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The
Chronicles of Uncle Mose
by Ted
Russell
edited by Elizabeth
Miller
With New Year so close, I
got to thinkin’ just now about the resolution I made last New Year’s Eve,
and tryin’ to figger how well I got on with keepin’ it. So as I could decide
whether I’d have the pluck to make another one this year. The one I made
last year was to keep out of arguments, because arguments never settled
anything, not since Adam and Eve got into the argument over who give which
the apple.
Now, come to think of it,
I didn’t do too well about keepin’ that resolution, and two or three times
during the year I found myself into arguments, mostly with Jethro Noddy and
Pete Briggs. Jethro especially, he’d try the patience of a saint. I had a
mind one time to give up the resolution altogether and say ’twas just as
well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb, but Grampa Walcott give me good
advice. He said as how a man should stick to his resolution even if he
breaks it a time or two. Why, he said, forty-odd years ago he made a New
Year’s resolution not to say a certain little bad word that he used to say
every time he lost a codfish off his hook – and he’s stuck to that same
resolution ever since. Of course, he said, he breaks it once in a while, but
even so, he’s made a lot of progress, and only says that word now when he
loses a real big one.
When I told Grampa the
resolution I have in mind for the year, he give me a pat on the shoulder.
“Well done, Mose,” he said, “that’s a great idea.” You see, my New Year’s
resolution this year is to keep my temper (as best I can, of course). Grampa
thinks that every man ought to try to control his temper, not so much for
his own sake as for the sake of the people around him. Says Grampa, “A man
loses his temper and gets off a lot of old nonsense. ’Tis all right for him,
because his mind is so fixed on what he’s sayin’ that he don’t even hear it.
But what about other people? The ones that got to listen to the trash? ’Tis
not fair to them,” says Grampa. “A man has got no more right to a dirty
temper than he’s got to a dirty face.”
That last expression might
sound odd, but wait till I tell you the story behind it. It concerns Jethro
Noddy. Jethro is not exactly the tidiest fellow in the world. Ordinary
times, I should say that Jethro remembers to shave once every week –
Saturdays – but oftentimes it slips his memory. To explain to you how
serious that is, I’d better explain what Jethro’s face looks like
with a two- or three-weeks’ whisker on it. If he’d grow a decent whisker,
’twould be all right.
The only thing I can
compare it to is the nor’west corner of the Gull Mash, just after you’ve
crossed over the barren part and you’re gettin’ near to the foothills where
we go for firewood. Well, that section of the Mash is all spotted – mostly
bare spots with here and there a clump of ground juniper or a small patch of
alders, or a few blueberry bushes or a old gnarled stump – stuff like that.
I don’t know if I’m makin’ it clear, but I hope that’ll give you some idea
of what Jethro’s jowls look like with a two-weeks’ whisker on ’em.
To make matters worse,
he’s not the cleanest fellow in the world neither. He’s got an awful size
of a mouth and he told someone one time he was glad ’twas so big because he
opened it as wide as he could whenever he went to wash his face, and that
meant a great savin’ on soap, because with his mouth wide open, there wasn’t
much face left to wash.
Well, one day last summer
he looked so untidy that Grampa hit him up about it and told him for
goodness’ sake to go home and shave and wash up. Jethro said he allowed his
face was his own and that he supposed he could do what he liked with it. But
Grampa said that’s where he was wrong. A man’s face wasn’t his own. It
belonged to the neighbours that had to look at it, and about all a man owned
in his own face was the responsibility to keep it lookin’ shipshape.
Jethro got contrary and
didn’t shave for another two or three weeks, till his wife got after him
’cause he was scarin’ the baby, and he’s been better ever since.
So perhaps Grampa is right
and a man’s temper is like his face – somethin’ he’s responsible for keepin’
shipshape for the sake of his neighbours. But I’ve got another reason
besides that for tryin’ to keep my temper and I’ll tell you about it some
other time. Right now I’m overhaulin’ my old duds pickin’ out somethin’ to
wear tonight mummerin’* – somethin’ people are not likely to recognize. Yes,
I’m goin’ mummerin’, playin’ the fool like everybody else and havin’ a good
time for myself.
I’ve heard people say
there’s a law against mummerin’, but there’s not. I asked the Ranger years
ago and he said you could dress up however you liked provided you didn’t
have your face covered up in public. So what we people do in Pigeon Inlet is
wear lace or scrim** over our faces and keep it up till we’ve knocked on
someone’s door and they’re just about to open it.
You might think I oughtn’t
go mummerin’ at my age. But then, who do you think is goin’ with me? That’s
right. Grampa Walcott.
* mummering: visiting
houses in disguise during the Christmas season
** scrim: gauze material
that allows one to see in one direction but not in the other | 
