Monthly Archives: April 2010

Why I must have heard from 10 listeners today complaining about some injunction or compunction or …conJUNCtion betwixt Saturn and Uranus, don’tcha know. Seems it’s causing all kinds of mishaps, mischief,  and mayhem.

The kind that make you wanna jump back in bed and hug your hot water bottle.

I can tell ya I sure didn’t want to believe it. In fact, tonight I stood out back of my cottage looking up at the sky moving this way and that, trying to out-smart those planets by being out of range of their mischief, don’tcha know.

I mean those little itsy-bitsy stars looked so harmless bein’ so far away.  But according to Elsie Panfrantic from East Westerly Chippiwagomy, the planets are acting up worse than a bull in a china shop.

Why poor Elsie was on her way to the A & P when a biplane falls right out of the sky onto her truck. KER-PLUNK!!! Metal to metal.

Seems the thing that saved her just seconds before, was a big ol’ Maple Leaf 16 wheeler. It bumped straight into her be-hind and forced her truck off the road where a construction crew was building a retaining wall, don’tcha know…an experimental one made of bumper tires.

So Elsie’s truck goes a-bouncin’ off the wall back into the 16 wheeler. And if the doors didn’t fly open and hundreds of pounds of bacon come hurtling out. That’s when the biplane falls on her truck.

Well, Elsie pokes her head up through the bacon and she doesn’t have a scratch on her.  The other good news is: Elsie likes bacon.

And how about our very own Twindle Mumbly?

Why he was about to taxidermy his favorite neighborhood squirrel who was found with his wee head at rest on a copy of “Withering Heights,” don’tcha know. (That ending could kill jest about any body.) And as he was putting together the little critter’s GAP-for-dolls outfit, if the little guy didn’t open his eyes and run off.

As for ol’ Maybelle … with so many unexpected changes flying and a-swirling around Lake WhaddyathinkImean’s up-coming INUKSHUCK LET’S GET STONES FESTIVAL…I’m jest gonna sit tight ’til the planet gremlins get tired of disrupting everything and take up knitting.

It’ll also give me a chance to have a good heart to heart with Bogart. He’s more than a bear, don’tcha know.

He’s my friend and Astro Illologer.

Nightie night.  Maybelle

Did you ever notice how loud silence can be? A high pitched kinda sound that you can only hear when nothing is on in yer cottage but life itself. The kinda sound that makes you feel grateful for being where you are and where the noise isn’t. No traffic or big trucks roaring under yer windows or sirens screaming at you when yer wanting to just sit quietly and hug yer bear.

I know Bogart feels the same even though he isn’t wearing his voice synthesizer tam o’shanter cap so I can hear what he’s thinkin’.  But if a bear can smile, he’s a-smilin’ right now.  He likes it when I read him recipes from Julia Child’s cookbook, don’tcha know. Especially the ones made with honey.

I don’t miss having a television. There’s so much else to do. Like fixing something, or painting or sanding or cleaning or mowing or shoveling or planting. Why, with all that extra time, ol’ Maybelle can learn something knew every day. That’s right…Bogart’s teaching me how to speak Squirrel and Chipmunk so I can talk to his friends.

I’m also learning to play the kazoo. After being turned down for last year’s Christmas show at St. Francis of the Sandle church, I’m learning a much valued instrument here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean. And it ain’t just any kazoo. I’m playing my late Auntie Hester’s kazoo. The one she painted green and covered with chicken feathers. She had a gift for fashion all right.

In fact, I’ll be playing a solo in the Bedbug song that Twindle Mumbly wrote for our upcoming Lake WhaddyathinkImean spring festival, don’tcha know. It’s such a pretty love song. Took me by surprise that Twindle had it in him …

Late at night when the bed bugs bite, I’m in bed lookin’ fer you. Late at night when the bed bugs bite, I’m in bed lookin’ fer you. Late at night when the bed bugs bite, baby why do you run from me? Can’t you see I’m in love with you, what’s a little bug or two?

Sure pulls at my heart strings.

See? If I was a-watchin’ television right now I wouldn’t be thinking about my friends, and I sure wouldn’t be writing to you. And although I can’t see you, I know yer there, and that’s a good thing…cause in this big crazy world, it’s good to know we truly are connected like Einstein said. Or was it General Electric?

I always thought Electric was a strange name fer a general. How about you?

Nightie night.  Maybelle

There’s yer mini-putt with a windmill or two, and then there’s a real golf course like we have here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean with 11 ½ holes. Big holes to make it easier to score, don’tcha know.

Sure, folks here are all about havin’ fun instead of beating each other for a beer or 6…though that can be fun too I suppose.

Why my Auntie Hester used to golf at Liam Caw-Fittup’s 11 ½  Big Ones, and once she had to reach so far down to get her ball out of a hole, she got her arm stuck and the volunteer fire brigade had to come pull her out.

I think ground hogs live in those holes. Cause I seen little eyes staring at me on the 8th and 9th ones.  Either that or my arthur-itis medication is stronger then I thought!

And oh boy is it ever pretty out there. Course you got to tee off from top of a picnic table so you don’t sink down in to a mud hole. But once you walk a hundred yards or so it’s real nice. Almost like real grass, don’tcha know.

All kidding aside… we all like golfing at 11 ½ Big Ones and getting around in the carts they got from Arnie’s Vegetables & Veterinary. Makes folks feel connected to the things that grow in the earth and the things that do their thing on ’em.

Why ol’ Maybelle’s gonna hit some balls tomorrow morning with Sybil Beaucannon Hughes, Twindle Mumbly, and Vilma Yuccch.

Twindle’s pre-game warm up? — putting on his jacket.

Sure hope the weather holds. Right now it’s April in Paris right here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean.

Nightie night.  Maybelle

It was Bogart who gave me the first clue. He was out in the yard growling and a-swinging his big bear arms so violent-like, you’d have thought he was gonna take off like a helicopter, don’tcha know.

Bogart! I shouted. What in the world are you doing?

He wasn’t wearing his voice synthesizer tam o’shanter cap so I couldn’t hear what he was thinking, but that’s when I saw them… a big swarm of black flies making poor Bogart spin like a top… a bear top.

Quick, Maybelle, I thought, do something. I grabbed the garden hose, whipped it around and sprayed those varmints like there was no tomorrow.

Poor ol’ Bogart’s fur got so drenched you could hear him growling from one end of Lake WhaddyathinkImean t’other.

Next thing I know, Officer Stanley Penelope McBottom is racing up my driveway in his police cruiser, siren a-wailing…Beanpole Starkman’s flying over head in his Tiger Moth bi-plane. The Lake W volunteer fire fighter brigade drives up with Vilma Yuccch hanging onto the back wearing bright yellow sequin hip boots, don’tcha know … and Sybil Beaucannon Hughes rides up on her motor bike with Neville sputtering out of breath behind her.

Where’s the fire? everybody shouts. There’s no fire, I shout, the black flies are back!

Well their groan was so heavy I could have sworn the earth shifted.  Black flies?!@ Not alreaddyyyy!!!

Well if the phones didn’t go crazy.  I ran into the cottage and found caller after caller complaining about the same thing and telling ol’ Maybelle I need to warn all my listeners, don’tcha know.

Nickie B! I shout, and sure enough, he clomps up the stairs from the basement in his Led Zeppelin t-shirt and leather collar. We gotta get on the air quick, the biters are back!

Fffffttt! if he didn’t disappear in a nano-second. Then, fffffft! he’s back, covered head to ankles in a one-size fits all prune colored black fly space-lookin’ suit shuffling over to the control board twisting knobs and pushing buttons, don’tcha know.

Are we live yet? I ask.  Oh yea, says Nickie B.

So I sit down in front of the microphone and tell my listeners…

Hello everybody out there in radio land, this is Maybelle Morton with a black fly advisory, don’tcha know.

Well, if the phones didn’t ring off their hooks again. Only this time, they were callers shouting that black flies have rights too.

In fact, they’re still a-callin’, and the flies are still a-flyin’. So this is what I’m proposing to you…

If you have some innovative ideas about how folks can protect themselves from black flies, you just write it into the comment box.

After all, ain’t that what community is for?

Nightie night.  Maybelle

Oh boy it feels good seeing the sun shimmyin’ on the lake…ice out, boats in…folks getting the tops og their heads sunburned. Why Sleeman McClerny at the Post Office got the skin on his head peeling just from driving his old Studiebaker convertible down Main Street.  But oh is he ever happy. He said he’s gonna do it again this weekend in his boat, don’tcha know.

Why even Bogart sits in the sun trying to streak his brown fur blond. He’s hard-set on looking like Brad Pitt.  Bears these days.

Ol’ Maybelle, well, I’m back a-digging in my garden getting dirt under my fingernails where it belongs.  You should see the ants.  BIG as Buicks. Why they could carry a picnic table away. And speaking of picnic tables…

We’re having a PAINT-IN today, right here at my cottage. Yep. Vilma Yuccch, Sybil Beaucannon Hughes, Officer Stanley Penelope McBottom, Twindle Mumbly and Beanpole Starkman are a-comin’ over with their favorite colors of paint and we’re all gonna paint my picnic table — all psycho-delic like. Bogart’s even gonna do some paw-in-the-paint texturin’ … kinda like the ol’ sponge technique.

Well, I’m head over heels giddy cause sunshine makes my whole body smile.  Why all us folks here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean are fixing our yards with all kinds of things. Beanpole Starkman’s outside right now hoisting a maple leaf flag, don’tcha know.  I can see it clear as day through my window… fluttering in the wind like a pair of false eyelashes.  Ooooo, I just got a warm feeling like hot chocolate spilling down my jammies.

Course I’m gonna treat my friends to some good bar-be-que after the paint-In. I got us some homemade sausages and hamburgs from Egbert Numble’s Meat, Eggs & Carburators, don’tcha know.

I got a monkey bread bakinG in the oven right now. And if you don’t know what a monkey bread is…think cinnamon buns with so much butter, raisins and walnuts each bite is to live for. As for calories … forget it. You might as well just tear off a hunk and stick it to yer thighs.

Yep, today nothing can get ol’ Maybelle down. Oh, what was that? Be right  back…

Oh boy, I don’t know how he did it, but Beanpole got his foot caught somehow and he’s hanging upside down from the flagpole.

Keep smilin’.  Maybelle

My heads a-spinnin. Is it winter? Spring? Summer? A couple a days ago the folks here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean were trading their jackets for shirts, boots for sandles, winter tires for summer ones.

Then this mornin’ the birds woke up coughing and the daffodils sucked themselves back into the earth cause no flower likes getting snow on her face, don’tcha know.

Poor Bogart doesn’t know whether to hibernate like other bears or go swimmin’. Vilma Yuccch’s back to wearing her bikini on the outside of her snow pants. And Beanpole Starkman cancelled his subscription to Farmers Almanac and bought himself a thermometer.

So I’m a-thinkin’, poor ol Mother Nature must be having an identity crisis or a nature breakdown, don’tcha know. I mean, wouldn’t you?

Imagine, if somebody polluted the air at yer cottage…cut down the trees that need to hold the soil in yer garden…poisoned yer water so everything you grew, ate, and drank made you sick. Why Mother “N”  probably needs a big hug. An “awwwwww” from all of us.

Better yet, she needs us to stop upsettin’ what she put right in the first place.

I just looked out my front window and it’s snowing.  SNOWING!!! and melting as it hits the ground.

Glad I got a pot o vegetable soup brewing. I think I’ll call Sybil Beucannon Hughes and Vilma Yuccch to come have lunch with me. There’s nothing like breaking bread with good friends who will help me hug Mother Nature back into feeling right again.

Keep shinin’.  Maybelle

Well, it doesn’t take much to get the whole volunteer fire brigade here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean to jump into those big ol’ boots and heavy fire-proof suits and hang on to the back end of a red-as-ever fire truck, don’tcha know.

Why just today, Liam Clerny’s daughter Sue Ellen Grace called him at the hatchery screaming something fierce: “I smell fire!!!” Well, no sooner did Liam hear that than he hops on his lawnmower and heads right over there.

Turns out Sue Ellen Grace had never used the baseboard heater in the guest room before, this being her new house and all, and somehow the dog turned it on, don’tcha know…causing that odd smell.

Well, when Liam sees the big o’l Lake WhddaythinkImean fire truck racing up, siren a-wailing — his pacemaker goes ballistic.  Buffed Bobby Stutter jumps off the back with an axe in his hand and t’other volunteers get busy looking to where they can hook up to water.  And meanwhile there IS no fire!!!

The dog runs out with Sue Ellen Grace chasing it with a spatula and yelling something about bears liking dog meat… and Liam’s being given mouth to mouth resurrection by Jane Southerly, the only firefighter with a 22 inch waist, don’tcha know. So he’s a-smiling!

And I get a call saying it’s a false alarm after telling my listeners ’bout the big blaze over on Upstart Road…so I get Nickie B to get me on air again real fast so folks won’t be a-worryin’.

And city folks think nothing exciting ever happens here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean.

Nightie night.  Maybelle

It’s bar-b-que season, don’tcha know, and it was time to buy a new one. Since there wasn’t much to choose from here in Lake WhaddyathinkImean with the only store even close to what I was needing being Pruitt Clernly’s Everything ‘Cept Bar-b-ques…yours truly recruited Beanpole Starkman to fly me all the way to the big city of Barrie, don’tcha know.

Well, Bogart was still fiddling on eHarmony…that bear has a one track mind these daze…so he wasn’t about to come with us. Besides, he woulda taken up a little too much room in Beanpole’s Tiger Moth bi-plane, don’tcha know, us needin’ room for my new cookin’ machine.

Oh I was excited, never bein’ in a bi-plane before, and it climbed into the sky so fast, I never even had time to be nervous.

It was beautiful up there … flying high over Lake WhaddyathinkImean, ice out, boats almost in. The lake shimmying  like a teenager’s skirt. Trees budding, flowers poking, squirrels, chipmunks and birds running, flying. I was head over heels giddy.

Then before I knew it, we were swooping down over folks’ cottages. Why you shoulda seen ’em. Jackets off. Some even bare foot. Washing cars and trucks. Airing out rugs. Pinning clothes up on lines.

And oh how the wind was a-blowin’ in my face. I felt so young and alive, I could swear my grey hair turned brown again, my wrinkles ironed out like silk, and my baggy overalls magicly turned into real tight form-fitting jeans, don’tcha know.

Next thing I knew we were flying low over a real cute country store called Quaker Oaks on Hwy 45.  That’s oaks not oats like the breakfast cereal, don’tcha know. And I just had to ask Beanpole to find a field to land in so I could stop in and buy some of their deLISHus stuffed green olives. Oh they make ’em with garlic and t’others with pesto. Yum.

Well, wouldn’t ya know,  Beanpole landed his plane without crashing into somebody’s deer feeder or wood pile. Seems he just loves crashing into mine.

Anyways … we stopped in and said hello to Mark the owner. I bought some garlic olives and Beemans chewing gum. Remember Beemans?

Beanpole got himself some real good coffee and a homemade fruit cookie. Moose was there. Oh not a moose-moose, Mark’s friend, Moose, don’tcha know, and his mother. What a sweet gal she was.

Then we were off again, flying high in a clear blue sky in search of a new bar-b-que.

What a wonder-full day it turned out to be. It wasn’t about being in Barrie and buying a bar-b-que, tho I did get a terrific 3-burner one, don’tcha know … it was about the adventure getting there. Sure does a body good to do something fun you ain’t never done before. And oh …

…the sweet taste of the day made our bar-b-que supper taste that much better.

Nightie night.  Maybelle

Sometimes I just feel grateful, don’tcha know. For little things. Like the stars that lit up the sky tonight and gave everyone here at Lake WhaddyathinkImean a show to end all shows. What a sight. Why you could even see stars you never seen before. Real little ones sprinkled there like icing sugar.

The deer came out for a late night feed. Three of ’em. The baby’s legs were so skinny I felt like getting ol’ Uncle Liam’s longjohns out of retirement and putting ’em on the little tyke. But ya gotta keep yer distance less ya scare ’em off, don’tcha know…and I like ’em coming round with their big Little Orphan Annie eyes.

Easter weekend and it’s gonna be 25 celcius tomorrow. Swimming suit weather. Imagine that! And I was just packing a feather filled jacket two days ago.

For all you folks worried about Vilma Yucch’s glow in the dark shocking pink skin …I’m happy to report, she’s fading and will soon be back to abnormal.

Sybil Beaucannon Hughes sure is into the Easter spirit with hundreds of pots of lilies linin’ her driveway. All that’s missing is the red carpet. I’m sure gonna miss her when she goes on her big world adventure, don’tcha know, to the exotic wilds of Whitby.

Tomorrow we’ll be having our annual Lake WhaddyathinkImean hop-a-thon and Easter egg hunt. I sure hope Beanpole Starkman remembers to hard boil the eggs before he hides ’em.

Vilma Yuccch’ll be wearing her playboy bunny outfit, don’tcha know, handing out chocolate rabbits to all the kiddies while the whole  buffed volunteer fire fighters brigade will be hopping for charity. And of course, Officer Stanley Penelope McBottom’ll be there showing off his latest invention, the McBottom nose ring dispenser. Don’t ask.

What’s that, Bogart? (He’s growling at me. Scuse me a second). Bogart! Turn on yer I-can-hear-what-yer-thinking voice synthesizer tam o’shanter cap, will ya? so we can all tell what yer thinkin’.  Good bear. Now, turn up the volume, will ya?

I wish Lindsay Lohan would marry me!

Nightie night.  Maybelle