A few weeks ago my wife asked me if I wanted to go see a Voodoo Lassie. I call her that because I have no idea if she is a medium, a witch, or what she is. I said sure. A lot, well, six other friends were going so I looked forward to having a good night out. Then I forgot all about it.
So the day arrives and I am reminded that we were going to see the Voodoo Lassie. This called for a quick change, clean jeans, nice shirt and a tweed jacket. We are heading north to Plymouth, I am told, so the jacket could be a good idea. I have heard the Yeti lives up there in the snow.
In the car I put the directions into my cell phone and find it is an hour and a half drive to get to Plymouth. A long drive north. I ask my wife if I need my passport but am told we will still be in New Hampshire.
Well finally we get to Plymouth and meet up with our friends at the Common Man Restaurant. I didn’t think much to the food, I said I did to keep the peace, but am not in a hurry to go back. Then I find out we are going to see the Voodoo Lassie at a place called The Flying Monkey. Well. The night is looking up.
Of course when we get to the Flying Monkey there is no parking to be had so we end up driving round. I did suggest that we just go home and that the Voodoo Lassie, if she is any good, will know that we came, couldn’t park so went home. That idea went down like a lead balloon.
We did eventually find parking just up the street from the Flying Monkey. There were no sidewalks so we braved walking on a road full of people in cars looking for someplace to park.
The Flying Monkey is just like a lot of small town movie theaters except for one thing. When you go in the concessions are right there in front of you. Hot food, beer, wine and candy all lovingly displayed drew me straight into the line. I reached the front and looked at the wines they were offering and opened my mouth to order when a poke in my back and a whispered “Don’t forget you are driving” turned the glass of wine into a box of Cow Tails.
I then followed wifie down into the theater and to our seats in the middle of the 5th row. Nice and close to the stage. Can’t miss a thing and can be seen from the stage so have to behave myself. I looked around and found that the theater was filling up. Everyone except me here to get a message from the dead. I can’t think why your dead parent would want to come back for a chat. They have put up with you for all the years, talking to you all that time, so why do they want to come back for a chat? No. They should be enjoying a bit of peace and quiet instead of wondering how the Patriots are doing.
Right on time some gentleman comes out on stage and introduces the Voodoo Lassie who then comes out on stage. No music or drum rolls. She just walks out and plonks herself in front of the microphone. She is a pleasant looking lady. Nice smile with a voice that I know is going to lull me to sleep pretty dam quick. She is dressed in some sort of body suit with a light, flowing dressing gown type cover that seems to float behind her when she walks.
She starts the show with a brief intro, explaining for those ignoramuses, like me, what is going to happen and how the evening will go then she gets into it.
“I have a spirit here” she starts, then waffles on describing who the spirit wants to talk with until a woman behind me puts up her hand and says she knows who he is. While this is going on I nudge my wife. “Where is the spirit?” I ask. “What spirit?” “You know. The spirit who is here. There is only her up there. How do we know who the spirit is if he doesn’t show up?” “Be quiet and listen.” I was hoping it would be like a Christmas Carol with ghosts popping in and out to chat. Oh well. I opened the box of Cow Tails.
This first woman certainly got the room going. You could feel the change. Suddenly everyone was at attention waiting to see if they would know the next spirit. As the show went on there would quite often be two or three people claiming to know who was coming through. These people were quickly and gently whittled down to one then off we went again.
I did start to nod off once but gave that up after getting an elbow in the ribs. “What?” I said. “I wasn’t snoring.” I looked at my friend next to me. He was sleeping.
My attention was drawn back to the show when the Voodoo Lassie started looking for someone who knew a spirit who had three dogs. One woman was up quick with a “That’s my uncle” when someone else jumped up. The conversation went something like, “I know him. With my three daughters.” “No. He has three dogs on leads. He walks them everywhere.” “No. It’s my three daughters.” “Definitely three dogs.” and with that the woman sat down again. I felt sorry for her daughters. Fancy having a mother that can’t tell the difference between you and a dog.
The show was winding down when she started looking for someone who knew a spirit that had been in the air force. No one was owning up to knowing him and I started to feel sorry for him. Fancy showing up and having no one to talk to. I nudged my wife. “I know it’s not my father but I think it might be brother Malcolm.” “What are you talking about? Mal is not dead.” “Well I hope not.” “So it can’t be him.” “Well maybe his cell phone has no signal and he needs to contact me.” “Oh. God. Shut up and behave. Don’t be standing up.” Just then some guy stood up and claimed the spirit. I was a bit disappointed.
Well the show finished and we swapped the safety of Flying Monkey for the death defying walk back to the car. On the way home I was asked what I thought about the show. I said that I thought the first woman was a ringer to get folks going and after that everyone was just eager to know the spirit and that it was a load of bull. I spent the rest of the journey home hunched in my seat in a disapproving
silence.
Will I go to another one? Sure. It is a night out and I get to have a dinner that I didn’t cook.
Category: Insights
Bulls
A good friend of ours goes to Manchester to watch the bull riding every year. This year she invited my wife and I to join her and her husband in Manchester to enjoy the show.
When the night arrived we drove over to Derry, switched to their car and off we went. After parking we walked over the road to the SNHU Arena, went through security, and wandered through the venue looking at all the merchandise for sale. I bought a hard seltzer and went over to the food booth. I wanted a hot dog with all the toppings except mustard, ketchup and pickle which meant all I got was a miserable looking dog in a bun. I did ask if I could have some of the cheese used to top the nachos. I would have got a better response if I had asked the bank for a gold bar.
We found our seats, made ourselves comfortable, and waited for the show to start. Actually, on time, two females came out with some sort of mascot, several guys came out and started pouring liquid into groves in the sawdust. I was just about to take a sip of my drink when there was a huge bang, sparks flying everywhere, the liquid they had poured caught fire and the people behind me were grateful that I had left the top on my drink.
After introducing the riders, no bulls were introduced which I thought was a bit mean, the show got under way. On the big screen we watched as the riders, one by one, spent about ten minutes getting ready to go, the gate opened, and the rider promptly fell off the bull. All that getting ready for a 3 second ride. But then, suddenly, a rider stayed on for the full 8 seconds. Wicked exciting. The rider scored 85.5 points. I would of given him 100 just because he got the crowd going. I was actually enjoying myself when, after the third 8 second rider, my mind drifted back some 54 years. Back to when I was 18 and went on holiday to Spain with a friend of mine.
I don’t remember the resort we went to but I do remember that we went to a bull fight. We quite enjoyed it then went out for a steak with a couple of girls we had met. Two days later we went on an outing to a farm where they raised fighting bulls. After looking around the place we had a decent pick nick lunch and after lunch, they came round asking if anyone wanted to fight a bull. Well. After a nice lunch and about ten gallons of sangria I was only to happy to sign up.
We all walked over to the makeshift bull ring. Everyone else went up the steps and sat down while myself, and three other guys, went into the bull ring and, after a quick lesson, went and stood behind the safety boards. Some guys dressed as clowns came out, took the first willing bull fighter, gave him a red cloak and left him in the middle of the ring waiting for his bull. The gates opened and a wee, baby calf came trotting out. Everyone laughed and cheered. The other two guys took their turns and I noticed that the bulls were getting bigger and bigger. Finally it was my turn so I walked out, took the red cloak and stood waiting for the bull. I had worked out that I was likely to get an almost full grown bull and I had also figured that I could outrun it back to the boards.
I was brought back to the present by my wife nudging me to see if I was still awake. I looked at her, smiled, and asked if we were going for steaks after, and would she go get me another drink at the next interval.
I got my drink, no steak though, and sat and watched the rest of the show. I actually enjoyed it and said that I would like to go back again next year.
We drove back to our car, said goodnight to our friends, and drove home while chatting about the show. Wifie said she would like to go to a full rodeo one day. I said that would be wicked good so we agreed to try to fit some time in to go back to Texas one day.
Oh. I guess you want to know what happened in Spain.
Well I stood in the middle of the ring waiting for my bull to be released. Full of confidence that I could outrun the fool thing. I looked round for the clowns but they were hiding behind the boards so it was just me in the ring. There was a crash and the gates shook and the sound of hooves scraping the ground filled the air. Just don’t run in a straight line I thought. Zigzagging is better.
Finally the gates opened and, a donkey came running out. I remember saying “what the f….k” and laughing as I walked over to the donkey and petted it. The talk and laughing carried on to the bus and we were still talking about it half an hour later when we got back to the hotel.
Rats
Smiths Island is a 61 acre island situated in St Georges harbor, Bermuda. It became home to the first settlement in Bermuda and is separated from the St Davids mainland by the narrows which are some quarter mile wide.
It was my wife who first found the house to rent on Smiths. A single floor, two bedroom house overlooking the narrows. It had its own dock along with being close to the main public dock. I say the main public dock very tongue in cheek as there were only three houses on the island when we moved there.
There used to be a banana plantation the island but that had been abandoned leaving the residents with more than enough bananas and Pawpaws to provide enough fresh fruit for the three families living there. Because of the bananas it was a good place to grow weed as the banana leaves would hide the growing weed plants from the occasional overpass by the police helicopters. The bananas also provided plenty of food for for the islands water rats.
Fortunately the place came furnished so, after purchasing a small 10 foot rowing boat, my wife, dog and I moved into our new island home. One of the first things we did was to modify the back screen door. It was solid mesh at the top but the bottom half of the door was split into two halves. We removed one of the halves of screen to make easy passage for the dog, a full grown German Sheppard.
As we never closed the back door this made a perfect entry/exit for the dog. We also inherited a tom cat that came to live with us when he wasn’t away on the mainland.
My favorite pastime soon became wandering over the island with the dog and coming home with a whole stalk of bananas and, after I had fashioned a forked stick, bringing home Pawpaws. It was great fun to flick the ripe pawpaws from the branches and the dog soon learn t to catch them as they fell and bring them to me.
On our arrival we placed the dogs food and water dishes close to the back door. We had trained the dog to graze so her food bowl was always kept full of food which looking back was our first mistake. Our second mistake was when the fridge broke down and we had to have a repair guy out to fix it.
On opening the back of the fridge a full grown rat ran out, and, jumping the hole in the screen door disappeared into the underbrush. The repair man didn’t seem moved by this and we thought it was just one of those things that happen on an island.
How wrong we were. About two weeks later I closed the bedroom door to prevent the dog joining us and was lying asleep in bed when my wife woke me up.
“Keith.” she said. “something just ran over me.”
“I think you must be dreaming” I said half asleep. “go back to sleep.”
To this I received an elbow in the ribs. “I am not dreaming.” Get up and check.”
“Oh ok.” I said and reaching over turned on the bedside light before relaxing back in bed.
My wife leaned over and whispered. “There’s a rat sat on the top of the light.”
I looked over and sure enough there was a large rat sat on top of the lampshade.
“Do something.” She said “Get rid of it.”
“No problem” I said . “It won’t stay there very long ‘cos it will burn it’s ass when the bulb gets hot.”
“Screw that” she said getting out of bed and walking to the door
I sat bolt upright in bed and said” Don’t open the door. Don’t open” was as far as I got as she opened the door and 80 lbs of German Sheppard came racing into the room.
Taking one look at the rat she bounded onto the bed and , climbing over me went for the rat.
My wife and I decided pretty quickly that discretion was the better part of valor and sat on the bed as all mayhem erupted around us.
The rat want under the bed, the dog went over the bed. The rat went into the open closet, the dog went into the closet and clothes cane out. Round they went for a good minute before the rat finally ran out the door with the dog close behind. We were looking at each other when we heard a loud screeching.
Getting up I walked to the kitchen to find the dog with a rat firmly held in her mouth and violently shaking it. As I reached her the rat fell limp and when the dog dropped it it was obviously dead.
I wandered back to the bedroom and looked over the shambles. Clothes all over the floor, The bedside table and lamp overturned and the bedding all over the place.
“Well that got rid of the rat.” I said
I got a dirty look and spent the rest of that night in bed with the dog sleeping between us.
It took me two weeks to reduce the rat population to a point where they stayed out of the house. The dog and I would lay by the breakfast bar looking into the kitchen waiting for some poor rat to appear. When they did I would let the dog go. Away like a rocket she usually caught the rat and would hold it until I gave it the Coup de grace with my butchers knife.
One time the cat came home and was sat on the breakfast bar when a rat came in. I looked at the cat, who was watching the rat and told him to go get. After ignoring me I pushed him onto the floor but he just jumped back up with an expression on his face which clearly said “Bugger you sunshine. You want it gone then go to it” Three seconds later the dog had it.
I noticed that we had the rat problem several times a year when the population grew larger than the food supply could support. I guess we could have put the screen back into the door to keep them out but then again, what would the dog and I have done for entertainment.
Halloween
My Birthday
My birthday is on a very special day. So special that it is celebrated throughout the world. From east to west, north to south and in every time zone. Although celebrated. very few people know how my birthday celebrations came to be. Until now.
Once upon a time (all good stories start with this) there was a race of peoples called the Picts. They roamed a land in the north of England called Alba, now Scotland. They were a fierce, warlike race. So bad that the Romans built a wall, Hadrian’s Wall, all across England, to keep them out.
At this time, the Picts worshiped Samhuinn (Scottish) or Samhain (Irish), both meaning Summer’s End. It was also the end of the pagan year when the sun gave way to darkness; The Celts believed that at this time the barriers between the worlds of the living and the dead were thinnest. And that people and ghouls could pass through into different worlds. During this time, the children would dress up and wear masks so they could go outside. And go from house to house looking for food, without the wicked ghouls and the dead finding them.
In the 16th century, the practice of wearing a disguise during this time of year slowly came to be known as Guiseing. This also brought in another change to the practice. Instead of asking for food at the doorstep, guisers now had to sing a song, tell a story or tell a joke if they wanted the food or candy.
In 1623, six men described as guisers danced in a churchyard and the parsons dooryard. They were each fined 40 shilling.
Also at this time, new customs started which continued into the 18th century. Engaged couples threw nits (nuts) into a fire. If the nuts burned quietly, the couple would have a wonderful future. If they fizzed and spat, it would be a troubled relationship.
Young men and women would go to the garden and pull stalks of brassicas and kale. The length and girth of the stalks would show the size of their beloved.
Apple Dookin (dunking) became popular, as did Treacle Scones. Scones dipped in treacle, then hung on string for the children to try to eat. I believe some people still carry this on using donuts instead of scones and treacle.
People also carved out turnips, put candles inside and carried them to light their way.
It was around 1786 that guiseing was given a new name that everyone knows today and was made popular by Robert Burns in his poem.
Halloween
Among the bonnie winding banks
Where doon rins wimplin clear
Where Bruce ance rul’d the martial ranks
An skook his Carrick spear
Some merry, friendly, countra folks
Together did convene
To burn their nits and pull their stccks
And havd their Halloween.
Halloween was exported to the US by Irish immigrants during the potato famine. It was soon adapted to the local environments. The customs of guiseing were lost, pumpkins replaced turnips, and Halloween, as we know it today, began.
I first became aware of guiseing when I moved my family to the Isle of Mull. We lived in a small community at Lochdonhead where my two boys attended the two-room schoolhouse. The headmistress’s first language was Gaelic and not only did she teach the children to speak the language, but also told them about all the old rites. On the island there was no Halloween, only guiseing. My boys memorized a couple of jokes and stories, and set out down the road around the loch we lived by. They came home later that evening promising they would never guise at the headmistress’ house again. They explained that not only did they have to tell a story, but they had to do it in Gaelic.
I have only one complaint about Halloween. It is my birthday. So how come children don’t bring me candy instead of me giving them candy?