Maybelle’s: It’s Almost Summer Paint-In & Bar-b-que, don’tcha know

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


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Mother Nature’s Identity Crisis, don’tcha know

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

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Fire! Fire! don’tcha know

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

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Maybelle’s Xlent Bar-b-que Adventure, don’tcha know

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

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Starry starry nite, don’tcha know

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

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Maybelle’s Passin-over Xperyance, don’tcha know

Wel woodn’tcha kno I waz jest tawkin ta Twindle Mumbly bout this yearz Easter hop-athon comin up, wen my good frend Sara Greenbaum callz invitin me to her Passin-over party, don’tcha kno.

Butt Sarah, I say, I’m not Jewish. Wel, she laffs so hard I think the phones gonna brake. May, she says …(I like her callin me May) … haff the peeple comin to sit at my cedar arnt Jewish.

Her voice is full of smiles n she says:  Yewl come, yewl read with us, sing with us, diskuss with us, and yewl eat and yewl eat. Wel while Sara’s talkin kalories n the like, I’m a-thinkin she means we’re gonna sit at her cedar tree in her bak yard round a bonfire, don’tcha kno. So I say, Sara, I’ll breeng the marshmellas.

Now sheez howlin with laffter n the phone jumps rite outta my hand, klonks Marmalade my tabby kat on the hed, n she skampers off meowin somethin feerce.

So I’m hed over heels giddy with excitin-ment kause itz now tyme to go sit outside at Sara’s cedar, butt wen I get to her howse she leeds me to the dinin room, don’tcha kno, where this dolly lookin table is all set up with spreeng flowers n kandels and fresh vegtables n dip n kolorful plates. En there’s this basket full o watt Sara tells me r YallMerKaz …littl silk caps fur the men to ware on their heds, don’tcha kno.

Befur I noze it, all the gests r there n I’m a-thinkin we’re gonna do somethin speshel like dye matso balls like we do Eester eggs, don’tcha kno…butt insted we all take terns readin a story bout an Egyptian Pharaoh n the Jewish folks gettin free o him.  En then it hitsz me watt this passin-over nite is all abowt —over-comin r own neggativity, don’tcha kno.

Why thatz a reel good thing, I’m a- thinkin. I sure kno how angree I kin get wen Beanpole Starkman crashes his bi-plane inta my deer feeder.  Now I spoze thatz normal, butt itz not good holdin onta that feelin, don’tcha kno.  It kin nott up yer stomik like a broken septic tank n make ya look all sowr like.

Az it turns out, my frend Sara Greenbaum waz rite.  Wee ate and wee ate… n wee diskussed n wee sang.  En ya know watt? I’m all fur passin-over inta feelin reel good abowt things, n abowt all the folks arownd me, don’tcha kno.

By the way … Bogart (my bear) looked reel nice in a YallMerKa.  Why he even learnt how to say honey pot in Hebroo.

Nightie nite.  Maybelle

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Earthy Hour at Maybelle’s Cottage, don’tcha know

What a night! All my good friends came by for Earthy Hour, don’tcha know. The boys… Officer Stanley Penelope McBottom, Twindle Mumbly and Beanpole Starkman put a whole bunch of logs in the pit just out back of my cottage, and like magic, a bonfire blazed with light.

A big fat moon hung in the night sky —  almost full, you could see a gy-normuss ring around its collar.

Then me and the girls — Vilma Yuccch and Sybil Beucannon Hughes tied notes to a wishing tree, don’tcha know. Sybil wished for clean energy…I wished for action from world leaders on the climate. And I don’t mean taking a girlfriend to Florida!  And Vilma wished Officer McBottom would finally propose to her, don’tcha know.

Well then …at 8:30PM  I turned all my cottage lights out, and we all turned our heads toward downtown Lake WhaddyathinkImean (all two blocks of it). Well wouldn’tcha know,  the only thing that was lit up was Leroy Shingels. I swear, there were more beers in that man than at the beer store.

We were gonna roast marshmellows, but Bogart found ’em before we could eat ’em and ate the whole bag himself.  Bears these days.

9:30 came and the fire was still a-blazing.  The temperature dropped and we all huddled close like spokes on an umbrella, don’tcha know.

It was the best Earthy Hour this ol’ gal can remember.

And if the Federal government actually does something about climate change, I will dance a jig with Bogart ’til the cows come home. And I wish they would. I miss them.

Nightie night.  Maybelle

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Friday Night at the Leegion, don’tcha know

Well, it’s Friday and I sure know where I’m gonna be tanight, don’tcha know. I’m goin ta the meat draw at the Lake WhaddyathinkImean Leegion and this time I’m gonna WIN me a stake!

That’s right.  I did a Astro Illogical readin and the starz r all lined up fer Gemininnyeans. We got a whole gaggle of planets huggin us… the sun, Joopiter, Murkery, and even YerAnus, don’tcha kno.

And that meens when Twindle Mumbly reeches his hand inta the raffel baskit, this ol gal’s gonna win sum steaks r hamburg r a roste, don’tcha know.  And I’m head over heals giddy cawz I’ll be abel ta bring it over ta the food bank and give it to naybors who needs it.

Oh n all my friends’ll be there…Vilma Yucch, Sybil Beaucannon Hughes, Nickie B, Officer Stanley Penelope McBottom. Too bad Bogart won’t be there.  He’s gonna stay at the cottage n talk to his new sweetie on eHarmoney, don’tcha know.  Bears these daze.

Can’t wait ta hear all the skuttle butt…see the yungins makin eyez at one t’other…McBottom goin all gooey sittin next ta Vilma. Sybil takin movin piktures o evry body with her digi-cam and o course, accidently fallin inta the lap of one of r Lake WhaddyathinkImean buffed voluntear fire fighters.

Darts’ll go flyin, popcorn’ll get cawt in bridges, and I don’t mean the kind you paddle under in a boat! And o course, good ol Beanpole will be flyin overhead in his Tiger Moth biplane jest to let us all know he’s up there protectin the village from alien invitation, don’tcha know.

Then after, we r all goin ta Holyburton for sum real good singin and fiddlin by the DoMeWrongs at McKeck’s.

Boy do I ever thank mi lucky starz!  Maybelle

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Healthy Care in Canada, don’tcha know

Today I get a long distance call from Beanpole Starkman, don’tcha know, all the way from Miami Beach Florida. He’s there visiting his old uncle Muler who hasn’t seen his teeth in 30 years.

Well, Muler and Beanpole get this bet goin’ and Beanpole wants me to declare him the winner. You see, Muler and some other folks down there believe us Canadians are droppin’ like flies cause our healthy care system ain’t workin’. In fact, they’re calling it a dis-ass-ter. Do you believe that? A DIS-ASS-TER!

Well, this ol’ gal shouts into that ear piece: Muler Starkman, THAT JUST AIN’T TRUE!!

Guess I must of yelled perdy loud cause Muler falls back into a bowl of dip and all four table legs buckle and wham! …down he goes like the front end of the Tight-Annik.

Next thing I know, Beanpole’s a-callin’ an ambulance and arguing something about Muler’s previous condition. And I’m thinking…if yer older than ten, yer gonna have some kind of previous condition, ‘less you been shut in bed since birth, don’tcha know.

Hmm, our dis-ass-truss healthy care system, posh. Why just last week, Lake WhaddyathinkImean’s very own, Klein Megner, got two brand new knee caps, and Gracie Shmolen got THREE (one for her sister, Rose).  And how ’bout Manny and Evner Flutterman? Why they got  two new hips and a colon-os-crappy to boot!

I mean some of our south-o-the-border neighbors need to know the facts.

We do NOT wear snowshoes in the SUMMERTIME! Our police officers do NOT ride around in Santa-red-mountie outfits and park their horses at Tim Horton’s. And we DO get some perdy good healthy care here in Canada.

And you know what? I feel good just for sayin’ so!

Nightie night.  Maybelle

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Vilma Yuccch, Arteest at Large, don’tcha know

Seems everybody in Lake WhaddyathinkImean wants to be the next Vincentie Van Go or Pablum Pikasso, don’tcha know. Why even Twindle Mumbly tried molding one of his prize taxidermy bunnies into a potato chip bowl.

Now Vilma Yuccch has taken to tie-dyin’ sleeves.  Just sleeves.  All kinds of wild lines and circles in shocking pinks and greens, blues and golds swirling, twisting.  She figures folks’ll be able to wear their short sleeve shirts all winter long. You  just stick on the sleeves and feel yer temperature rise.

Why you can even interchange ’em.  Put one designed sleeve on one side, another on t’other.

Problem is…Vilma was experimenting with great big vats of glow-in-the-dark colors and leaned straight over a shocking pink tub, lost her footing on the wooden step stool Officer Stanley Penelope McBottom built for her, and fell head over bottom into her new pink skin. Now you can see Vilma from miles away…at NIGHT!

The good news is…Bogart got it all on his digi-cam, put it up on YouTube and Vilma’s tie-dyed-and-gone-to-heaven-glow-in-the-dark sleeves are selling like hotcakes.

See? You can never tell. What looks like a big ol’ nightmare just could turn out to be yer biggest blessing.

Nightie night. Maybelle

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