Andrew set his coffee cup down on the table and nodded. “Righto,” he said. “Time to get this show on the road.” He took a deep breath. “We have two issues to discuss. One of them is of minor importance and I think we should address that one first.”

“Suits me,” said Brady and the others nodded in agreement.

“We’ve decided to sell the farm,” said Andrew.

There was a moment of silence while the others considered this.

“I am super curious right now,” said Jennifer at length, “what you would consider an issue of major importance, if selling the farm is an issue of minor importance.”

“I won’t keep you in suspense,” said Andrew. He reached down and pulled a newspaper out of the briefcase next to his chair and dropped it on the table. “Have a look at that,” he said.

Everybody did.

“I read that article,” said Randy. “Pretty boring unless you’re interested in the anatomy of wood ticks.”

Andrew looked down at the paper. “Wrong page,” he said. “Sorry.” He flipped the page and turned the paper around so everybody could read the headline. ‘The Jacksons,’” was all the headline said.

“I didn’t read that one,” said Randy.

“I never read that column,” said Rose. “I’ve tried a few times but I can’t get into it. I always feel like I’ve read it before or something.”

“Who are the Jacksons anyway?” said Jennifer. “I always wondered.”

“Oh my gosh,” said Andrew. “Look at it! It’s us! WE are the Jacksons! For the last 10 years somebody has been chronicling our life in this newspaper and we never even noticed.”

Brady took a closer look at the paper. “Nah,” he said. “Look at the picture. Doesn’t look anything like us.”

“Of course not,” said Andrew. “It’s just a stock photo that somebody photoshopped to make it look rural or whatever. But if you read the article we’re all in there!”

“Why would we read the article if it’s about us?” said Randy. “We already know everything about us.”

“That’s a valid point,” said Rose.

There was another silence.

“So, should we sue, or what?” said Brady.

“We could,” said Andrew, “but I think it would be a bad idea.”

“Why?” asked Rose.

“Well I called the writer,” said Andrew. “Turns out he’s a freelance writer and a stand-up comedian. So guess how much money he has.”

“Fifty bucks?” said Jennifer.

“I’d be surprised,” said Andrew.

“So what do we do?” asked Randy.

“I asked him to cease and desist,” said Andrew.

“What did he say?” Brady wanted to know.

“He said he would cease,” said Andrew, “but that asking him to desist as well seemed redundant.”

“He has a point,” said Rose.

“So we’re not going to be in the paper anymore?” said Jennifer.

“Nope,” said Andrew. “How do you feel about that?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I never knew we WERE in the paper so I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I should call the writer and ask him.”

“Well anyway, not being in the paper will free up so much time,” said Brady.

“For whom?” said Andrew.

Brady pondered that. “Good question,” he said.

“So,” said Jennifer, “if we’re gonna sell the farm and we’re not gonna be in the paper, then what are we gonna do?”

Andrew picked up his coffee cup. “How many horses do we have?” he asked.

“One,” said Jennifer.

“Ah, too bad,” said Andrew. “I was going to suggest we all ride off into the sunset.”

“We still could,” said Jennifer. “We’d just have to take turns.”

“I like it,” said Randy. “It seems like a perfectly Jackson thing to do.”

Andrew looked around the table. “All in favour of taking turns riding off into the
sunset say aye.”

“Aye,” said everybody.

“Carried,” said Andrew. “I move that this column be adjourned.”

“I second that motion,” said Rose.

“All in favour say bye,” said Andrew.

“Bye,” said Randy.

“Bye,” said Brady.

“Bye,” said Jennifer.

“Goodbye,” said Rollin. “Thanks for having me. Thanks for letting me write. Thanks for reading. I can’t imagine the reading was as rewarding as the writing, but I hope you enjoyed it on occasion. If you’re ever throwing a shindig and you need someone to tell some stories and maybe a joke or two look me up on Facebook or send me an email at gfboy58@hotmail.com and I’ll put you in touch with my agent who is a really nice guy and far more level headed than I. And one last time, thank you.”

So long, and safe journeys.

Rollin Penner is a Winnipeg-based comedian, musician and actor. He is available for hire. Find him at gigsalad.com.

The post The Jacksons take a final bow appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

“Good morning,” he said. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Coffee is ready. Help yourself.”

Rose gave him an insincere scowl but brightened at the mention of coffee.

“If you want me looking presentable in the morning,” she said, “maybe you shouldn’t keep me awake so late at night.”

Andrew grinned. “If you were gone,” he said, “this is the way I would remember you.”

“Lucky for you I’m not going anywhere,” said Rose.

“Lucky for me indeed,” said Andrew. He laid his paper down and slid the cream pitcher across the table as Rose seated herself in her usual chair. “What’s on your agenda for today?” he asked.

“I’m gonna have a shower,” Rose answered.

“Good idea,” said Andrew. “Sounds like a full day.”

“It’s going to be a long shower,” said Rose. “You might have to get your own dinner.”

“OK then,” said Andrew. “I have a hankering for Kraft Dinner and hot dogs.”

“Oh, also,” said Rose, “I have to go out and get some groceries. We’re having all the kids over tomorrow in case you’ve forgotten, and we’re low on potatoes and beer.”

“We have kids?” said Andrew. “Since when?”

“Since those other nights when you kept me up way too late,” said Rose. “In the ’80s and ’90s.”

“Ah yes, I remember,” said Andrew. “How are they?”

“How are who?” said Rose.

“The kids,” said Andrew.

“As far as I know, they’re good,” said Rose. “You can ask them yourself tomorrow.”

“Hey do you think Jennifer’s ever going to marry what’s-his-name?” said Andrew.

“Alan,” said Rose. “His name is Alan. And yes, I think she’ll marry him. Eventually. God only knows when that’ll be though.”

“Good,” said Andrew. “I like Alan. He’s very talented and surprisingly stable for an artist.”

“Also his family lets us use their beautiful cottage at Victoria Beach every summer,” said Rose.

“That doesn’t hurt,” said Andrew. He paused for a moment. “I went to see Brady at the shop yesterday,” he said. “He just hired another body guy because he couldn’t keep up with the workload with the guys he had.”

“He sure timed it right didn’t he?” said Rose. “Buying an auto-body shop just when the population is aging and people are forgetting how to drive but still have licences.”

“Good timing indeed,” said Andrew. “I used to worry about Brady when he was a kid. I wasn’t sure he’d ever amount to much.”

“Really?” said Rose. “You never let on.”

“Well good for me,” said Andrew. “Anyway, I was pretty wrong in that assessment, clearly.”

“Clearly,” said Rose.

There was a brief pause as they both sipped on their respective coffees. Eventually Andrew set his cup down and took a deep breath.

“Here’s a thing,” he said. “About Randy.”

“What about Randy?” asked Rose.

“Sometimes,” said Andrew, “and I might be wrong about this, I’m just basing this on things he says sometimes which maybe I’m reading wrong, I don’t really know, but I wonder sometimes… ”

“Spit it out honey,” said Rose. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Sometimes I think there are other things Randy would rather do than farm,” said Andrew.

Rose pondered that for a moment, clearly somewhat surprised.

“I’m somewhat surprised,” she said eventually. “But you spend a lot more time with him than I do. I’m sure he says things to you that he wouldn’t have any reason to say to me.”

“Yeah,” said Andrew. “It’s just subtle things he says like, I hate farming, or, farming sucks, or, I wish I wasn’t a farmer. Those things could mean anything, right?”

Rose laughed. “I assume you’re joking,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Andrew. “If those were the things he said, then I wouldn’t have to wonder, would I?”

“Hardly,” said Rose. “I think you should ask him.”

“Ask him?” said Andrew. “Just like that? I was going to hire a private detective to follow him around and record his conversations and see what we could infer from that.”

“That’s also an option, if you’re an idiot,” said Rose.

“So you’re saying that’s an option then,” said Andrew.

“What if he says yeah, there’s something he’d rather do than farm?” said Rose. “What would we do?”

“My first choice would be to ignore it,” said Andrew.

“Me too,” said Rose.

“Otherwise I guess we’d have to think about selling the farm,” said Andrew.

“How would you feel about that?” asked Rose.

Andrew shrugged. “Terrible. Great. And everything in between.” He picked up his coffee. “I have no idea,” he concluded.

There was a brief pause.

“Life,” said Rose eventually. “It’s like a box of chocolates.”

“Delicious but not nutritious,” said Andrew.

“Not exactly what I meant,” said Rose. “But close enough.”

The post Life, a delicious treat appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

“We are getting our own week!” Grant Toews was saying as Andrew seated himself and reached for the cream. “Mennonite week! What a party that’s gonna be! I hope the RCMP are ready for the chaos that’s bound to ensue when the two hundred thousand Mennonites in this country throw caution to the wind and end up drinking and dancing in the streets!”

There was a moment of silence while Bob Brown and Pete Donaldson, who were already seated at the table, joined Andrew in staring blankly at Grant.

“I thought Mennonites weren’t allowed to dance,” said Bob. “Isn’t that like, the first rule in the book of Menno Simons? Don’t make love standing up because it could lead to dancing?”

“Also,” said Pete, “I thought Mennonites weren’t allowed to drink.”

Grant laughed. “We’re allowed to drink,” he said. “We just choose not to.”

“Why?” Bob asked.

“Because drinking dulls the pain,” said Grant.

“What are you talking about, Mennonites getting their own week?” said Andrew. “Is this another one of those United Nations resolutions?”

“No,” said Grant. “It’s the Canadian government. They’ve designated a week in the fall as Mennonite Week, in honour of all the things we Mennonites have given to Canadian Society.”

Andrew pondered that for a moment. “I guess they figured they better do it now, quick, before you ruin it for everybody.”

Grant ignored him. “It’s about time somebody recognized all our contributions,” he said.

“A week seems like overkill though,” said Bob. “A long weekend seems like it would be plenty. What have you folks really contributed besides keilkje, farmer sausage and schmauntfat?”

“I personally would happily take a week off to celebrate keilkje and farmer sausage and schmauntfat,” said Andrew. “A month even, if it came to that.”

“What’s kielkje and schmauntfat?” asked Pete.

Grant looked at the others, aghast. “See?” he said. “This is why we need Mennonite Week! To educate the public!” He turned to Pete. “Kielkje and schmauntfat are Low German words for noodles and cream-gravy,” he explained.

“Oh,” said Pete. “And what’s the difference between Low German and High German?” he wanted to know.

“Low German is the dialect Mennonites speak generally,” Andrew interjected. “High German is what they speak when they’ve been smoking marijuana.”

“We don’t speak High German much,” said Grant. “Most of us don’t even know how.”

“What I’ve never really understood,” said Bob, “is whether being a Mennonite is a cultural thing or a religious thing. “What’s your opinion on that Grant?”

“It’s both in my opinion,” said Grant. “Some people are Mennonites by virtue of their religion and some are Mennonites by virtue of their culture and some are both. All in all it’s very confusing.”

“I don’t think it matters either,” said Andrew, “as long as you keep making that delicious farmer sausage.”

“Surely though,” said Bob, “Mennonites must have contributed more to society than just cream-gravy and noodles.”

“Oh yes indeed,” said Grant. “We contributed vast knowledge of farming, we established the Mennonite Central Committee to help alleviate poverty and suffering around the world, and we created the curds that people mix with French-fries and gravy to make poutine.”

“Why did people do that with those curds?” asked Pete. “Did they not realize that if they just left the curds alone for a while they would eventually turn into cheese?”

“That’s a question I’ve asked myself as well,” said Grant. “I don’t have an answer.”

There was a pause in the conversation.

“Well anyway,” said Andrew eventually, “I think Mennonites are great and whoever the first Mennonite was, I’ll drink to him.” He raised his coffee cup.

“Adam was the first Mennonite,” said Grant.

“How do you figure that?” asked Bob.

“He must have been. I mean, he was in the Garden with a beautiful naked woman, and he was tempted,” said Grant, “to eat an apple.”

There was brief moment of silence.

“I think that might make him a Lutheran,” said Pete.

“Not much difference,” said Bob.

“Many people would agree,” said Grant. “Just don’t ask the Mennonites.”

The post Calling all Mennonites, prepare the celebrations appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

“If I had a better lawn mower, then I would be more inclined to mow the lawn which would keep the yard looking neater and more like the neighbours’ yards. We’d fit in better. People would accept us as members of the community.”

Rose didn’t move in her sunny spot on the lounger next to him. “You should definitely get a new lawn mower,” she said. “It would be so nice if people stopped treating us like pariahs because our lawn, which nobody can see because of the hedges, is sometimes too long by an inch or two. Maybe people would talk to us on the street and invite us to parties and things.”

“Goodness, I hope not,” said Andrew. “I have enough things to worry about without having to make up excuses not to go to parties. I’m just saying a nicer lawn would make people look at us differently and a better lawn mower would help us have a nicer lawn.”

“And I’m saying that getting a better lawn mower might be good for our social life,” said Rose. “So get a better lawn mower.”

“Howdy neighbours.” A head appeared above the hedge on the west side of the yard, a few feet away from the Jacksons’ chairs. John Thompson, the next door neighbour, spoke with a smile, his unruly white hair framing his bearded face. “How are the Jacksons this lovely day?”

“We’re fine,” said Andrew. “Just at the moment we are having a fight about why we should get a new lawn mower. I say we should because our nosy neighbours will think better of us if we have a nicer lawn.”

“And I say we should, because if our neighbours think better of us they might invite us to more parties,” said Rose.

“Which would be terrible,” said Andrew, “but possibly unavoidable.”

“Well,” said John, “this kind of incessant noisy bickering is certainly not going to improve your reputation among your nosy neighbours, of whom I count myself one. What’s wrong with your old lawn mower?”

“It’s a very unpleasant shade of blue for one thing,” said Andrew. “Also, it requires three pulls on the rope to start, which is two pulls too many in my books.”

“Three pulls does seem excessive,” John agreed. “I used to have a lawn mower that would sometimes start on the first pull and sometimes on the 30th. It was very unpredictable.”

“One of the things I have found,” said Andrew, “is that an argument about why someone should get a new lawn mower is very rarely won by a neighbour leaning over a hedge offering irrelevant facts about lawn mowers they may or may not have owned in the past.”

“Oh, I definitely owned that lawn mower,” said John. “I remember the day I took it to the dump. I loaded it in the back of the half-ton and drove to the landfill and when I got there I opened the tailgate and then I backed up really fast and hammered on the brakes and the lawn mower rolled right off of the truck bed and went tumbling down the side of the garbage hill. If it hadn’t taken a small chip of paint off of the tailgate as it went, that might well have gone down as the best day of my life.”

“You clearly remember it fondly,” said Rose, “but that’s no reason to burden us with the story. I don’t see how it helps us with our dilemma.”

“It doesn’t,” said John. “Speaking of lawn mowers though, I understand that the Japanese have developed a robot that looks like Keira Knightly, whoever that is, that you can program to give you a back massage and then to go cut your grass while you have a nap.”

“Well kudos to them for having their priorities in order,” said Andrew, “but I’ve always felt that the technological superiority of the Japanese is undermined by the fact that the best they’ve been able to do in the area of eating utensils is two slightly tapered wooden sticks. I mean really. If they just took four of those sticks and duct-taped them together at the thick end they’d have a fork.”

“Good point,” said John. “I think you should get a riding mower,” he added. “Anyway, I have to go get bedding plants now. Nice chatting with you though.” He turned and disappeared behind the hedge.

There was a brief silence.

“People shouldn’t be able to talk to us over our hedge,” said Rose. “We need a taller hedge.”

“Or we need shorter neighbours,” said Andrew. “The riding mower was a good idea though.”

“Agreed,” said Rose.

“Dilemma solved,” said Andrew.

The post Making the case for a new lawnmower appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

Andrew Jackson put down the newspaper he was reading and picked up his coffee cup. Rose did not look up from the section of the paper she was reading.

“Sometimes I wish I had a switch,” she said, “so that when you talk to me about sports I could flick the switch and become a guy friend who could say something knowledgeable or understand what you’re talking about, or care.”

Andrew pondered that for a moment. “Tell you what,” he said. “Since you don’t have a switch like that, why don’t you just pretend to care.”

“That sounds hard,” said Rose. “It seems like it would take energy.”

“Not much though,” said Andrew. “Maybe a little.”

“I would rather have a switch,” said Rose.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” said Andrew. “It’s not like I need you to care or even listen. It’s just like when you talk to me about… ”

“Talk to you about what?” said Rose.

“I don’t know,” said Andrew. “I don’t know what you talk to me about when I’m not listening.”

“The Royal Family,” said Rose.

“You talk to me about the Royal Family?” said Andrew, surprised.

“All the time,” said Rose.

“Huh,” said Andrew. “Live and learn I guess.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “I do remember in 2001 and you told me that Prince Charles fell off his horse during a polo match and got knocked out cold and got taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I don’t remember who won the polo match though.”

“I never told you who won the polo match,” said Rose, “so how would you remember that? The point of that story, which I also vaguely remember, was not the polo match. The point was Prince Charles getting knocked out. But you only remember it because there was also a sporting event involved, and that’s what you’re interested in.”

“To be fair,” said Andrew, “I’m also interested in Prince Charles getting knocked out. If you have any other stories about that, I’d listen.” He stopped and tilted his head sideways, thinking. “What I need to do when I talk to you about sports,” he said, “is to make some kind of connection to the Royal Family. That would interest you and get your attention. And when you talk to me about the Royal Family you need to make some kind of connection to sports. Attention problem solved.”

“That sounds logical,” said Rose, “but how on earth would you make a connection between hockey and the Royal Family?”

Andrew thought about that for a second. “Like this,” he said. “I would say I can’t believe all four top teams in the NHL, including the first-place team in the Eastern Conference, which used to be known as the Prince of Wales Conference, were eliminated from the playoffs… ”

“There used to be a Prince of Wales Conference in the NHL?” Rose interrupted. “How did I not know that?”

“I have no idea,” said Andrew. “I thought EVERYBODY knew about the Wales Conference and the Prince of Wales trophy.”

“Oh, that explains it,” said Rose. “I thought it was called the Whales Conference, not the Wales Conference… ”

“It IS called the Wales Conference,” said Andrew.

“I know,” said Rose. “But I thought you said Whales Conference.”

“I did say Wales Conference,” said Andrew. “I’m confused. I said Wales Conference and you heard Wales Conference and then you say, ‘oh I thought it was Wales Conference,’ which makes no sense.”

“I thought it was Whales Conference, with an h in it,” Rose explained. “But you meant Wales Conference without the h.”

“There’s no place to put an h in Conference,” said Andrew, now even more confused. “Chonference isn’t even a word.”

“Not an h in Conference,” said Rose. “An h in Wales. As in, not Wales, home of the Welsh and Anthony Hopkins, but whales with an h as in, large mammals living in the ocean.”

There was another pause as Andrew pondered this. “This is the most interesting conversation I have ever had about hockey,” he said.

“Same here,” said Rose. “In fact, this is the ONLY interesting conversation I’ve ever had about hockey.”

“I wonder who will win the Prince of Wales trophy this year?” said Andrew.

“I wonder if you asked the Prince of Wales who he thought would win the Prince of Wales trophy this year, if he would even know what you were talking about,” said Rose.

“Probably not,” said Andrew. “He’d probably say ‘whaaaat?’ and fall off his horse.”

“And that would be the most interesting thing to happen in the NHL all season,” said Rose.

Andrew picked up his paper. “I can’t argue with you there,” he said.

The post A most interesting conversation about hockey appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

“Good morning,” she said. “If it is a good morning. Which it’s still too early to tell.” She turned back to her reading. “I made tea,” she added.

“It’s Saturday and my roomie made tea,” said Jennifer. “It is definitely a good morning.” She took a teacup from the cabinet and poured herself a cup, then opened the refrigerator in search of milk. “If I fried up some eggs and bacon would you have any?” she asked.

“No,” said Kendra. “But thanks for offering.”

“Good,” said Jennifer. “I don’t actually feel like cooking. I shall have a bowl of Cheerios instead.” She proceeded to follow through on that idea and a minute later sat down at the table with a bowl and the teacup in front of her. “Whatcha readin’?” she asked.

“I’m reading an informative article about a guy who tried to beat a breathalyzer test by eating his underwear in an attempt to absorb the alcohol he had been drinking, in order to keep it from entering his bloodstream,” said Kendra.

“I have to ask,” said Jennifer. “Did it work?”

“Apparently yes,” said Kendra. “He blew .08, which is the legal limit.”

“This is why you should always carry a fresh pair of underwear in your glove compartment,” said Jennifer, “along with your bottle of vodka.”

“Believe it or not,” said Kendra, “this is not the stupidest thing I’ve read on the internet today, and it’s barely 10 o’clock.”

“Dare I ask?” said Jennifer. “What have you read that’s more stupid than eating your shorts?”

“Donald Trump says windmills cause cancer,” said Kendra.

“Huh,” said Jennifer. “Who would have guessed. Maybe Don Quixote was on the right track.”

“Who’s Don Quixote?” asked Kendra.

“Oh come on Kendra. Everybody knows who Don Quixote is. You know, The Man of La Mancha? One of the greatest novels ever written? Don Quixote, the self-described knight, best known for his frequent altercations with windmills?” Jennifer took a sip of tea. “Too bad the windmills clobbered him every time. Maybe if Don had been successful in his quest to rid the world of them, the world would be both windmill and cancer free today.”

“Maybe Donald Trump is a reincarnation of Donald Quixote,” said Kendra.

“Oh my god, that would explain everything!” said Jennifer. “Especially his windmill comment.”

“Well, I don’t know if it would explain everything,” said Kendra, “but it sounds as though it might explain a lot.”

“Do you know,” said Jennifer, “why Don Quixote was off his rocker?”

“Of course I don’t,” said Kendra.

“Because he read too many romantic novels,” said Jennifer. “So many that he couldn’t tell the difference between the novels and real life.”

“I read a lot of romantic novels,” said Kendra, “but I have never even considered putting on armour and attacking windmills with a sword.”

“No,” said Jennifer, “but you did fall off your horse once and then refuse to let me help you up because you were waiting for some rugged cowboy named Colton, with an open shirt and a ten-gallon Stetson to come along and rescue you.”

“I think I might have had a bit of a concussion,” said Kendra. “And a broken heart. Dang Colton. So unreliable.” She paused in her reading and looked up. “Are you going to the country today to see your folks?”

Jennifer nodded. “I’m going this afternoon. I’m gonna have dinner with Mom and Dad and probably stay over till tomorrow because I won’t feel like driving back to the city because it’ll be late and I’ll probably have a glass or two of wine.”

“And I bet you don’t have a pair of underwear in your glove compartment,” said Kendra. “Can I hitch a ride?” she added.

“Sure,” said Jennifer. “I’ll tell Mom to put an extra plate on the table. And you are correct about the underwear.”

“Never mind the extra plate,” said Kendra. “I want to have dinner with my folks. I feel like I haven’t seen them in a month.”

“You saw them the second weekend of March,” said Jennifer. “So that IS a month.”

“That explains it then,” said Kendra. “Thanks for the ride. We should take the long way around through St. Leon.”

“Why?” asked Jennifer.

“So we can stop and sabotage a few windmills,” said Kendra. “Do our bit in the fight against cancer.”

“Do you have armour or a sword?” asked Jennifer.

“Nope,” said Kendra.

“Me either,” said Jennifer.

“The windmills win again,” said Kendra.

“From now on,” said Jennifer, “I say we just call them winmills.”

The post The stupid things you read on the Internet appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

A grey Chevy Silverado sped by and honked twice, once in greeting and once in goodbye. Andrew paused for a second, wondering whose truck it was, then raised a hand in a belated gesture of acknowledgment. Whoever. Doesn’t really matter, he thought. He slammed the truck door closed and headed into the café.

Grant Toews, Bob Bargen and Jake Robertson were already seated at Andrew’s usual table, by the window. They nodded in greeting as Andrew pulled the last empty chair out and sat down. He picked up the empty coffee cup and held it out to the server who had magically appeared at his elbow and the young lad poured him a steaming cup of brew.

“I’ll have my usual,” Andrew said.

“Very good,” said the boy and turned away.

“Wait a minute,” said Andrew, and the boy turned back. “Do you know how to butter toast?” said Andrew.

The boy looked puzzled “Yes,” he said. “Yes I do.”

“Do you really though?” said Andrew. He pointed at a piece of toast still lying on Grant’s plate. “Would you say that that piece of toast is buttered?”

The lad took a second. “It has butter on it,” he said uncertainly.

“Good answer,” said Andrew. “It has butter on it, indeed. However, if you look closely son, you will see that it also does NOT have butter on it. Those two things are true at the same time. There is a life lesson in that for you. Two opposite things can be true at the same time. That piece of toast is buttered, yes, in the centre, but it is not buttered at the edges. Do you see what I am getting at?”

“You want your toast buttered all the way to the edge?”

“Exactly,” said Andrew. “We understand each other. And you look like the kind of person I can trust, which is not always the case with servers in this establishment. Last week I got an order of toast which, as far as I could tell, the kitchen staff had laid next to a pound of butter for 10 seconds and assumed that some of the butter would migrate by osmosis onto the surface of the bread, which of course it did not. The server then brought me that toast and tried to pass it off as buttered. Needless to say I had to send him back to the kitchen with a stern warning not to let it happen again. I hope we can avoid a repeat of that little episode this morning.”

The server nodded agreeably and made as though to leave, then turned back a second time. “Just to be clear,” he said, “in your opinion Mr. Jackson, would it be possible for there to be too much butter on a piece of toast?”

Andrew pondered that for a moment. “Truthfully,” he said, “I have never considered that possibility. I suppose it is a possibility though. In the same way that you might have a day with too much sunshine or a night with too much sleep you might also have a piece of toast with too much butter. But I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s not likely to happen and if it does, all I will need is another piece of toast so I can make a toast and butter sandwich.”

“Very good,” said the young lad and headed back to the kitchen.

“Wow,” said Grant when the boy had gone. “I could grind flour, bake bread, slice it, put it in the toaster, toast it, butter it and eat it in the time it takes you to order a slice of toast.”

“But would your toast be properly buttered?” said Andrew. “That is the question.”

“I have to agree with Andrew,” said Bob. “Toast is, in its pure form, simply a delivery vehicle for butter. So the only pertinent question is, does it deliver?”

“And is it burnt?” said Jake. “That’s another pertinent question.”

“Of course,” said Andrew. “Nobody wants burnt toast. Except Frank Friesen. And Frank also puts ketchup and mustard on pizza so clearly he’s insane.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“So, are we going to flood this year or not?” said Bob at length.

“Yup,” said Grant.

“Nope,” said Jake.

“Could go either way,” said Andrew.

Bob nodded. “That’s exactly what I think,” he said. “Good that we’re all on the same page.”

Andrew raised his mug. “Here’s to spring,” he said.

“Spring,” said Grant. “Always in the same place, right around the corner.”

The post A ‘toast’ to spring at the local café appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

“Not a lot of people gonna agree with you on that,” said Andrew. “The consensus is it’s been long and cold and awful.”

“I’m not arguing that,” said Brady. “But I’m not a farmer. I run a body shop. So just add the word slippery to that list of miseries, and it’s a recipe for my success. When I hear the phrase ‘freezing rain’ in the forecast my brain just hears it as ‘ka-ching’!” He took a sip of his drink. “I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person,” he added.

Andrew pondered that for a moment. “Well frankly,” he said, “I think running a body shop does kind of make you a bad person, but I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. It’s not like you’re a chartered accountant or a tax lawyer or something horrible like that.”

“Good point,” said Brady. “Body shops are a necessary evil, right? Somebody’s got to do it.”

“That’s right,” said Andrew. “If it wasn’t you it would be someone else. Probably someone whose ethics and integrity are even more questionable than yours.”

“Wait a minute,” said Brady. “Are you saying my ethics and integrity are questionable?”

“You run a body shop,” said Andrew. “Duh.”

“Another good point,” said Brady. “But in my defence, and in defence of body shop owners everywhere, when you’re dealing with MPI on a daily basis and trying to make a living you kind of have to fine-tune your morals a bit to make it work.”

“Fine-tune your morals!” Andrew laughed out loud. “Good one! Probably in 10 years you’ll have your morals fine-tuned to the point where you could get into politics.”

Brady frowned. “OK now,” he said, “that’s just offensive.”

“Sorry,” said Andrew. “My apologies. I was way over the line there.” He turned his head to the doorway as his wife Rose appeared with Brady’s wife Amanda and little Michaela. “Hello ladies,” he said. He extended his arms and Amanda walked over and handed his granddaughter to him. Andrew propped the child up on his lap. “How’s my little Miki?” he asked. Miki responded by grabbing the pen from Andrew’s shirt pocket and waving it wildly around. “Careful there girl,” said Andrew. He took the pen back and placed it out of reach. “It’s all fun and games till somebody loses an eye.”

Rose settled herself into the chair next to Andrew. “What exciting topics are we discussing today?” she wanted to know. “Curling? Hockey? The weather?”

“Ethics and morality,” said Brady.

“Oh,” said Rose. “Good. I thought you might be talking politics but obviously you’re not.”

“Obviously,” said Brady.

“Next we’re going to talk about dinner,” said Andrew. “Because that’s coming up shortly and I’m getting hungry.”

“I vote for pizza,” said Brady.

“We’re not voting yet,” said Andrew. “We haven’t even discussed options. Anybody have other suggestions besides pizza?”

“Pizza sounds good to me,” said Rose.

“I like pizza,” said Amanda. “As long as it’s not ham and pineapple.”

“Well of course it’s not going to be ham and pineapple,” said Andrew. “That would be horrible.”

“I like ham and pineapple pizza,” said Brady. “Especially from Niakwa Pizza.”

“There isn’t a Niakwa Pizza within 50 miles of us,” said Andrew, “so never mind.”

“Niakwa Pizza’s ham and pineapple is so thin they can deliver it by fax,” said Amanda.

“Well anyway,” said Andrew, “we’re not getting pizza delivered by fax. We’re getting it delivered by Devin, because he’s the delivery guy for Guy’s Pizza on main street which is the only pizza restaurant in town so we don’t have a lot of choice.”

“Guy should deliver his own pizzas,” said Brady. “Then he’d be Guy, the pizza guy from Guy’s.”

“Guy makes the pizzas and Devin delivers them,” said Rose. “If Guy started delivering them, then Devin would have to make them and that would not be a good idea. Not if you know Devin.”

“Everybody knows Devin,” said Amanda. “I mean, he’s the pizza guy.”

“Devin owes me,” said Brady. “I fixed the bumper on his Mazda 323 for next to nothing after he ran into Mrs. Brown’s garage door while delivering a meat lover’s special, because he couldn’t afford to make an MPI claim because he already has like a zillion demerits. He’ll probably give us free delivery if I make the order.”

“Is that ethical?” said Andrew.

“It’s fine tuning, said Brady. ”And it’s five bucks off.”

“That’s ethical enough for me,” said Andrew. “Pizza it is then. All in favour?”

“No ham and pineapple,” said Amanda.

“Amen,” said Rose.

The post A question of ethics and integrity appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

Her younger brother Andy lay next to her in a similar position, holding a stuffed tyrannosaurus in one hand and a toy John Deere tractor in the other.

“Yes Allison?” said Rose Jackson, who was seated on the couch across the room. “What is it?”

“Look at my little brother,” said Allison. “Isn’t he the cutest baby ever?”

“He is adorable,” said Rose. “Although he’s not exactly a baby anymore.”

“But he’s soooo cute,” said Allison. She sighed. “Look at him. This is what Mom and I have to put up with on a daily basis you know.”

Rose laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” she said. Andy rolled over and sat up. He laid the stuffed toy down on the carpet and proceeded to drive over it several times with the toy tractor while making tractor noises with his tongue. “I guess that’s one way to take care of a T-Rex,” said Rose.

“T-Rex’s are very dangerous,” said Allison. “And they are bigger than a tractor so you have to be careful. Otherwise they will eat all the sheep.”

“Eat all the sheep?” said Rose. “But wouldn’t your guard donkeys chase away the T-Rex to protect the sheep?”

Allison pondered that for a moment. “They maybe would try,” she said, “But donkeys are smaller than a tractor so the T-Rex might not be afraid. Maybe it would just make the donkeys go in the barn and stay there till it was finished eating the sheep. That’s why Daddy has a big, big tractor. In case of T-Rex’s.”

“Has anyone ever told you,” said Rose, “that dinosaurs died out about two million years ago? There aren’t any left. So the T-Rex’s won’t be coming by to snack on your sheep any time ever. And the reason your daddy has a big, big tractor is so he can do the farm work faster when the weather is nice — which it almost never is.”

Allison looked doubtful. “Even still,” she said. “You never can tell with dinosaurs.”

“Funny,” said Rose, “that’s what Winnie-the-Pooh says about bees.”

“What?” said Allison.

“You never can tell with bees,” said Rose.

“You never can tell what with bees?” said Allison.

Rose had to think about that for a second. “I hardly remember,” she said. “I think Pooh meant you never can tell with bees whether they are the right kind or not.”

“The right kind for what?” Allison wanted to know.

“The right kind for taking honey away from,” said Rose.

Andy got up and threw the stuffed dinosaur in the general direction of the unlit fireplace.

“Careful there sonny,” said Rose. “We don’t throw things into the fireplace.” Andy toddled over to pick up the toy again, then toddled back, handed it to Rose and clambered up to sit next to her on the couch. “Thank you,” said Rose.

“I would never take honey away from bees,” said Allison. “I would get honey from the store so the bees could keep their honey in case they got hungry. Also, if I took the honey away from the bees they might sting me. I got a bee sting once. It hurt very, very, very, very much.”

“Do you remember what kind of a bee it was that stung you?” asked Rose.

“It was one of the ones with a stinger,” said Allison.

“That is definitely true,” said Rose.

“You know what I was thinking?” said Allison.

“No,” said Rose. “I do not know what you were thinking.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” asked Allison.

“If I said no, would you tell me anyway?” said Rose.

“Yes,” said Allison. “Because I was thinking I could really use a cookie just now.” At the word cookie Andy turned and slid off the couch and headed purposefully in the direction of the kitchen.

Rose looked at her watch. “Would you look at that,” she said. “It’s exactly cookie time. How did you know that Allison?”

“My tummy knows when it’s cookie time,” said Allison, “and then it reminds me.”

Rose stood up and took the little girl’s hand. “What kind of cookie are you hungry for?” she asked.

“What kind do you have?” asked Allison.

“Oatmeal chocolate chip,” said Rose.

“Oh goody,” said Allison. “Those are my favourite, favourite kind.”

“Well then it’s lucky we have them,” said Rose.

“You know what else is lucky?” said Allison.

“What?” said Rose.

“It’s lucky you’re not my mom,” said Allison. “Because my mom never says it’s cookie time before lunch.”

“That’s because at your house it never is,” said Rose.

“I’m glad I’m at your house,” said Allison.

“So am I dear,” said Rose, smiling. “So am I.”

The post Tractors and T-Rex’s appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.

“That’s the same as it was here,” said Andrew Jackson, who was finishing off a plate of bacon and eggs. “Big deal.”

“Plus 36 though,” said Grant. “Not -36. The night we left it was -34 at the airport and five hours later when we got off the plane it was +34 where we were.”

“That was a bit of a shock to the system,” said Grant’s wife Karen, who had finished her pancakes and was stirring cream into her coffee.

“Not an unpleasant shock though,” said Rose Jackson, before taking a bite of her toast. “We’ve been there. That feeling is quite pleasant as I recall.”

“I hate my ancestors right now,” said Andrew. “They could have gone so many places. Brazil. Argentina. Central America. Arizona. But no. They wandered onto this frozen Arctic wasteland, took a look around and decided this was perfect. What was wrong with those people?” He shook his head sadly.

“I’m pretty sure your ancestors didn’t arrive here in the middle of February,” said Grant. “They probably showed up in July, when it was hot and sunny and too dry for mosquitoes. It’s very deceptive, as you know. There are times when this country seems perfectly habitable.”

“True enough,” said Andrew. “There was that day in 1988. That was a nice one.”

“I remember that,” said Rose. “We had a barbecue and I remember thinking ‘this is not so bad.’ If our ancestors arrived on a day like that I can see why they might have decided to stay. Of course the next day we had a huge hailstorm and the garden was ruined, and the barley on the back forty was destroyed. But the day before was nice.”

“You should have come with us to Mexico this year,” said Grant. “We had a blast.”

“What do you think we are?” said Andrew. “Made of money?”

“Oh come on,” said Grant. “It doesn’t cost that much. You could easily afford it. What are you planning to do? Leave all your money to your kids? What a waste. I say spend it now, on things that make life here almost bearable. And nothing makes life in Manitoba in February more bearable than being somewhere else.”

“I can’t argue that,” said Andrew. “That is a true fact Grant. And that’s why all your relatives live in Abbotsford.”

“Exactly,” said Grant. “Which is for us, incidentally, another thing that makes living here slightly more bearable.”

“Well maybe next year,” said Andrew. “We’ve pretty much decided we’re going to need a warm holiday next winter.”

“In fact,” said Rose, “it’s the only thing we’ve talked about for the last month. What else can you do? When it’s 50-frickin’-degrees below zero outside every day, you either spend all your time complaining about it or you spend all your time dreaming about going away. After a while you get tired of complaining.”

“While you were complaining and dreaming about getting away, I was taking surfing lessons,” said Grant.

“You learned how to surf?” said Andrew. “Cool!”

“No,” said Grant. “I didn’t. But I took lessons. What I learned was how to eat sand, drink saltwater and look like a complete idiot.”

“That’s true,” said Karen. “Grant turned out to be really good at all three of those things. Surfing, not so much.”

“Surfing is really hard,” said Grant. “You have to time the wave perfectly and stand up on your board in exactly the right place and then you have to balance exactly right so the nose of the board doesn’t either dive into the sand or take off into the sky like a Saturn 5 rocket. The closest I came to success was one time when I just lay on the board and accidentally caught a wave, and then I rode it in to shore like a six-year-old on a Boogie Board. I was pretty proud of myself.”

“I am living my life vicariously through you right now,” said Andrew. “There are palm trees and pelicans and five-foot breakers and I’m doing face-plants in the sand and getting conked on my skull by my surfboard.”

“That’s me all right,” said Grant. “To a T.”

“I was getting a massage on the beach the whole time,” said Karen. “Which did not include eating sand or drinking sea water.”

“That’s my kind of massage,” said Rose.

Andrew raised his coffee cup. “Next year in Puerto Vallarta,” he said.

“You already said that last week,” said Rose. “You gonna say that every week till next year?”

Andrew looked at the blowing snow out the window. “I don’t know,” he said. “Depends on the weather.”

The post Sixty degrees of separation appeared first on Manitoba Co-operator.