Up on Chrismoose Mountain

We decided to spend a family weekend together in the cabin on the mountain just to have some fun and relax together in the snow before we head off to the Island for Christmas. We had a wonderful time. The guys felled the perfect tree and we all rode home on the “sleigh” -the old flatbed trailer-singing Christmas carols and sipping cocoa. We decided we needed a little warm up when we got back to the cabin, so we leaned the tree against the porch rail and headed in for some more cocoa.

A short time later, we were in the garage getting the Christmas decorations. Aunt Irma, who’d been napping, got up and went looking for us. She was still groggy from her cold medicine and stumbled through the house and out onto the front porch where she tripped over a pair of galoshes and fell into the tree and right off the porch. We heard her yell for help. By the time we got out there, she was halfway down the drive, riding that tree…pink flannel nightie and bathrobe, pink fuzzy bootie slippers, and Cher hair flying behind her. She was headed right for the old logging road everyone uses to get around on the mountain. -In fact, she almost t-boned the neighbors on their snowmobile. They veered off, went over two small snow banks, and landed nose first in the third one. I think we’ve been dropped from their Christmas card list.

Aunt Irma and the tree stopped just at the edge of the old road at the bottom of the hill. Fortunately, the guys got there almost immediately with some warm blankets to rescue them. We got her tucked back into bed and sipping on some hot tea, and we all went back to bringing the decorations into the house and untangling lights and such. Someone thought it would be a good idea to have an early lunch or late dinner at the local café. Thomas said he needed to change the spark plugs on his old truck to make sure it would run, and would do that a little later…which was right about the time Aunt Irma woke up and wandered into the garage in search of us.

By this time, we were all in the den warming up after our snowball fight. The little ones were napping and the rest of us were relaxing in front of a nice cozy fire. Thomas had pulled his truck into the garage and was busy under the hood. We never saw her go into the garage. Did I mention before that Aunt Irma is a bit nearsighted? She saw that old moose head on the wall and let out a blood curdling scream. We heard the scream, the horn honk and the hood slam, some tools clattering to the floor, and the crash when Thomas, who’d stepped back onto the creeper, hit the garage door. Then we heard all about the things women do that drive Thomas crazy and why they shouldn’t be allowed into the garage, and what’s wrong with “crazy family” get-togethers, and everything else that Thomas is not happy about.

Aunt Irma decided that old moose head was “poor old Rudolph the reindeer” and we’d forgotten him. We all got to the kitchen just in time to see that old moose head coming through the kitchen door. Naturally, everyone scattered. I corralled Aunt Irma and “Not the Rudolph” (aka) the old moose head, and after I help Aunt Irma get dressed, I’m hiding all the ladders on the property…and Aunt Irma’s cold medicine. Lord, help me if she gets loose on the roof.


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