The Little Cabin Who Liked Winter Best
Boxing Day Blues • The Old Farm Couple • Ladders Make Terrible Shoes
One Minute Wit
Boxing Day Blues
I guess I just don’t understand the British.
The day after Christmas, I flew to London and couldn’t find a single boxing match taking place.
Not much of a Boxing Day, in my opinion.
Well, at least I got to watch Dr. Who.
As a kid, when I saw Boxing Day on the calendar, I actually thought it was a day for boxing matches. I never said I was smart.
Like most holidays, its meaning got blurred with time. I did a little research and found that its origins may date back to the European custom of having an Alms Box in the narthex of churches for donations to the poor.
In the UK, Boxing Day was traditionally the day after Christmas, when the servants of the wealthy were allowed to visit family. Employers would give the servant a box of gifts, bonuses, or leftover food for their families.
Another practice common in the 17th century was to give tradesmen a Christmas Box with money or presents on the first weekday after Christmas as a reward for their service throughout the year.
I would love to hear from some of my UK readers on how you celebrate (or don’t) Boxing Day now.
50-Word Story
The Old Farm Couple
“I’m scared, James. Twenty days without rain. If we lose the crop this year, we’ll lose the farm.”
“I know, Darling. I’ve stood out in the field every day praying for rain.”
Suddenly, the skies opened up.
James walked outside into the downpour.
“Where you going, James?”
“To thank God.”
Other Stories
The Little Cabin Who Liked Winter Best
The little cabin liked winter best.
For in the wintertime, its humans wouldn’t venture out for long before returning to its warm embrace.
Humorous Fiction
Ladders Make Terrible Shoes
Ladders make terrible shoes. I didn’t want to believe it, but I am willing to admit I was wrong.
Wearing ladders as shoes may be a good workout — my legs are as strong as steel girders now — but they are not conducive to getting anywhere on time. You can’t drive with ladder shoes on. You can’t take the subway either. Or a cab. So you have to walk, which is fine. I like to walk. But walking has its own set of issues.
Walking while wearing ladders as shoes makes it hard to turn left or right. Even walking straight can be problematic. I tried to cross a busy boulevard, when suddenly, I couldn’t move. I looked down, and a car had stopped on one of my ladders. I shouted, “Are you blind, Mac? Get off my shoes!”
[Looking back, perhaps New York City wasn’t the best test city.]
Apparently, Mac was not too keen on running over my ladder to begin with. Who knew Corvette tires cost that much? So raising my voice was probably not the wisest reaction. Well, Mac decided to jump out of his Corvette — which was rather easy since it was a convertible — and see how well his fist would fit against my nose.
I thought about running, but you know, ladder shoes. Then I thought about slipping out of the ladders and running barefoot. But the forty rolls of duct tape, three yards of canvas, and twenty-five bungee cords needed to secure my feet to the ladders proved a strong deterrent to escape.
Mac hit me with his best shot. I am not sure if I imagined it, but I thought I heard Pat Benatar laughing right before I blacked out. When I awoke, I decided Rocky was a more fitting name for Mac.
By the way, being knocked unconscious with your feet strapped to ladders makes falling down awkward. I flopped around like Dick Van Dyke playing Caractacus Potts pretending to be the toy presented to Baron Bomburst in the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. That is, if Caractacus had ladders strapped to his feet. It was not truly scrumptious; I can tell you that.
Even Central Park was a disaster for ladder shoe walking. Those business people on their electric scooters think they own the road. Such language! I accidentally knocked over twenty picnic baskets, and I broke a woman’s ankle trying to cross Bow Bridge. The giant-bubble guy at Bethesda Terrace made me part of his act by standing on my ladders and launching giant bubbles at me, repeatedly. I was drenched in bubble soap. But we did split forty bucks later.
I decided that the city was no place for ladder shoes. So I headed out west.
I soon discovered that ladders also make terrible snowshoes. Especially in June in Sedona, Arizona. Not that it couldn’t snow in 114-degree heat — unless you believe that science stuff — but there was precious little snow to be found. So I decided Pikes Peak in Colorado would be my next stop.
I rode the cog railway up to the top of the mountain, secretly strapping my ladders to the top of the train. When I reached the top, it was frosty cold, and there was snow everywhere. I put my ladder snowshoes on and started walking toward the edge to take in the view. It was slow going. Aluminum is slippery on snow. But I eventually made it to the edge of the mountain top.
To get close enough to look down, I had to let about four feet of my ladder hang over the edge. To my utter astonishment, which quickly turned to concern, a flock of Bald Eagles decided my ladder snowshoes looked like a good spot to land. As each eagle landed on my snowshoe ladders, the ladders started tipping forward. By the time the tenth rather chubby eagle had landed, I was beyond the tipping point. I started sliding down the mountain. Naturally, those chubby eagles didn’t stick around to enjoy the ride. They flew away. Chickens.
Ladders may make terrible snowshoes, but they make excellent skis. My downhill velocity was increasing by the second. I thought perhaps I had invented a new sport — ladder skiing.
I was rocketing down the mountain. Then I reached the tree line.
My ladder shoes hit two trees. Inertia took care of the rest. The ladders instantly pivoted up and over the tree, sending me cartwheeling through the sky. I don’t know how it happened, but I landed upright on the road. Four people with five interlocking ring logos on their jackets held up cards with the number 10 on them. That was weird. Sparks were flying as I skidded down the road and gently slammed into the back of one of those bicycle adventure tour vans. It was a good thing my nose was already broken.
When I regained consciousness, I noticed that the bikers had cut me free from my ladder snowshoes. I jumped up, grabbed the ladders, and screaming like a madman who had just stubbed his toe on a ladder snowshoe, I let the ladders fly over the edge of the mountain.
I was convinced. Ladder shoes (and ladder snowshoes) are a stupid idea.
The bike tour operator let me borrow a bike, and I rode down the mountain with the group. That was cool. Then I flew home.
I haven’t been up on my roof since. Because I no longer own a ladder. And probably never will again.
Happy Monday.
Mark
"The Little Cabin" warmed my heart. Ladder shoes was great! Maybe he should have used them as stilts instead!
I liked “The Little Cabin…” best, Mark. Great illustration!