Sump Pump For Christmas

JC Penney is currently running a five minute spot called “Beware of the Doghouse” on You Tube and it’s gone viral.
With close to 2 million hits, the pandemic anti-ad from the fertile, flogging and flagging noggins of Penney’s ad driven scribbling anti-christs reminds men that there are boundaries of taste extant on a wife’s wish, dish and go fish Christmas list.
The ad begins with a man being led to a large doghouse after his spouse opens - to much fanfare, shudder, shock and awe – a gaily-wrapped vacuum cleaner as an anniversary gift. He is led to a paint-peeled and forlorn doghouse in the middle of a barren field.
Here we find that the spooky canine abode, like Dr Who’s multi-dimensioned call box, is actually a portal to parallel planet. Wifey pushes hubby inside. He drops blithe and blank from doghouse door into tunnel and lands unceremoniously on a large bundle of laundry. The baying of hounds is heard rebounding off cement-bunkered walls. He falls from grimy grace into an Abu Graib-like dungeon where other men of mute-gender are fluffing, folding and filing a seeming endless array of clothes.
We are then treated to a corresponding – and ironically redundant - laundry list of flashbacks from his similarly banished junkyard mates. Men of poor taste and presumably low morals. Men guilty of major crimes and misdemeanors. In one poignant flashback, a man reminisces about his crank with doghouse destiny. In the video reenactment he is depicted pulling a cookie from his wife’s mouth and with a jaunty Merry Christmas hands her “The Gift.” She opens the jauntily wrapped package only to discover – shriek, shudder and shiver - a thigh master. Another man admits to giving his wife 100 gigs of Ram for her laptop, attached to a card that said simply “Happy Birthday. Thanks for the memory.”
There’s more, but you get the idea. JC Penney is really flogging a “diamonds as a girl’s best friend” thematic guide to gifting. There is a premise here that these men are caricatures. Surely men, galvanized by years of Gloria Steinham and Germaine Greer know better. As with all satire, the JC Penney ad is funny because it harbors, close to the rocky reef of its textured nuance that spark of truth, that soupcon of reality.
It brought me back to my days at the Halcyon Packet and Times and a colleague and news reporter Shallay Murphy-Ericsson, who was married to a local seed farmer Sondur Ericsson. Shallay and Sondur had two kids, and I always thought the two were pretty happy.
Shallay had come late to writing. She approached our editor Lorne Bjornson two years into my tenure as sports editor and feature writer for the Manitoba publication and applied for a vacant reporters position. She was 36, had a background in agriculture, a BA in fine arts, was well-read and – added bonus for Lorne who was always looking for an edge on local council affairs – her father-in-law Bergthor Ericsson was a 20-year veteran councilor for the Rural Municipality of Reykjavik. Bergthor and Sondur were staunch pragmatists with a Puritan work ethic.
Shallay was brought up Irish Catholic and she danced through life with a gypsy’s soul.
It was three weeks before Christmas back in 1991.
Shallay sashayed into the Packet and Times.
“It’s arrived,” she said, matter of factly.
“What’s arrived?” I asked.
“My Christmas gift, wrapped and under the tree, and it’s huge,” said Shallay, the hint of a sardonic smile slowly shading that lively and pixied visage.
“Wow, it’s early,” I said. “Is Sondur always this efficient?”
“Efficient, hmmm that’s a good word … and yes, it will probably, considering historical data, and my seven year legacy of thoughtful and well-planned gift-getting, be quite efficient,” said Shallay, eyes suddenly lit by what I can only assume was a quick synaptic burst of reticent recollections.
“What do you think it is?” I asked, intrigued by that little twinkle in her always bright eyes.
“Well, I picked it up and it weighs about 50 pounds and when you shake it, it rattles,” laughed Shallay. “And to answer your question, I have no idea what it is. I know it’s not a bracelet, or a watch, or a comforter. Efficient! Hah, Terrance, good word, you should be a writer.”
And then she danced away. “I’ve got School Board meeting to cover.”
I thought no more about it until she popped into my house with her two kids, Paddy and Seamus on Christmas Day. She brought some Christmas Pudding and I gave the boys their gifts, matching hockey helmets, CSA approved.
I remembered the meeting three weeks hence. “So what was it?” I asked excitedly.
“What was what?” asked Shallay, who seemed just a little disconnected.
“The fifty pound package that rattled,” I said.
“Oh that, yes I almost forgot that I told you,” said Shallay suddenly enveloped by laughter.
“I got a sump pump, a Wellpoint 8.5 horsepower model with a 5 year parts and labor warranty,” she said, the eyes darting suddenly heavenward.
“No really, what did you get? Really,” I asked.
“Really. A sump pump,” said Shallay, and the eyes were now somehow not so bright. “It’s blue, my favorite color, and it is, hmm, quite efficient.”
I’ve never been tagged as an overly sensitive guy and I have been known to leave gift-hunting to the final 83 minute Christmas Eve dash, dive, and dodgy dukes’ up dangle, but I was pretty mortified. Geezuz, a sump pump. I almost blurted “I’m so sorry” but thought better of it. I just smiled wanly.
And then she laughed. “Look what are you doing on January 15th? Because, Paddy Seamus and I are moving into a little farmhouse on the Sunderson Line just outside of town and we’re going to need some help moving.”
I nodded, color draining from my face. “Hey Mr Efficient, don’t look so crestfallen, have you checked the Canadian marriage survival stats lately? It’ll be fun … Lorne is going to be there and he’s promised to bring the Pizza.”
The 15th was a Saturday and we had 5 staff from the paper and I had recruited my cousin’s three ton truck.
It had snowed a prairie pile the night before and there was a huge drift blocking the entrance to the 35 yard driveway to the small bungalow. “We’d better call Leif Redson and tell him to get his plow out here.”
Shallay was on it. “Nope, no problem,” she said, pointing to her pickup truck.
“Lorne, under the tarp, my Second Anniversary present from Sondur, a 15 horsepower, 18-inch sweep John Deere snowblower … Terrance you do the honors, I think you’ find it ‘quite efficient,’ ” laughed Shallay, blue eyes sparking.
The drift cleared in record time, we made it halfway up the wooded drive only to find our path blocked by a wind-toppled oak.
“Aha,” laughed Shallay. She hopped into the back of the three-ton and came out brandishing a shiny 1.9 horse, 16 inch bar Stihl chainsaw. “Christmas 1989, but it didn’t come in blue,” laughed Shallay, warming to the accumulating tasks. “Terrance, will you do the honors?”
Inside Shallay moved with precision. “We’ll need to hang these pictures and assemble these shelves,” said Shallay. And from out of a box appeared as if by magic a brand new 18-Volt, dual battery Makita drill and reciprocating saw set.
“Luckily, Makita already comes in blue” chuckled Shallay. “Oh yeah … birthday gift, 1990,” chuckled Shallay.
“Wait, before you hang that shelf, use this stud-finder … stocking stuffer Christmas 1988,” said Shallay, flipping the gizmo to Lorne who was wielding a huge 18 ounce Stanley hammer. “Love this hammer Shallay,” said Lorne.
“Fifth anniversary gift, it’s a beaut’ ain’t it?” shouted Shallay.
“One last thing guys, anyone know anything about plumbing?” asked Shalay and all eyes swivelled to my cousin Thor Gudmundson, who ran “Gudmundson’s Sink or Swim Plumbing” in Halcyon.
“It’s just that the sump pump is on its last legs and I figured what the hell,” said Shallay.
Thor had “Christmas 1991” a bright blue Wellpoint 8.5 horsepower model sump pump - with the 5 year parts and labor warranty – installed and running in 45 minutes flat.
We sat down before a roaring fire, logs split courtesy of a beautiful Woodsmen Model 911 limbing axe. “Ah, that axe?” said Shallay. “Hmmm, oh yes, 4th Anniversary, came with a blue leather cover.”
The boys were playing ball hockey in the driveway. Lorne and I had just finished installing the Sears 2.1 horsepower garage door opener and it worked like a charm. “Christmas 1987,” said Shallay.
As things were winding down and people were getting ready to leave Shallay turned to my cousin.
“Oh Thor, you might want to stop by Sondur’s on the way home,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Only, just before we left with the final load, I noticed about 3 inches of water on the basement floor and I think that maybe that old sump pump has finally given up the ghost.”
The room suddenly erupted.
Lorne Bjornson couldn’t contain himself.
“You might consider stopping at the shop and picking up a pump … might I suggest a Wellpoint 8.5 horsepower, with the 5 year parts and labor.”
The room was suddenly filled with gales of laughter. I knew then that Shallay and the boys would be just fine.
I got a Christmas card from Shallay about 5 years ago. She remarried and is writing for a small paper just outside of Victoria BC.
In the card was a picture of a beautiful gold locket that opened to a picture of her two boys Paddy and Seamus.
The card said only. “Merry Christmas Terrance. By the way … like the locket? A gift for my first anniversary. Not very efficient, but it’ll do.”
And as I hung the card on my mantle I remembered the smile.
Oh, and I looked under tree and made a mental note to return the five Handy Happy Handless Ergonomic Snow Shovels with wheels that I had recently and efficiently purchased for various members of my family.
My bad. And thank you JC Penney for that gentle noggin nudge and burp back to bumpy earth.