Skip to main content

The Hose-Man of Buckingham Drive


My father had a hobby. I could have called him a hoser -he liked hockey and the odd beer- but he was over-educated for the slang, so I'll call him the man with a hose. The hose-man of Buckingham Drive had an obsession: Washing cement. Dirt and pebbles had no place to hide. And every little tree trying to grow between the cracks stood no chance against the hose-man. 

Have hose will spray

His routine started with a car wash, next he watered flowers, the lawn, and then he finished with tree plucking, cement washing. It could have been ninety-five degrees, but there he was wearing his faded blue foundry coveralls, courtesy of Ford Motor Company. Underneath he wore a Pepe’ Joe standard issued white (fruit of the loom) tee shirt. The boxers I won't mention. Somethings you just don't talk about more than once. I went into detail in my post about laundry day at Wassi Lodge. To complete the attire; slip-on black safety boots. There was only one thing missing: A better hose.

            The gift that keeps on giving 

My mother decided that since she had received her share of unromantic practical gifts from her husband, that a fifty-foot rubber hose and reel was a good idea. Call it a payback. But my dad was on cloud nine. A new toy. He no longer had to roll the hose up by hand; he just had to turn a knob. The payback was soon to come.

Stay away from the spray

My dad would spend the whole afternoon watering the cement and waiting for an opportunity to soak anyone in his path. My mother would open the door a crack to tell him lunch was ready, but he was ready too. Like an outlaw spraying a saloon door. Gotcha! She thought she was safe doing dishing. The sink had a couple opened windows letting in a welcomed afternoon breeze. There was only one problem: Dad wanted to help her cool off. The hose-man of Buckingham strikes again. Gotcha! The screen windows were powerless to the stream of his high powered prankery.  She was soaked and the kitchen floor which probably could have used the cleaning anyway, was a puddle. I wouldn’t be surprise to hear my mother utter her go to rant "Wouldn't that just frost you" The moral if the story:

     Never give a man a hose with a hair                                  trigger

   

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Humming

We have a rose of Sharon bush in front of our  living room window. Every year it attracts humingbirds. Now the blooms are bursting with color. I patiently waited for this little guy to return.  Expectation and joy brings colors to life. The fluttering of wings, the souls delight.  To savor the nectar of a the new day. That is just the hummingbirds way.
Post a Comment
Read more

A pane in the glass

One pane of glass. One red, white and blue basketball. And one frustrating day in the window repair business.    My father was very good at repairing windows. He had plenty of practice. Our backyard was our arena, our stadium and the scene of many sporting errors.  Who done it? It all started on our one-lane road.  Every homeowner could hear the crack of the bat and then the smash of a ball. Where it came from, no one knew. We split, leaving the bat suspended just above the dust cloud. Not a kid in sight. Who done it was an unsolved mystery. All they could see was the weapon, the bat, the ball and the glass now littering the living room floor. Opps Things were different in our backyard. A wayward slapshot way upstairs. Crash. A change-up and a foul tip. Smash. Today's error: a basketball. A hook shot, nothing but air and glass. Bang. Shortly after the initial impact we heard something else, my father cuss "Friggin Kids" It was the only f word my dad was all...
Post a Comment
Read more

Teachers Toast

One class I wasn't a big fan of was Home Ec. I had already learned most of what I needed to know from my mother and my sisters. Mr. Long, our teacher and chef, is dressed in white, from his paper chef's hat down to his shoes. He has two prominent features: a  Fu Manchu moustache and a wandering eye. For that reason (not knowing which one to look into), I never engaged in conversation.  Today's lesson is breakfast preparation. Some kids are across the hall, setting up the teacher lounge for breakfast. Every place setting is decorated meticulously. There is a huge coffee urn gurgling in the corner. Teachers are hovering, waiting for their morning elixir.   I am in the kitchen learning how to paint lightly browned Texas toast with butter. Every slice has a round circle of yellow that never seems to reach the edges, stacked on a plate. I never understood why they gave us a paintbrush instead of a knife. I found this unacceptable. I have never spread my favourite spreadables t...
Post a Comment
Read more