As we dress for the cold winds of winter, here is a true tale. Bank or bush, always check your deposits.
When I dig out my work clothes for some heavy duty tasks, there’s generally an adventure in store. Not the task itself that may or may not be completed but in the summer is always celebrated by ending with a cool one out on the deck. And the task itself is usually – but not always the adventure.
Recently my adventures have been watching Pickle and his cronies paint the eaves of the old Anglican Church next door. There they are perched on the upper reaches of a ladder planted in the raised bucket of Reg’s tractor. I simply program 911 into my speed dial, set up the lawn chair in the shade, and enjoy the acrobatics. So far the most promising excitement will be the tantrum Reg throws when he gets home and sees the religious white paint spattered on his newly painted tractor. Relax Reg- consider it a christening.
Back on point, when I tried to pull on my work boots yesterday, after I had managed to suck in my gut and get my foot started in, the program came to a screaming halt when I discovered the stockpile of seeds some rodent had managed to secrete in my size 14s. Fortunately the rodent was not in so no furious fur ball went screaming up my pant leg to wreak its vengeance. I thoroughly shook out the contents of the second shoe before struggling into it… then I paused for a cool one.
Not everyone has such a pleasant end to dealing with work clothes. Take my professional friend Tool Box. His friends call him Pro, others just call him Tool. On an early spring fishing trip on the Rainy, a boat load of dedicated fishermen were braving the frigid winds and drizzle in pursuit of the wily walleye. All were suffering from hypothermia except Pro, who was snuggled down into his super insulated sub-zero coveralls, with his hood protecting his proud features and insulated gloves and boots protecting his extremities.
The over generous pre-fishing breakfast started things rumbling and demanded attention. The rest of the crew probably would have been willing to call it a day, except for the torrent of snide remarks they had been receiving from Pro all morning on their lack of preparedness. Finally after much pleading from Pro of the dire consequences of any further delay, they dropped Pro on the muddy shore miles from any civilized facilities. Pro scrambled madly up the muddy bank and disappeared into the bushes.
Urgency demanded the coveralls, hood and all be shrugged off and peeled to his ankles along with his trousers. Then it was squat- just in time- and blessed relief.
Finished, it was too cold to tarry. Up came the trousers, a quick shrug back into the toasty coveralls, and finally to cover those delicate features, a quick flip to reseat the hoodie…
That’s when it became evident, that ‘haste makes waste’… in the hoodie.
Don’t know if the gang caught any more fish, but raucous laughter is a sure cure for hypothermia.