I confess. I’ve been quiet the past few weeks without a single post in thirty days. But don’t worry, I don’t have writer’s block. Just a case of the holiday hustle and all that goes with it. So let me make it up to you with a Christmas story for the whole family. Merry Christmas!
Snobbits and the Doursville Anthem
Timken lived in the little village of Doursville. He was still young and so lived with his parents—but not so young as to have no thoughts or ideas of his own about things. In fact, his father and mother and brothers and sisters were repeatedly telling him that if he wasn’t careful the Snobbits might one day snatch him away to the Doursville Musical Rehabilitation Center. They went on to say that perhaps it would even be a good idea if they did as they were becoming more and more alarmed themselves that something was amiss with him. After all, the music that came out of him was so very horrible they could hardly stand it!
Prickles raced up Timken’s spine at the very thought of the Snobbits. They seemed to be everywhere! Why, you could hardly avoid running into at least one of them anytime you went out of the house. And it wasn’t like you could make them out from anyone else just by looking at them. Oh no, it wasn’t that easy! They were all of the plainclothes sort doing their work undercover. They might come up to you and ask for directions on how to get to one place or another and then, once you told them, get you talking on some other seemingly harmless topic. Before you knew it they’d be asking what you thought about music. And before you knew what was happening they’d flash their official badge and demand that you play the Doursville Anthem for them right then and there. You had no choice but to comply. Play it to their satisfaction and all would be fine. In fact, the Snobbits would applaud and congratulate you and slap you on the back as if you were long lost friends reunited at last. But if you didn’t play the Anthem to their liking, or worse yet played some other tune entirely, you would be taken on the spot and hustled away to the Doursville Musical Rehabilitation Center, or DMRC as most referred to it.
In actuality, Timken had himself only been the subject of a Snobbit interrogation twice. In each instance he had barely managed an acceptable result. Probably due to his youthful age the Snobbits had cut him a break, issuing him an Improvement Required Citation that he had had to show his parents. They, in turn, had needed to sign and return it to the authorities with the promise that they would diligently seek to help Timken improve. They were warned that with a third citation the Snobbits would have no choice but to commit Timken to the DMRC so that more drastic corrective action could be taken.
His parents, terribly embarrassed by his poor performance (for all such infractions were published in the local newspaper) vowed that Timken would not only improve to become a satisfactory performer, he would come to excel beyond his peers! And to this end they arranged for him to have private lessons by a Doursville Grand Master. The lessons were given six days a week with each lesson lasting two hours and followed by another two hours of practice at home directly afterward so that what he had just learned might gain immediate reinforcement.
Unfortunately, today was not his day of rest from what was, for Timken, the torture of his lessons with the Grand Master. It was with a heavy heart and an audible sigh that he grabbed his instrument and headed out the door.