In
honour of all the bears we seem to be sighting, this is my story from
2010 from my book "The Get-Over-Yourself Self-Help Book" written before I
understood bears...
The Unbearable Lightness of Beans
The bear was sitting at the entrance to the deck looking at me. Well, at first it was just looking at me but then, it decided to gaze off into the trees in a very zen-like fashion as if it was contemplating the meaning of life and I was just some static in the way of the transmission of a universal collective unconsciousness. It seemed to be having a revelation.
This I could perfectly understand given that it had just salvaged the trashcan leftovers of a frozen cabbage-roll entree that I'd found on special just last month at Walmart. I myself felt that very same way after having tasted the stuff. I'm certain those leaves were not cabbage at all but then, the Walmart spokesperson insists they were, even though I insisted right back that if I'd dried those damn things out and smoked them I would have gotten far more bang for the buck I'd say. They never listen to me, these spokespeople; that's because they earn their degrees in Communications and then spend their entire working careers trying to find ways NOT to communicate the truth as it really is, such as the use of psychotropic "cabbage-leaves-my-arse" in their entrees. But anyway...
The bear had resumed looking at me. It wasn't a major bear, really. It was a little bit bigger than the dog, but considerably more hefty... a "big-boned" bear. I figure it could easily have wrestled me to the ground and killed me dead, so I was grateful to see I apparently had a Buddhist bear on a spiritual quest at the end of the deck instead.
The only reason I knew, of course, that we had a bear was because the neighbours were good enough to call out and let me know. The dog, who goes into an apoplectic barking frenzy over june bugs and chipmunks, was sitting at the other end of the deck looking at me... quietly. Now, the thing was, I had to walk towards the bear in order to get to the door in order to open it in order to tell George to call
the fire department, an ambulance, the SPCA, my sister in New Zealand, Chelsea Pizza and CSIS.
Anyway, I decided to walk towards the bear because sometimes you must throw caution to the winds and leap headlong into your destiny or lack thereof. The bear lifted its paw and continued to look at me. It was obviously a bear with some fashion sense that gravely disapproved of my orange striped outfit, because he shook his head back and forth in deep condemnation. I just knew I should have bought the other outfit instead, but the salesladies were completely disinterested in helping me choose because all they do is spend their days watching to see if you're shoplifting instead of helping you make a decision between plain plaid and orange stripes. I figure I'd have had better luck if I'd brought the bloody bear to the store for an opinion. Not that he seemed like he'd be the kind of bear that would like to go shopping, really, I was thinking.
So I opened the door... I did this apparently for the dog. The dog, deeply relieved, practically knocked me over as she ran like the wind itself into the living room to cower behind the recliner where George was watching a documentary on the building of the White Canal by slave laborers in Stalinist Russia.
"George," I said, "there's a bear on the deck." Given that the bear was about six feet away, I thought I did rather well keeping my voice and all.
"Don't be silly," said George.
George, as it turns out, was no help whatsoever because we ended up in the kitchen arguing over whether to use the fire extinguisher or the rocking chair to defend ourselves. Eventually we decided to scare the bear by banging pots and pans, which didn't work out so well because George wanted to use the cast iron skillet along with the brand new Teflon-coated crepe pan. Well I couldn't have that! So we eventually found ourselves standing out on the deck peering into the now darkening landscape with an eggbeater, a broom, and a can of Heinz old-fashioned maple-syrup beans.
The bear, having listened in on the debate, had left, no doubt deciding to forsake all forms of civilization thereafter--which is a good thing... for a bear with any sense whatsoever.
Next, we may be discussing why Hitler was a better dancer than Stalin.
The Unbearable Lightness of Beans
The bear was sitting at the entrance to the deck looking at me. Well, at first it was just looking at me but then, it decided to gaze off into the trees in a very zen-like fashion as if it was contemplating the meaning of life and I was just some static in the way of the transmission of a universal collective unconsciousness. It seemed to be having a revelation.
This I could perfectly understand given that it had just salvaged the trashcan leftovers of a frozen cabbage-roll entree that I'd found on special just last month at Walmart. I myself felt that very same way after having tasted the stuff. I'm certain those leaves were not cabbage at all but then, the Walmart spokesperson insists they were, even though I insisted right back that if I'd dried those damn things out and smoked them I would have gotten far more bang for the buck I'd say. They never listen to me, these spokespeople; that's because they earn their degrees in Communications and then spend their entire working careers trying to find ways NOT to communicate the truth as it really is, such as the use of psychotropic "cabbage-leaves-my-arse" in their entrees. But anyway...
The bear had resumed looking at me. It wasn't a major bear, really. It was a little bit bigger than the dog, but considerably more hefty... a "big-boned" bear. I figure it could easily have wrestled me to the ground and killed me dead, so I was grateful to see I apparently had a Buddhist bear on a spiritual quest at the end of the deck instead.
The only reason I knew, of course, that we had a bear was because the neighbours were good enough to call out and let me know. The dog, who goes into an apoplectic barking frenzy over june bugs and chipmunks, was sitting at the other end of the deck looking at me... quietly. Now, the thing was, I had to walk towards the bear in order to get to the door in order to open it in order to tell George to call
the fire department, an ambulance, the SPCA, my sister in New Zealand, Chelsea Pizza and CSIS.
Anyway, I decided to walk towards the bear because sometimes you must throw caution to the winds and leap headlong into your destiny or lack thereof. The bear lifted its paw and continued to look at me. It was obviously a bear with some fashion sense that gravely disapproved of my orange striped outfit, because he shook his head back and forth in deep condemnation. I just knew I should have bought the other outfit instead, but the salesladies were completely disinterested in helping me choose because all they do is spend their days watching to see if you're shoplifting instead of helping you make a decision between plain plaid and orange stripes. I figure I'd have had better luck if I'd brought the bloody bear to the store for an opinion. Not that he seemed like he'd be the kind of bear that would like to go shopping, really, I was thinking.
So I opened the door... I did this apparently for the dog. The dog, deeply relieved, practically knocked me over as she ran like the wind itself into the living room to cower behind the recliner where George was watching a documentary on the building of the White Canal by slave laborers in Stalinist Russia.
"George," I said, "there's a bear on the deck." Given that the bear was about six feet away, I thought I did rather well keeping my voice and all.
"Don't be silly," said George.
George, as it turns out, was no help whatsoever because we ended up in the kitchen arguing over whether to use the fire extinguisher or the rocking chair to defend ourselves. Eventually we decided to scare the bear by banging pots and pans, which didn't work out so well because George wanted to use the cast iron skillet along with the brand new Teflon-coated crepe pan. Well I couldn't have that! So we eventually found ourselves standing out on the deck peering into the now darkening landscape with an eggbeater, a broom, and a can of Heinz old-fashioned maple-syrup beans.
The bear, having listened in on the debate, had left, no doubt deciding to forsake all forms of civilization thereafter--which is a good thing... for a bear with any sense whatsoever.
Next, we may be discussing why Hitler was a better dancer than Stalin.
No comments:
Post a Comment