http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/toronto/toronto-tunnel-dug-by-2-men-as-man-cave-police-say-1.2978109
Ever since I was asked to leave my UFO Watchers club and Fantasy Hockey League, I’ve been kind of lost and having a really hard time filling my days. My wife Rachelle suggested that instead of just lying around watching Friends on Netflix all day, I get a hobby, and so I did.
Tunnel Diary: Day 1
The best thing about my Hobby Tunnel is that it really puts me in touch with nature. It’s really going to be more of a “Fun-nel” than a tunnel! It’s so nice being alone in the forest with my shovel. The trees are my friends and I think digging a hole in the middle of the woods is an absolutely great hobby! I mean, it’s fantastic exercise and inexpensive! And I’m not scared, cold or lonely at all. Nope, my mind never wanders to worst-case scenarios, and I doubt very much that the curious assemblage of twigs, branches, dismembered dolls and a candle over there has anything to do with satanic ritual. The wind probably just blew it there like that so it’s reaching out to me like a message, not an accident. Nature sure is funny!
Tomorrow I will bring my iPod.
Reminder: Make digging play list.
Tunnel Diary: Day 2
Bringing the dog with me as company and protection was an excellent idea. It’s nice to be able to spend some quality time with her and watch her do something that she really loves. It’s true, Dachshunds are amazing diggers and she’s scared away at least two squirrels! Good dog, Heidi, good dog!
It’s funny though, whenever she goes near the dead doll shrine at the big oak she starts to whimper. Actually, looks like there’s a new disfigured doll over there today, one with a little pet dog doll.
Reminder: Research satanic rituals and voodoo.
Tunnel Diary: Day 9
All I think about is the tunnel, about how when it’s done it will be exactly like a long, narrow grave for many squirrels. How many squirrels? That’s a good question. Maybe 300, but it depends on the squirrels.
The trees have voices. My iPod cannot drown out the tree voices. Some trees like to share bad thoughts.
Tunnel Diary: Day 18
Today I killed a squirrel that strayed too far into our territory. It was a cleansing. I suffocated it with a zip lock baggie I had left over after my snack. (All the shoveling and tunneling really works up an appetite) In the wild you must learn to use anything you can to defend yourself and complete your mission. My grave tunnel will fit 666 of such purified squirrels, the exact number the trees require, and then the mission shall come to darkness.
Reminder: Remember to pick up tetra pack of white wine for tonight’s Game’s Night.
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And trailing behind us were two women, one young, the other middle-aged. They were in conversation and occasionally, when the dog idled, some of their words would come into focus.
“It was like everything I thought was real wasn’t, and I was sure I was crazy.”
“Well, they said I would have remained hospitalized but for that one thing.”
“I will never forget the look on his face when I opened the door and saw what was happening.”
“I can’t’ describe to you how sad I’ve been.”
The older woman, attentive and silent, was a witness. She was looking right into the still shocked eyes of her companion, determined to walk with her and listen for as long as it took– the movement bringing the story to the surface and freeing it, if only for a moment.
Further along a little boy held a pile of leaves and twigs in his hands, declaring to his father– who sat on a bench in front of a coffee shop– ” Making a nest is hard!” The father became a necessary expert, “Yes, it is, but birds are very good at it!” His wife, beautifully sunlit and scarved, rolled her eyes and smiled, “Your father’s nickname in college was The Birdman, did you know that, Alistair? He was famous for his nests!”
A middle-aged, maximally bearded man wearing a sweatshirt with something accidental on it, jogged along. He had an easy gait and appeared naturally athletic, but as he loped closer to us and then past, I could see that his smile was wild and uncontrollable and he was muttering to himself. His clothes filthy, he clutched a beaten five dollar bill in his long, thin fingers, and ran straight to the liquor store.
On our way home the dog bounced through the leaves, and an elderly woman in a wheelchair, still wearing a poppy on her blazers, smiled at us, “She looks so happy!” she said. I shouted back that it was a beautiful day, and the woman nodded crisply, “I will grant you that,” she said, before gearing her chair forward and buzzing across the street.
* (Photo of leaves courtesy of Debra Lary)
]]>“Oh, I just feel like stretching, really and thought you might like to sit down, and of course, I am a very, very classy man.”
“No, you’re not. I see the way you’ve been looking at that black girl over there.”
This took me aback.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t give me that,” she said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she pointed to a young woman sitting about 10 yards away. “Her, the one with the tits. I bet you just wanted to give me your seat so you could get closer to her, get a better look, eh?”
“ Jesus,” I said, “I wasn’t looking at her, I didn’t even know she was there.”
I sat back down in the seat.
“You’re at least twice her age. You could be her FATHER,” the woman declared.
Across from me a woman pulled a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed at the conjunctivitis that had taken hold of her left eye, and just over her shoulder her sat a woman of about 60 who had a look of abject defeat and exhaustion to her. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she had what must have been hundreds of old, cutting scars on them. Her hair was colourless and she seemed so spent on this planet as to be virtually a ghost.
The woman who did not want my seat looked back at me.
“What is it with middle-aged white guys and black girls, anyway? I mean, really? You think you have a chance?
“Look,” I said, “ I wasn’t looking at anybody. I’m happily married. I’m just a guy sitting on a subway, a guy who made the huge, terrible mistake of offering you his seat.”
I gave the woman a hard look, inviting her to say something else.
She looked like she was going to say something, but then she bent down, picked a penny up off the floor, put it in a plastic baggie and then moved along to the next car.
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