrow, and help her to make sense of things.

The next day I got up at my usual time of 8am. The kitchen was empty, and the bottle and glass was nowhere to be seen. I poked around my father’s garage, and walked outside in the sunshine, enjoying the warm rays upon my skin. At 11am my mother finally showed her face in the kitchen, but it was not one of happiness and joy.

“Oh, it’s you”, she said, as if I wasn’t supposed to be there in my own kitchen. She began moving things around, but really slowly as if it hurt her head to think about doing that. “Mom, why don’t you let me make you some breakfast and coffee?” said while being it all being a bit awkward, like talking to a stranger in my own house. My mother just turned slowly and looked at me, but with a sort of relief that I never had seen before. “Yes, my boy. That would be great. I think, I’ll just lie down a bit, until you’re ready. It’s almost like having an extra Mother’s Day.” And with that she gave me a hug, and kissed me on my forehead, and disappeared into the next room.

Suddenly there was a knock at the back door. “Hey Ninny, did your mother lock you in, or something?” My friend came into the kitchen and heard the whole story in the Readers Digest Condensed Version. “Hey, don’t let it get you down. Parents do those kind of things now and again. I think they’ve forgotten how it is to be young, and end up doing something that they’ll regret the next day. I’ll bet it’ll happen to us someday too!” She seemed so wise for her age. I really was happy that she happened on by today, helping me to make sense of it all. We worked on mom’s breakfast together, making more food than a barrel full of monkeys could eat, but hey  it seemed like a good idea at the time!

We set the table and called out to mom. She had gotten herself gussied up and didn’t look like she had slept on the kitchen table anymore, using a bottle as her pillow. She was really surprised seeing the Girl Next Door together with me, but after she was served a cup of hot coffee, along with a flower in a glass (picked from our own front yard, just minutes before) then it didn’t seem like it was so bad after all. My friend excused herself and went on her way, giving me a wink and a pat on my back, before she left. “Take good care of her Poindexter. She’s the only mother you’ve got!!”

It’s true, she was the only mother I had, and we all need a bit of taking care of from time to time. My mother didn’t say much as she ate her breakfast. I did see a smile once in a while, and got a few gently reprimands, about the mess that we made, and how many bread crumbs that were on the floor, but I could tell it was just her way of getting back in the saddle, before the big rodeo, as it were.

The only thing that I worried about is when my father came home. It seemed like my mother had a lot of regrets right now, and I’m not sure my father will have seen it, whatever that is, coming when he walks in the front door from his convention? I guess, I just might have to make breakfast for him, if he finds an uncomfortable place to sleep after speaking to my mother upon arrival.

That’s OK. I’m in practice now……