Conclusion to Loch Morrison

And finally, the conclusion of Loch Morrison

As shattered as my ego was and as jumpy as my nerves were, I was getting a little peckish. I headed to the kitchen to see what was left over from dinner. I already knew the main fridge had died but that a small portable one had been brought in. Found it. Some kind of alternate life style fridge, it was round and the door was at the top facing up. Not a lot in it. Potato peels, a half eaten apple and some scrapings and remnants of one of Vinnie’s veggie deals. Yuck! Tofu! I hate tofu. Tofu is a staple of vegetarians and vegans. For 30 years I’ve been vegetarian but I hate tofu. Tofu is about texture. From soft to very firm. It’s meant to take on the flavours around it. Ideally for example, a curried piece of firm Tofu would give you a “meat” experience. That’s a stretch. But I was hungry.

With my hunger gnawing away at me and my imagination run amok, the Tofu in the fridge smelled like bacon and eggs. The taste took a little getting used to but it was hitting the spot.

“Don’t eat that uncle Mike” I spun around at the sound of Francie’s voice “That’s shit”

Francie rarely criticized her brother’s cooking but perhaps they’d had a tiff. I thought I’d draw her out and so Mr. coolest uncle in the world says “who cooked it?”

“Nobody cooked it. A raccoon had a big dump on the deck and…………”

GAG GAG “You put it in the fridge?”

“That’s not a fridge. It’s a garbage can”

Let’s skip a few hours of gastro-intestinal hell to eavesdrop on Cassie and Francie sipping coffee on the deck as the first signs of dawn start to glow in the east.

“He’s ranting about a sea serpent or monster or something and eating from the garbage”

“Hmmmm, we should talk to Uncle Pat. Maybe Mike needs to see one of those, you know, demented doctors”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know…….ancient. Fossil like. Ever notice how he sorta morphs into Alastair Sim every December?”

“That’s not so bad. It’s when he’s channeling Moses that I get the creeps”

Jane is always on my side but she’s not above a sarcastic remark or two. I could say that today the sun won’t rise and she would say good thing she brought a flashlight. I could tell her an alien spacecraft was coming to abduct us and she would ask if it could stop at her house so she could feed her cat. 

So I decided to take her into my confidence. 

“Jane, have you ever seen any of those blurry photographs that claim to be of the Loch Ness Monster?”

“Sure. It’s a bit of a stretch but they sort of look monsterish”

“I saw one last night just a hundred yards or so from our dock”

“Yeah I’m sure” she said laughing “What were you smoking?”

“It tootled me. Sounded like Kenny G playing My Heart Will Go On”

“Good god…….that’s horrifying!”

“Look at this picture”

“That’s your monster?”

“Well, yeah”

“Look at this” she said

“What’s that?” I asked, already feeling small and dense.

“Enzo bought Mary an inflatable swan. We were supposed to tie it to the dock last night. We didn’t”

But What Of The Discordant Tootling?

Across the lake apparently, the Humber College music program was hosting a seminar for wind instruments. It was entitled “Overblowing and Squawking………… How To Avoid”.