December 26, 2009, Vol. 1., No. 6
TABLE OF CONTENTS
(in scroll-down order)
THE BEARS OF WALDEN PUDDLE
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
Dr. Whipple's bears may not realize it's Christmas, but they make the day for her. This year she goes even deeper into hock so they can make fashion statements.
A WALDEN PUDDLE CHRISTMAS CAROL
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Dave Le Barquipe, proprietor of the Village Idiot Pub, is the richest man in Walden Puddle. He owns the only bar in town ... in a town where owning a bar can make you rich overnight. He's also cold-hearted, bitter, and stingy, and he likes it that way. Dave seems like a lost cause. So did Ebenezer Scrooge.
THE TALK OF WALDEN PUDDLE
reportage from the Agreeable Doughnut Cafe
Self-help expert Dr. Louis Arroyo, described in his own press kit as "Walden Puddle's answer to Wayne Dyer, only humbler," gives tips on New Year's resolutions. PLUS: Excerpts from the powerful Christmas Sermon of the Rev. Alvin Bisonnette.
THE BEARS OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
Notes from the Field, Plus Expert Advice
by Dr. Ursula Whipple
Field Notes: December 12. My Ph.D. in field biology comes in handy this time of year. Thanks to my Ph.D., I can read bear body language. After Thanksgiving, I start watching my bears for hints about what they want for Christmas.
This year, Janie and Maybelle both wanted plaid dirndls. But they didn't specify which clan tartan they wanted! Stewart? MacGill? McKenzie? MacIntosh? Which one? There's a million different clan tartans out there. Tell me which clan tartan you want, dammit!
It pisses me off when the girls don't get specific. I confess, I do it myself. This is a trait of females in every species. We say things like, "Please get me that thing over there." If it's two women talking, that's fine. Women mystically know what "that thing" is supposed to mean. So they fetch "that thing." Men, however, don't understand what women want when they say, "Get me that thing in the kitchen."
Men ask themselves: What thing? Butter knife? Can opener? Telephone? Grapefruit spoon? There are a lot of things in the kitchen. Which thing does she want? This puts a strain on many relationships. Certainly the ones I've had.
Anyhow, I went shopping on the Internet, and I got Janie a dirndl in a beautiful blue Clan Stewart Hunting Tartan, which goes with her eyes. And I got Maybelle a dirndl in a lovely red and green Clan MacAlister Ancient Tartan. Now Janie and Maybelle won't clash on New Year's, which would be awkward. I also got Doris some junk jewelry.
Otherwise, it was a routine year: earmuffs, scarves, old-fashioned long red underwear with the crap-flap in back. I did splurge on Alonzo; I got him a beautiful Boston Bruins hockey sweater. I love hockey. It is the most fashion-conscious sport, and also with strong overtones of violence. I think that is why I chose to study bears, too.
Field Notes: Christmas Morning. The bears are opening their presents and trying to eat them. It used to discourage me when they did that, but now I understand: It is simply the Wisdom of Nature at work. Anyhow, they give up pretty quick, trying to eat thermal socks, and then they start batting them around.
I shot Alonzo in the ass with a tranquilizer dart, and I put the Boston Bruins hockey sweater on him. I had to use the winch and the forklift to sit him up straight, but it was worth it. All the girls are following him around, sniffing that sweater. Alonzo is quite the ladykiller today.
After Alonzo, I shot Janie and Maybelle in the ass with tranquilizer darts, and I dressed them up in their Clan Stewart and Clan MacAlister tartan dirndls. That took a little longer because I had to recharge the forklift. Maybelle started to wake up, so I had to shoot her in the ass a second time. But now that it's all said and done: They look divine.
The bears don't know it's Christmas, but they sure make mine. As a trained field biologist, I am not supposed to get emotionally attached to my study subjects. That's what they taught us at Central Montana Normal, when I made it to class. We were supposed to maintain what they called professsional detachment. Screw that. I love my bears.
Dr. Ursula Whipple is a freelance animal behaviorist and a contributing editor of Walden Puddle. Since 1990 she has lived in an abandoned cabin near town, studying the local bear population and being studied by them in turn. Often referred to, by herself and her mother, as the "Jane Goodall of the North Woods," she shares her field notes with us twice monthly, because no scholarly journal will publish them.
A WALDEN PUDDLE
CHRISTMAS CAROL
(from The Walden Puddle Chronicles)
1179 words
by the Walden Puddle Writers Uncooperative
Christmas Eve 2009
Dave Le Barquipe, the owner of Walden Puddle's only -- thus favorite -- watering hole, the Village Idiot Pub, had just called last round early, at six p.m. It was Christmas Eve, and he wanted to go home. He didn't have much to go home to, being freshly divorced and missing his two young daughters very much, but home was still home, for lack of anything better.
The four customers in his bar didn't see it that way. The last place they wanted to be was home. Each ordered a double of whatever he had been drinking all afternoon. Dave sighed. In fifteen minutes, he promised himself, he would call time.
Dave had once been a monk, studying for the priesthood. If he were tending bar in those days, he would have been reprimanded by his superior. But he also would have been a more compassionate bartender. He might have kept his bar open a bit longer, precisely because it was Christmas Eve, and his customers had even less of a "home" to go home to than he did.
Somewhere along the way, Dave had lost it all: his faith, his compassion, his hope. Simple as that. As profound as that.
He had left the monastery on a wicked December day, walking into sleet that blew horizontally, stinging his face like pebbles. The Abbot, Father Francis, had asked him to reconsider.
"Could you repeat that, Dave?" asked Father Francis.
"I don't like getting up at four in the morning," said Dave.
"And you regard that as sufficient reason to leave us? On Christmas Eve, of all days?"
"What can I say? I'm a night owl."
"Dave, this is frivolous. Are you poking fun at me?"
"Why would I ever do that, Father?"
"I believe you are poking fun at me. Keep in mind, Dave. I am the Abbot."
"And I'm the Costello. So long."
With that, Dave walked out. His bitterness was already showing, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness that would poison his marriage and make him mean, covetous and, because of those traits, extremely rich. No one in Walden Puddle liked Dave Le Barquipe, but because he owned the only bar in town, he was regarded as a necessary evil.
"Time, gentlemen. Time," said Dave. "We're closing."
His four customers looked up at him, their eyes sorrowful and needy, like the eyes of puppies who had been handled too roughly.
"I said we're closing," Dave repeated. "I can pour your leftovers into coffee cups."
His customers said nothing. Someone else did.
"I say," said one of three well-dressed gentlemen walking into the Village Idiot. "Are you Mr. David Le Barquipe?"
"Yes?" said Dave suspiciously, eyeing the impeccable bowler hats all three of them wore, and the long black umbrellas they carried. People didn't outfit themselves that way in Walden Puddle.
"Splendid," said the new customer. "We've come to save you from yourself."
"What?" said Dave. He noted the customer's British accent.
"To save you from yourself, old chap. You're in a spot of bother."
"And you are?"
"Christmas Present," said one.
"Christmas Past," said another.
The third said nothing.
"You're Christmas Future, right?" Dave said to the third one. "C'mon, Christmas Future. Try and scare me."
"Would you be so kind," said Christmas Future, "as to mix me a triple Rob Roy. No ice."
Dave flinched. As every bartender knows, Rob Roys are the choice of serious drinkers. No one had ever asked for a triple Rob Roy in Dave's bar before. The last man to ask Dave for a double Rob Roy had immediately taken the drink out to his car and poured it into the gas tank.
"A triple Rob Roy," Dave repeated. "No ice?"
"A triple, please. No ice. Ice dilutes things."
"Is this a joke? Who are you guys?"
"We told you."
"Two Spirits of Christmas, accompanied by a problem drinker?"
"Our friend has much to drink about," said Christmas Present. "Shall we commence?"
"No," said Dave. "I want to go home."
"You have no home, Dave," said Christmas Present. "You have a small, untidy flat where you sleep, keep your belongings, and to which you bring take-away pizzas."
"What business is that of yours?"
"Mankind is our business," said the Spirit. "Thus, so are you."
"Then get it over with, Mr. Looney Tunes," said Dave. "Show me my past, present, future. Then go back to the asylum."
"I shall go first," said Christmas Past. Suddenly Dave found himself no longer in the bar, but tumbling through time and space like a rag doll. Christmas Past showed him every wrong turn he had taken in his life, every sorrow he had inflicted on others, every opportunity he had missed to ease another's pain. He brought Dave back to the Village Idiot on Christmas Eve 2009.
Dave yawned. "Been there. Done that. Next?"
Christmases Past and Present looked at each other. Dave's reaction was not the usual.
"C'mon, Mr. Funny Farm," said Dave to Christmas Present. "Show me what I already know."
Christmas Present frowned. "Coals to Newcastle," he said. "I shall pass."
"Excellent," said Dave. He turned to Christmas Future. "Your turn, Smiley-Face."
Christmas Future pushed his empty glass toward Dave. "Another triple," he said. He drained the drink in three long pulls and slid a fifty-dollar bill toward Dave. "No need to break it, old chum," he said.
"You I like," said Dave to Christmas Future. "You want another?"
"Please."
Dave mixed him a third triple Rob Roy. He was curious now. He wanted to know from this hard-drinking Spirit what lay ahead for him.
"Tell me my future," said Dave.
The Spirit was silent.
"Tell me my future!" Dave demanded.
The Spirit looked up at Dave blankly. "Fuzhure? Whuh fuzhure? I'd'n know whuh fuzhure."
"You're supposed to know!"
"Whuh? Why zhuh I know? I'd'n know."
"You don't know?"
"I dun ho any-dubby's fuzhure," said Christmas Future.
"Why not?" Dave said angrily.
"Becuzhhhh ... your fuzhure ... is hup to yew."
Dave stared.
"You moke a toosty Rob Ree, my dood man," said Christmas Future.
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Christmas Past.
"We must be off. Other calls to make," said Christmas Present.
"Wait a minute, guys!" said Dave. Now, suddenly, he wanted the Spirits to stay. The thought that they were leaving, having told him nothing, struck fear into his heart. He felt the block of ice encasing that heart begin to melt.
Dave wanted nothing more now than to be like Ebenezer Scrooge himself, reborn on Christmas morning. He wanted to feel the throb of hope. He wanted to believe again ... in all that he had ever believed in, before he lost his faith in life, in himself, in everything.
"And so you will, Dave," said Christmas Present. "You will believe again."
Dave swallowed hard.
"Becuzhhhh your fuzhure," said Christmas Future, poking Dave in the chest with his finger, "is hup to yew."
"Thank you," said Dave.
"Didju juzh tell me to bugger off?" said Christmas Future.
"No."
"Are yew tryingggg to start sometheeg wi' me, sunshine?"
"No sir."
"Becuzzzzh I'll kig your flipping aszzzz."
The other two Spirits of Christmas gently led Christmas Future away. They waved goodbye to Dave at the door. As the Spirits of Christmas left the bar, a black London taxi pulled up. They climbed in and rode off.
"Well done, chaps," said Christmas Past.
"He'll change," said Christmas Present. "He'll be a good man again. I saw it when I glimpsed into his heart."
Christmas Future said nothing. He had lost consciousness.
"Bit of a sticky wicket, though," said Christmas Past. "It's not like the old days."
"Indeed not," said Christmas Present. "One has to adjust one's methods to the times."
THE TALK OF
WALDEN PUDDLE
At the Agreeable Doughnut, we chatted with Dr. Louis Arroyo, whose self-help column sometimes appears as a filler in the Walden Puddle Tattler. Dr. Arroyo's press kit refers to him as "Walden Puddle's answer to Wayne Dyer, only humbler and more realistic."
"New Year's resolutions fail," Dr. Arroyo told us, "because people want them to fail. People want to fail in general. They want to go through life licking their wounds. There's less pressure that way. So they make resolutions they can't keep."
What would he advise?
"Make resolutions for the first week of the year. Seven days is about the limit on self-improvement. You know it. I know it. PBS knows it. Quit smoking for a week. Eat a balanced diet for a week. Be nice to people for a week. Then go back to wallowing."
That sounded good.
"And thanks for the coffee," said Dr. Arroyo.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Rev. Alvin Bisonnette, pastor of the Walden Puddle Church of the Definitely Saved, sends this message ... comprised of excerpts from his powerful Christmas sermon ... to all Walden Puddlers.
"If you're a sinner, stay the hell out of my church on Christmas!
"Christmas was made for the saved! That's us! Not you! We don't take kindly to sinners!
"And neither does the Lord! He hates you!
"Sinners shouldn't get presents on Christmas! If you're a sinner and you get a present, give it back!
"I hope your central heating quits on you today! Sinners don't deserve central heating on Christmas!
"Plus I hope you go hungry!
"Sinners should suffer on Christmas! I hope you suffer on Christmas! I pray for it!
"My congregation bought me a brand-new yellow Mercedes for Christmas! I just told them so. You know why they did it? Because they love me! And they should! And so does the Lord! And He should, too!
"I deserve a nice present! Because I'm saved!
"And you're not! You don't deserve anything! The Lord hates you! And don't you forget it!
"That's why you're going to hell! Praise the Lord!
"And that's why I'm going to heaven!
"In heaven, they give you even more presents! If I was in heaven today, I would have got me a whole fleet of yellow Mercedes!
"In hell, you have to ride the bus!
"Stay off our property on Christmas! I'm warning you! We've got dogs out there! Go ahead! Make their Christmas!"
NEXT POST: January 14, 2010
FEATURING: Dave Le Barquipe's story isn't over. He wakes up on Christmas morning a new man, filled with hope and love for all. Later that week, in an unlikely setting, he meets Col. Biff Sanders, a former astronaut. The story Colonel Sanders will tell Dave, about NASA's most embarrassing secret ever, will blow Dave away ... in more ways than one.
THE BEAR FACTS: Dr. Ursula Whipple catches some male adolescent bears leering at the waitresses in Hooter's and lectures them sternly on the exploitation of women. She then goes back to her cabin, switches on some Pure Prairie League, and stares at a poster of Paul Newman -- shirtless -- in a scene from Cool Hand Luke.
BONUS ITEM: Your Infallible 2010 Horoscope! Cast exclusively for our readers by Irving the Wise, also known locally as Irving Weiss, the only CPA in Walden Puddle. Because very few Walden Puddlers need an accountant even once in their lives, Irving also does optimistic Tarot readings, horoscopes, and palmistry in his office fronting the Village Green.
Editor's Note: This post kicks off Page 2 of Walden Puddle with Issue Number 6. If you missed Issues 1 through 5 ... or would like to revisit them ... just click http://onwaldenpuddle.blogspot.com/ and you're there.
All printed matter in this issue of Walden Puddle copyright © 2009 Walden Puddle Gift Shop. All rights reserved. All photographs reproduced with permisssion. Original artwork courtesy of Aytsan.
