The Wise Novelist


I didn’t notice it at first. I thought the fairies had just taken their annual holiday to Navarre Florida. Jack The Spruce’s magic grotto was quiet, but it was cold and I didn’t spend a lot of time out there, so I didn’t give it too much thought. I should have guessed by the fact that Smokey came directly up on the porch and had been boycotting her bomb shelter and the grotto itself. And I noticed that any food I left out in the grotto spoiled immediately. The magic was gone. It felt like death.

I’m color blind, so it is hard for me to spot some things that would leap right out to others.

But I do recognize shapes. And I finally spotted a shape that sent chills down my spine.

It was the Boston “B.”

Now you must understand. If I hung that B on the back of one of my Bronx friends they would not last an hour before someone, or maybe a mob, would attack them and beat them to an inch of their life.

That assumes, of course, that the person that I hung it on didn’t spontaniouosly erupt into flames.

Someone in my (relatively) new Berthoud Neighborhood had marked me for misfortune.

It can only be the Eriksons. No other family could be so devilish at Christmas.

This proves that husband Brian really is related to Whitey Bolger.

And the wife, Janice, distracted me by leaving a beautiful bag of peanut clusters covered in chocolate on my porch. Though delicious, I never suspected it was a trojan horse.

I cannot even remove that thing without first researching and then applying whatever spells I need to lift the curse.

I have ordered a Hazmat suit from Amazon and my wife Lisa is bringing me home a Hazmat container from her job. I now need to find something in Home Depot that will allow me to remove it from at least 10 feet away. And the smell. . .

I may have to take it to Loveland and sneak it into the dump. If I’m caught I will no doubt be fined severely for trying to offload such hazardous waste.

I’m probably going to have to bring in the best NoCo arborist I can hire to treat Jack the Spruce, before he just kills himself and falls over on my house.

I’m going to have to hang my best Yankee hat in that exact spot for a year.

I may have to bury my autographed photo of Joey Pepitone standing with the Mick and Roger M beneath JTS’s roots to save it.

Until this treachery is countered, I have no choice but to enter and exit my house through the garage.

Well, I will slide Smokey’s food and water out onto the porch without gazing treeward this morning. No cuddles.

And then the rounds and torture, although the treadmill looks like a gift when I compare it to this Abomination.

I must get it down before the New Year or 2023 will arrive with bad Juju.

You fine, five readers wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

But don’t let that stop you from having a great day.

Stay tuned.

21 Responses

  1. Trust me. The Ericsons read my blogs the way Boston scouts the Yankees training camp each spring. I will be shocked if Janice and/or Brian don’t post a response on this blog. Bostonians are a devious bunch, but they are a openly devious bunch.

  2. Lord have mercy Tom! Apparently this rivalry is 300% more volatile than once surmised? It appears that this toxicity level far surpasses the infancy stage of the Houston contempt? By all accounts; The cauldron was poisoned from its inception – having already brewed for a hundred years plus – or so it would seem? Hats off my friend 🎩 – now that’s a humorous way to show loyalty and disdain- all in one fell swoop! Bravo 👏

    1. Tell those fairies if they are not back here before Spring Training I’m sending them back to England. They can watch cricket for all I care.

  3. Tom — I noticed you are repeating yourself. Does that have something to do with avoiding the curse?

    Tom — I noticed you are repeating yourself. Does that have something to do with avoiding the curse?

  4. And to think I wondered if you would run out of interesting characters to write about after TCT and FJM. You are surrounded by interesting characters you draw them in like flies to…..LOL! I’m not saying your shit… It’s just an analogy

  5. Hard to believe someone out there would stoop to such Satanic vandalism! Hope you get that thing down before your (and Luke’s house next door) property values begin to tank!

  6. Oh heavens, Tom! Don’t destroy the B! It came straight from Boston. You know we love you more than our luggage, no need to be so whiny. FYI – Blue and Jack were very welcoming. Always enjoy your good reads. Holiday Cheers!

  7. You have to love Bostonians. Curse you and then chastise you for whining!!!!! I will hold the “B” Ransom until the Yanks beat the Sox in the playoffs this year. At which point I will nail it upside down on the inside of Claire’s barn. And I’m sending both Blue and Jeter (I know you cannot say his name without bursting into flames) back to the Bronx for re-education. By the way, those chocolate peanut clusters are to die for.

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