On the Alberta/Montana Border: A Lockdown Knockdown

Still here.

With Mom, Sally and Mort.

These months of lockdown have actually gone well.

No. I mean it.

The walls are still standing. The roof is on.

Even the plumbing and electricity are still working.

You have to know that, with Sally on the premises, any or all of these could be . . . iffy.

And, surprise bonus, Mort is a neat freak.

Seriously.

Who would have thought?

Now, more than ever, I think he and Sally are ‘MFEO’. Because, let’s face it, she needs a neat freak!

They are out on the back lawn even as I speak. Doing something (usually) mundane like playing croquet.

I’m hiding in here because . . . mallets . . . and Sally.

For some reason, I’m remembering Sally’s and my first day of kindergarten.

I think I told you Sally and I are ‘Irish Twins’. Both born at either end of the same year. Thus we went all the way through school together.

Sigh.

The school we first attended was a little one. Parked in the center of the housing development we called home.

For me, it was a confused time of new people, strange new routines, and lapping up driblets of wisdom.

For Sally, it was her graduation into a larger world of . . . possibilities.

And her introduction to food carried to school in a magical new thing called a ‘lunchbox’.

Sally had insisted that Mom buy her one with a mirrored lid.

It was probably the most aesthetically-pleasing of any on offer. Particularly when compared to the popular—but rather unimaginative—Little Ponies, Backyardigans and Babar.

Sally’s lunchbox plays a rather large part in my memories of our first day.

Let me tell you about it . . .

We had deposited our belongings in individual cubicles creatively labelled with our name, and parked our small selves on a carpet at one side of the room.

Our newly-minted teacher, Miss Rona, was about to begin instructing.

And that was where we came to grief.

Because Sally categorically refused to let go of her shiny new lunchbox.

All the sweet-talking and every trick Miss Rona could invent went into the next few minutes of cajoling.

To no avail.

The most she was able to achieve was to have said lunchbox take up position immediately beside said Sally.

Moving on . . .
Miss Rona began to tell us a story.

It was very soon evident that Miss Rona excelled at story-telling.

And I don’t mind telling you that me and story-telling are really great friends.

The whole class, including Sally, was enthralled.

All except for one young man, (the tallest and broadest in the class) who shall remain nameless, but who initials are ‘Alex’.

Alex was hungry.

And his lunch box had been properly parked in his cubicle.

Waaaay on the other side of the classroom.

Whereas Sally’s was right here.

Immediately accessible.

Now there must have been some super-sneaky moves in Alex, because he somehow contrived to slide that lunchbox away from Sally without her becoming aware of it.

Her unaware-ness continued through his consuming of…not only her sandwich, but also all of what would be her morning and afternoon snack.

And her drink-box.

Miss Rona’s story ended.

And Sally’s awareness resumed.

There was a shriek which made all of us jump.

There may also have been a case or two of pants-wetting-ness.

Sally was on her feet, brandishing the now-empty lunchbox like a modern, rather squarish mace and chain.

Five-year-olds scattered like a flock of frightened hens.
Despite Miss Rona’s increasingly frantic attempts, Sally stalked across the room…Alex in her sights.

I know what you’re thinking, but Sally didn’t clock Alex in the side of the head with her lunchbox.

Perhaps it was the whole ‘seven years of bad luck’ idea if the mirror broke.

Perhaps she thought it just wouldn’t be ethical.

Pfff. . . what am I saying?

Whatever her reason, Sally set the box down and looked up at the boy eyeing her carefully even as he towered over her. Then she clocked him in the side of the head with one little fist, knocking him right off his feet.

There was a shocked gasp from Miss Rona.

Sally shook her finger at Alex. “Not nice to steal! Didn’t’cha know that?”

“Sorry,” Alex mumbled, looking up at her and rubbing his head.

“Be nice!”

“K.”

Miss Rona finally succeeded in steering Sally away from the confrontation.

And into the principal’s office.
New rules were crafted that day for the entire school.

But the biggest one was never actually written.

Beware of Sally.

Are you with me?