by Barron B. Hoffbeck (no. 12513)

All across Hennepin County and no doubt, the rest of the world, songs ring out professing this the “most wonderful time of the year.” As I sit here in my office watching the falling snow reflecting in the motion-sensor floodlight of the side yard, lulled by the purr of Aggie (my Russian Blue), it’s not hard to feel the “holiday magic” crackling in the bones of the atmosphere. However, as the events of this week can attest, nefarious goings-on can lurk behind even the cheeriest spirit of the season.

Last Wednesday saw the annual Lodge 129 Holiday Jamboree and Cookie Bake-a-roo. I had volunteered for setup duty and I confess gentle reader that my patience already strained; why Locksmith P. Hagerty insists on bringing her peach tart year after year to the Cookie Bake-a-roo I shall never understand! But we along with Barron K. Warderly stood our duty like the terracotta army of red China–ever resolute, ever unblinking at the tyranny of years.

We, the three mother geese (née spring chickens!) of Lodge 129 set about sprucing up the muted earth tones of the lodge meeting chamber with holiday flair. Despite our best intentions, our red plastic tablecloths and exhausted tinsel wreaths failed to add much liveliness to the drab supper hall. A house sparrow simply won’t do when an artist dreams of peacocks. When Barron Warderly recalled seeing a set of snowman Fiestaware somewhere in the basement, I was only too happy to try and track down this much needed splash of wintry effervescence.

Eagerly, I descended into the musty annals of basement storage for my quarry, pushing aside memories of yesteryear–a pinebox derby track from the Junior Locks winter camp, a Judas Cradle from Usurper Summer, ‘71. Finally, I spied a plastic storage bin marked “XMAS” wedged beneath a writing desk.

As I knelt to slide out this bin I was greeted by the scurry of two small brown beetles! I stifled a scream and sent the fiendish creatures to their maker with a slap from a Horse Summer 2003 souvenir flip-flop handily discarded on the ground within arm’s reach. Adrenaline rattled me yet some dark impulse bid me continue–and there I saw it, a gray mass tucked in the corner beside the XMAS bin–a formless enigma shrouded in the grey-green half light of a naked 50 watt bulb. Gentle reader, I profess that a reel seems to be missing in the matinee of my memory for I don’t remember my reaching, feeling, grabbing, hoisting, et cetera and et cetera for when my memory’s reel had properly fitted itself in the projection screen of my senses I found myself clutching the dessicated corpse of an opossum. Needless to say, after a brief bout of shrieking, I immediately cancelled the Bake-a-roo and all further club activity until pest control could visit the lodge for vermin abatement.

The lesson here is that so often we steel ourselves against the threat of the invader that we sometimes fail to recognize the rot festering in our breast. Had we the sound minds to keep our lodge storage dry and clean, such evil would not have been allowed to permeate.

I’m reminded of famous Austrian Tumbler E. Schrödinger. Long before he found worldwide success with a much lauded “thought experiment” Schrödinger attained notoriety within the Order of the Grand Lock with his famously bad Christmas gift. The Tumbler ill-advisedly wrapped two gifts for his Lodge secret Santa–a kitten and a highly radioactive isotope–in the same box. Let’s just say it wasn’t the Guardians of the Orb shadow assassin that ruined the Lodge 6 Holiday Bake-a-roo that night!

Get your house in order, dear Lock and avoid the fate suffered by yours truly. Until next time, I’ll be washing my hands. Happy Holidays and toodle-oo!

From Volume 872 Issue 4 – Subscribe here, members, to be the first to get the next newsletter!