Following our eventful meet with ‘JM’, Uncle Gnarley requested a couple days ‘Close to the Ground’, as he was known to say. I assumed that this meant he had departed for his annual moose hunting gallivant, where he would partake in a week of reflection, introspection, and self- infliction. This would all then be followed by a great massacre on some remote barren in Central Newfoundland.
But after a number of days with no contact, I decided to take a drive down the shore and pay a visit to my cantankerous old friend. As I neared his door I could hear what sounded like rapid fire. A familiar sound from my youth, but one I could not readily place. Concerned, I cautioned ahead, and peered into the window. Well, it was like seeing a great moose in the headlights. There before me was the old economist himself, wearing only his wistered underwear. His old frame was whiter than the fresh snow.The clanking which alarmed me was coming from his old manual typewriter. Although I have never seen it in use, I know that the great man often referred to it as his ‘arsenal of democracy’ in homage to one of his personal heros. It was clear that Uncle Gnarley had a bee in his bonnet, and I naturally assumed that it was related to our recent encounter with ‘JM’.
To not startle the old man I knocked on the door.