Chitter chatter

So I’ve been gradually addressing a problem with my truck’s drive train making ghostly noises when I accelerate. Over the weekend I had my rear pumpkin replaced but now I need a friction modifier in hopes of quieting my chattering differential. There’s no reason any of you need to know this. I just really wanted to get “chattering differential” into a sentence. And now I have, so let’s move on.

USA! USA!

On Sunday, I tried my darnedest to avoid hearing about results from the U.S. vs. Canada hockey game for Olympic gold. I went out into the wilderness and spent the entire day communing with chipmunks, woodpeckers and snow-burdened pine trees that had no interest whatsoever in talking about hockey. Back in civilization, I ran screaming from anyone who looked like they might be about to speak about the Olympics. I kept my phone on airplane mode and refused to listen to the radio. In the end, my desire for a virginal hockey experience was thwarted back at home when I made the bonehead mistake of glancing at my computer screen for just a single second. There, in hateful, betraying pixels, was the conclusion of the game spelled out in bold letters and exclamation points. I shall refrain from repeating those words here for those of you who haven’t yet watched the game.

Important note

U.S. BEATS CANADA 2-1 IN OVERTIME FOR OLYMPIC GOLD! Ha! Got you!

LaFlamme convection or something

Monday’s blizzard was stupid, with its stupid wind and even stupider swirling snow. As the day progressed, I observed the amount of accumulated snow actually decreasing in some areas of my yard while increasing drastically in others. I’m pretty sure this kind of weather behavior has never been seen before and so I plan to contact NOAA to request that they name the phenomenon after the person who discovered it. Which is me, by the way. Try to keep up.

Deliver me

So, I had a single piece of mail that needed to go out pronto. No problem, I told my dumb self. I’ll just swing by the mailbox near the corner of Ash and Park streets in Lewiston that I’ve been using for roughly 30 years. I braved midday downtown traffic, stopped for a hundred school buses or so and swore a lot before finally arriving at the mailbox. Only there WAS no mailbox. There wasn’t even a hint of one. That bare patch of sidewalk seemed to say, “Mailbox? Here? You buggin’ son. Ain’t never been a mailbox in this spot.” I figure some bold Lewiston thieves probably swiped it, just liked they swiped all those parking meters a few years back. Something has GOT to be done!

A silver lining

It was while I was sitting stupefied in my truck where the alleged mailbox used to live that I heard the great news that 82-year-old Marie Van Nostrand was going to survive the injuries she suffered when she was hit by a car two weeks earlier. All my swears about the purloined mailbox turned to swears of relief. Yes, I’m one of those who swears when he’s happy, too. My shame is great.

Mark LaFlamme is an award-winning Sun Journal reporter and columnist. He’s covered the nighttime police beat since 1994, which is just grand because he doesn’t like getting out of bed before noon. He is the author of eight published novels and rides a dual sport motorcycle everywhere he goes. Unless it’s winter, in which case he just sulks a lot.