The loud and intemperate knocking on the front door didn’t
just announce Uncle Gnarley’s arrival. It was a sure sign that Nav would have
no peace this Christmas.
Suddenly, broken Christmas lights and spouse’s irksome claims
regarding Nav’s diminishing utility were forgotten amidst an overcharged sense
of anticipation, one that the old man instantly inspired. Nav had not felt so happy
since Gnarley visited a couple of years ago on his way to the Charbonneau
Commission Hearings in Quebec.
“My god, man, I thought you were going to leave me out here
the whole bloody winter.” Gnarley‘s first words exploded with the gale force of
a Wreckhouse wind.
He and his single worn suitcase soon filled the foyer, along
with myriad ornaments. Spouse was a tiresome devotee — of St. Nick.
