Que aime bien crainte bien

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I worked from home today because I needed to get an analysis of a large document in to my boss for him to review tomorrow.

Not having the usual distractions of the office, I finished it early and now have little to do.

So I will post pictures!

It's been raging wind here for a few days.  For the sailors among you, it's been blowing consistently at a minimum of 8 Beaufort, with low temperatures.  The worst was yesterday, with our local port proclaiming 10-13.



it's a pretty sheltered port, so there's a minimum of ice along the shore



For no reason at all, here's me and a bear. Please note this photo was taken after a sauna and before my excellent haircut.

I know, it seems that I have a rather large stockpile of crazy uncles.  Believe me, I do! 

I got the following email (shown here in its entirety) today from my kooky uncle H.  Prior to his retirement, he was an America's Cup sailor and few other things which all seem a bit strange if listed here.
 

Dr. Elizabeth CK Comber is approching 93 and has been described as frail.  I have yet to find her final book of  history and autobiography at a price I'm willing to pay. Aparently it was never published in paperback. I'm rather sure that her passing will be in one or morre of youir local papers, but will be ignored by almost the entire Fourth Estate on this side of the pond. Please let me know if you see a obit.

Your father is planning a "Big Trip" this spring. I'm afraid he may be biting off morre than he can chew. The travel time between planned stops strikes me as skimpy to say the least.

More than anything, I just love that he still refers to the press as the Fourth Estate.

Big doctor appointment today and he determiend that the haematoma is shrinking, no longer bleeding and I can go back to work 50%.

I was beginning to think Roman Polanski would get out of house arrest before I did.

If you're a woman beating, coke sniffing DEA agent involved with a schizophrenic lounge singer, it's probably a bad idea to give her a talking bird as a Christmas present. Then again, if you're a woman beating, coke sniffing DEA agent involved with a schizophrenic lounge singer you're probably not the kind to take good advice when it's offered.

Tony was my mom's boyfriend during my early teen years. They met at a club where my mom was singing and he was moonlighting in a mariachi band. Within a month, Tony and his dog had moved in with us. 

I didn't mind Tony so much, it was Skipper the dog who scared me. Skipper had been a working dog at the DEA. He was a beautiful husky with gorgeous eyes. He was also completely crazed. One second he would be a kind gentle animal, the next jumping on you, trying to take you down to the ground to get a piece of your throat. Skipper stayed outside, making our backyard effectively a no man's land.

You're probably not surprised to hear that the relationship was a rocky one.   My mom was on and off her meds and consequently on and off the planet earth. Tony snorted as much coke as he found, and when he mixed it with Beefeater gin, he was more violent than Skipper. 

After a particularly brutal December which saw both my mother and I to the ER several times from various "slips and falls" Tony offered her the mynah bird for Christmas. I don't know if the bird was male or female, but my mom named it Pecker. He gave me a rabbit, which Skipper would catch and eat within a week. 

Mynah birds are supposedly the most capable of imitating speech and Pecker didn't disappoint. By Valentine's day Pecker was constantly saying some of the phrases heard most frequently around the house.

The refrain from "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. My mom sounds just like her when she sings.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"Get me a drink bitch."

"The gun is in the bedroom."

"I'll kill you! I promise"

"Shit, grandma's here!"

 

Given the dynamics in the house, the police were frequent guests, and for the most part, after seeing Tony's badge and being told that my mom was unstable, they would nod solemnly and be on their way. This all changed after "the Valentine's day massacre".

Our next door neighbours had a giant Maine Coon cat that they stupidly let run around outdoors. The cat loved to sit on top of the fence and taunt Skipper. On Valentine's day, Skipper got hold of the cat and spread it all over the backyard. The neighbours could see the remnants of kitty in our yard came over to have it out with anyone who was home. 

They were banging on our front door when Tony roared into the driveway, extremely drunk. My mother opened the door, and an explosion of shouting ensued. I was too terrified to approach the front door, but I know that my neighbours must have taken off and called the police, because as my mom and Tony continued to fight on the step, a cruiser pulled up. The police urged them to calm down and go inside, they needed to talk to them about the dog.

Normally, Tony would have whipped out his badge and this would have been the end of it, but this time he was maybe too drunk and just kept shouting all the way to the living room, where Pecker's cage was. My mom was pretty upset and couldn't stop crying, Tony told her to calm down and when she didn't, he smacked her. The police got up to get Tony and he backed off, saying that she just makes him crazy sometimes, that he would never hurt her, and a million things I'm sure the police hear often.

Then Pecker chimed in with his hit parade.

"Craaaaaaaaazzzzzyyy"

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"Get me a drink bitch."

"The gun is in the bedroom."

"I'll kill you! I promise"

"Shit, grandma's here!"

This spun Tony into a blind rage and the police had all they could handle to get him down on the ground and handcuffed.

The police took Tony away, and the next day animal control came and took Skipper away. All the remnants of Tony disappeared pretty quickly, except for Pecker who led a long and vulgar life, with one more phrase he picked up on the last day Tony lived in our house.

"I'll kill all you bastards."

 

 

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