Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired)
Before I tell you about Nestor’s Canada Day celebrations, let me first introduce you to my unique and special friend. You probably know someone just like him. The son of immigrant parents, Nestor has been grounded in the morals and ethics of the old country and applied it single-mindedly to his proud Canadian-ness.You would never suspect that people like Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired) even exist, much less have a professional title attached to their names. Much like the military designations such as Rear Admiral (Retired) or Brigadier General (Retired), Nestor wears his title of ‘Pig Farmer (Retired)’ with a good deal of pride and justification.
Coming from a long line of pig farmers, Nestor was born to the profession. By the time he was eight years old he had more or less mastered all there was to know about pig farming and everything attendant to it. By the age of sixteen it was second nature to him. To paraphrase Wayne Gretzky commenting on countless hours of practice on the ice, if you had to think about it you wouldn't be able to do it right - something like that.
It was the way the Kropatniks operated. First you were born and then you learned things until they were second nature to you. After that, you just did what you knew how to do. It was a very simple formula. You knew what you did and you did what you knew. At the same time you automatically knew who and what you were too. There was never any question about who or what Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired) was.
Whenever he had to sign his name to something Nestor would always write the letters PF after it. He never hesitated to explain the designation to the curious either. But the icing on the cake was when he was finally able to add the word ‘(Retired)’ in brackets to his name. It was like scraping the mixing bowl after the cake was in the oven. Now, in the comfort of his balcony chair in the cozy apartment he and his wife had retired to, Nestor finally had the time to ask all the questions and give all the advice he'd been too busy to in his active years.
It all made sense too, if you understand a thing or two about pig farming. The work is long and hard. It's lonely too. Day after day is spent working with the animals, feeding and cleaning barns, preparing chop for feed, plowing and cultivating crops for grain to make the feed - well, you get the idea.
Pigs don't necessarily make good conversationalists, and staring at the wrong end of a horse in the endless hours of fieldwork isn't all that inspiring either. Nestor's mind, active as it was had plenty of time figure many things out during these long lonely hours while his body toiled and he seems to have saved it all up in his mental silo. It all just sat there like a giant compost heap, slowly fermenting and maturing into rich, fertile wisdom. Now, with time on his hands, Nestor can ambush his unsuspecting victims with these little gems of wisdom whenever the spirit moves him, and move him it does.
Never one to leave things undone, Nestor now spends his days writing to all the people that he feels need his advice and suggestions, or occasional questions. He doesn't discriminate either. His advice is freely given to everyone, whether they like it or not. It's the least he can do, he says. So he writes letters to whomever he thinks need his advice.
There is only one tiny technicality. Nestor speaks with a little bit of a European accent. He writes that way too. While he is as good at giving advice as he is at pig farming, Nestor has really never mastered the art of spelling in the English language. It's the only thing that bothers him just a little. Grammar is fine, according to him. Well, he’s been listening to himself talk all his life and he’s used to it. But writing and spelling is a different matter. His hands are not used to holding what he would call ‘sissy pants pen’ and he is a little hesitant. But as usual, Nestor has the perfect solution. In the logical fashion that is his style, Nestor never actually mails any of the letters. Once he's written them his duty is done, but as you'll notice, he always invites the subjects of his sage advice to drop in for some of his endless supply of sausage and his son's beer. If they don't show up, well that's their loss. He, Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired), has fulfilled his obligations.
Well, that more or less sums up Nestor Kropatnik. Now let me tell you about his thoughts on Canada Day. You might notice that he never knows the proper government department to write to, but he doesn’t care either. If he wants to write about Canada, he addresses his letter to Canada. It would eventually get to the right place (if he were to mail it that is). Here it is.
Dear Canada
Dear Canada;
It’s me, Nestor! Hoys Boys, I so embarrass early first thing in morning I don’t know should I sit down, stand up, or hide face in corner. Sun is just peeking up from under sleeping blanket when I take my coffee and little bit ham sausage on balcony for think about what to do today. Well I know I not going to do things no more – I retire – but is old habit I pick up and hard to break. Even still is nice to plan for do nothing whole day. Besides, is Canada day today. Whole country having birthday party.
Now I look up from comfy balcony chair – just like pope – and look across courtyard at other buildings. Holy Moley, I bet my big boots I jump a mile high! Lots o’ people got big Canadian flag in windows and draped over balcony – just like huge big birthday card. Hoy Boys! What a good idea! How come I never think of that? I gotta admit, sometimes city slickers not so dumb after all.
All of a sudden I get great idea myself. Maybe I got no flag so I gonna make one for sure! Quiet as a little mouse I sneak in bedroom where missus still sleeping. She so cute, purr like tiny little kitten on pillow. I find brand new pair red wool gotchies and brand new white bed sheet and tippee toe out so wife not wake up. I know I got no business in sewing basket, but I look anyway for safety pins and take whole shebang to balcony. Hoy Boys – is hard job to figure out how to make maple leaf from pair o’ gotchies. Is one part short until I remember trap door. Look at that. Trap door is good for lots o’ things. By time I all finished, tongue is all twisted from concentrating, fingers full o’ holes from safety pins, but whole thing looks pretty good, I figure out. Not so bad for old pig farmer.
Holy Moley, if I not still on hands and knees, I bet you for sure I be fall down right away quick. Right behind me cute little purring kitten turn into ferocious big tiger – roar like lion – in mother tongue! Missus lets out string o’ words, some I never even know what mean. What I think I doing showing underwear to neighbors on balcony? What people going to think of bunyak pig farmer? They gonna laugh us right out of neighborhood! Hoy Boys, I so shocked I don’t know what to say for minute. I never thought o’ that.
Finally I get tongue back and I say, ”Hey listen sweetie, calm down. I make birthday card for Canada.” Hoy Boys, big mistake! She give me ‘nother blast.
Now I got to dig heels in little bit. I tell her, “Listen here sweetie, I CEO of balcony. If I wanna say ‘Happy Birthday Canada’, I gonna do it”.
Missus shoots right back. “Maybe you CEO, but don’t forget who is Chairman of Board. Now shaddap and give me gotchies”.
Just then our Olga – she now CEO of pig farm since I retire, walks in door and wonders what is all squawking about. Missus tells her I make jackass of self and show her what I make. She says she gonna throw in Dumpster.
Daughter says, “no, no mommy, don’t throw away! Is very important to say ‘Happy Birthday Canada’. Look, I brought present”! She open big Eaton’s shopping bag and haul out huge big flag bought from store. Holy Moley I get such a big surprise! Is beautiful flag.
Missus like it too. She says, “here Mr. CEO, go hang up proper birthday card – and do it straight”.
Daughter tells mommy, “Give me daddy’s flag. I got good place for it. I hang it up in barn. Pigs will be so happy, they gonna squeal like pigs – maybe even sing ‘Oh Canada’. They see daddy’s gotchies, then they know who is Chairman of Board in barn. See, everything is hunky dory”.
Look at that! I don’t know how it happened. Missus comes and gives me little squeeze. She says I cutest little bunyak. Daughter says she gotta go show flag to pigs in barn.
Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don’t worry, it’s free – no red tape attached. When it comes to ladies, just shaddap and do what they say. Somehow by magic, everything work out – every time.
You should drop by sometime. We could have some sausage and maybe I ask my boy who live close by if he got some extra beer. We could have nice visit. Just don’t ask for lady advice.
Your pal,
Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retire)
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