Greenfinch (Carduelis chloris): A colourful and adorable little yellow and green finch with a wheezy song. Native to Britain, this bird is not found in Canada.
OTTAWA, December 13, 2006 – Only back in Ottawa for a day, Dr. Wicklow was already hard at work, plotting his move to build that gingerbread house his wife, Sinead, had always dreamed of building when they retired. Her brother owned the family plot of land at Greenfinch Lake, on which stood an old derelict cottage dating back to the 1950s and not a shred updated since. He’d been there a few times, starting when they were dating, and in fact it was right on that plot of land, on the shore of the lake one summer evening, that he proposed to her. She’d laughed and cried and slipped the ring on, then said, “OK, I’ll marry you. But for heaven’s sake let’s not tarry here and wait til you’re eaten away to nothing by the mosquitoes. Just look at them clouds of the little buggers, swirling around us!” Ever the practical one.
Plan A was to buy that plot of land on Greenfinch Lake from Dr. Wicklow’s brother-in-law, and build the gingerbread house there where the old cottage was falling apart, its old fake panelling rotting away to nothing and the poor structure leaning away from the wind, the door no longer able to quite close into its frame. Dr. Wicklow got into the car and drove down to see the place, envisioning the dead brown grasses and lake laced with thin ice around the edges.
As he approached where the cottage should be, an enormous sign advertised, “Dappled Vine Estates, Spring 2007”, with a summery photo of a young carefree couple laughing and hugging in front of a large perfect house on a large perfect lawn with perfect flowers in the immaculate garden. Below it a sign had been tacked onto the original sign: “Your Perfectly Planned Community.” Dr. Wicklow pulled over beside the billboard and whipped out his cell phone.
“Liam! What’s going on at Greenfinch Lake?” he demanded.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Liam began in his irish lilt. “I sold the place. Made a ton of money – you wouldn’t believe how much the developer paid for the place. I’m buying a nicer cottage, down in Muskoka. Isn’t that fantastic? Muskoka, George! Wouldn’t you believe it?”
“No, I don’t believe it. Sinead wanted to build a house there, remember?”
“But she’s dead, George. What’s she going to do with the land now?”
“Well, I wanted to build the house anyway.”
“Sorry, but the deal’s done…”
“I can see that. I’m there right now.”
“There are some nice houses going up there, I hear. You could buy one of those, you know. It doesn’t have to be one of those fancy, lacy, lady houses like she has in mind. Those are supposed to be quite the luxury houses, I reckon.”
“I’ll just have to see. Thanks anyway, Liam.”
And that was that. The lot was sold. The cottage was gone. There was nothing left but a memory of it all, and the suggestion that he buy one of those damn look-alike houses in the ugly community defacing the shores of Greenfinch Lake. Dr. Wicklow turned the car around and retreated home, rolling through stop signs and blasting the loudest heavy metal radio station he could find, wallowing in the Van Halen and Metallica tunes that made the license plate of his cushy Camry buzz.
***
Not one to concede defeat very easily (he had, after all, defeated a very persisten foe by the name of cancer), Dr. Wicklow steeled his resolve that night, sitting in front of his computer, starting something he thought he was too old for.
http://gingerbread.blogvilla.com was born that night.
*
Number of Posts: 1 Number of hits: 0
New Post: Project Gingerbread
Date: 13-Dec-06 22:04:31
Text:
I’m starting this blog to track my Gingerbread House project. My wife (God rest her soul) has always wanted one of these houses, a small brick affair with a steeply pitched roof and lacy trim on it. We decided many years ago to have it built on the shores of the lake where I proposed, but that’s all getting developed now. All I want is a small house in a nice setting. I’m going to track my progress on this site. Wish me luck.
*
There it was. His first-ever blog post. He hit send with one high-pitched click of the mouse, which resonated in the muffled silence of his office. No sooner did he do that than the adrenaline hit his system, burrowed into his throat, vibrated through his lungs, and prickled sweat on his brow. Had he been politically correct enough. Would someone find this and recognize who he was? Foil his plan? Ruin his life? He clicked the refresh button.
Number of Posts: 1 Number of hits: 0
He sat back, listening to the metal-on-metal squeak of the old desk chair, reveling in the comfort of the stalagmites of papers and stalactites of yellow sticky notes that made his office a speleo-haven. There it was on the screen, telling all of cyberspace that the Gingerbread Project existed. He got up. Time to act and not make a liar of himself.
YOU ARE READING
The Gingerbread Manifesto
General FictionWhen widower Dr. George Wicklow wins the Nobel Prize, he decides to build the dream house his wife never got to see on the lakefront land her family owned - only to discover the land had been sold to a developer. Follow the battle of wills as Dr. Wi...
