23. januar 2023 An Oral Tradition

    “Scared the b’jesus outa my wife last night,” Sven said to Pete Fugleberg, or would’ve said to Pete had he been alive; being since he walked-on what will be 11 years ago now come July. This event was exactly what Pete would’ve particularly enjoyed hearing about. “I shot a big ol’ icicle off a corner of the house with the ol’ Mossberg 340KA 22 bolt action.”

Pic of Pete

    Sven could see Pete’s eyes light up and his grin grow wide below his big mustache and above his big full reddish-brown beard. “She musta shot off the couch like she was shot from a cannon, talkin’ to her son on the phone as she was, then hollered through a living room window that she opened in a panic, “QU'EST-CE QUE SAM ENFER, SVEN?”                         ("WHAT THE SAM HELL, SVEN??")

    “That icicle was big as a deer’s hindquarter Peter,” Sven said sitting down by his desk to kick off his snowy Arctic Pro knee-high boots. “An’ hanging precipitously, over my beloved propane grill that I cook on two or three times a week, from a corner of the dormer on the east side of the shack. I was in danger of gettin’ kilt, I tells you, should she let go unsuspected like.

 

  “Heh, heh, heh,“ Pete would’ve said, his eyes all a-twinkle in anticipation. "I had to get south of the house a-ways sose I wouldn’t hit the eave spout nor the fascia board,” Sven said settling his elbows on his cluttered writing desk like he was aiming through a rifle scope an’ all.

    Knowin’ Pete would’ve asked him with a sort of evil glee, how far he had to shoot, Sven answered, “I started out ‘bout five rods beyond the Twelve Oaks. There was some low hangin’ branches I had to negotiate; and the snow was deep there so my footing was iffy. I only had to hit the heaviest portion of it to bring the whole thing down.

   "Then there was that other roof angle from the sun porch sort of in the way," Sven continued, never letting his arms drop or moving from his line of sight. "That chunk of ice was a widow-maker for shure. Never saw such a honkin' icicle in me life.

    “Y’know, I dint think about that .... ,” Sven answered his late friend of once-upon-a time considerable size and frame. Twirlin’ his beard in sudden contemplation, he continued, “... maybe Monique could of ‘arranged’ for that icicle to get that big by running a trickle hose onto the roof from the upstairs bathroom and build ‘er that big Petrus, for I do have a weighty life insurance policy, but NAH! She loves me in her own way; she's not gone and done anything unusually nasty.

   “Sose I went back even farther, another rod or two, to get to where I could lean against something,“ Sven said. “Had to, for I shakes a little now into my 70s. I ain’t as rock steady as I was as a youth. I’m sadly older than you ever got, my friend, not that I’m complaining.

"I got settled in just right," Sven said."

    “I got settled in ... just..  right ...,” Sven said, aiming at a target on his Man Cave's wall. 

    “And BAM! Shattered that big ol’ icicle into a million and six pieces!” shouted Sven. Pete, of course roared at the spectacle too. “You’d a-thought I unleashed an avalanche! Hooyah!

    Steaming, Monique angrily strode back and forth across the living room, then shouted to the son awaiting her return to their conversation,  

 "LE BASTIDE TIRAIT DES GLAÇONS SUR LA MAISON !!"

                                        

(The bastid was shooting icicles off the house!!)