Under the Influence with Terry O'Reilly - Dave Cooks the Turkey

Episode Date: December 23, 2024

As you might know, the team behind Under The Influence has more podcasts executive produced by Terry. The story in this episode of Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is the most requested Vinyl Cafe story of all time."Today is the day Dave cooks the turkey!" Jess tells us why it gives her such pleasure to say those words, and plays the beloved story that has become a Christmas tradition for so many. So roll out the cookies, grab the wrapping paper or trim the tree as you enjoy "Dave Cooks the Turkey." And check out Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe for more holiday favourites. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hi, it's Terry O'Reilly. As you may know, we've been producing a lot of bonus episodes while under the influences on hiatus. They're called the Beatleology Interviews, where I talk to people who knew the Beatles, work with them, love them, and the authors who write about them. Well, the Beatleology Interviews have become a hit, so we are spinning it out to be a standalone podcast series. You've already heard conversations with people like actors Mark Hamill, Malcolm McDowell, and Beatles confidant Astrid Kershaw. But coming up, I talk to May Pang, who dated John Lennon in the mid-70s. I talk to double fantasy guitarist Earl Slick, Apple Records creative director John Kosh. I'll be talking to Jan Hayworth,

who designed the Sgt. Pepper album cover. Very cool. And I'll talk to singer Dion, who is one of only five people still alive who were on the Sgt. Pepper cover. And two of those people were Beatles. The stories they tell are amazing. So thank you for making this series such a success. And please do me a favor, follow the Beatleology interviews on your podcast app. You don't even have to be a huge Beatles fan, you just have to love storytelling. Subscribe now and don't miss a single beat. Hi, it's Terry O'Reilly. Under the Influence returns in January for our 20th season, and we're very excited about that.

But in the meantime, we wanted to drop another podcast to entertain you until then. It comes from The Vinyl Cafe, and as you may know, Backstage at The Vinyl Cafe is another one of our wonderful podcasts on the Apostrophe Podcast Network. And in time for Christmas, we're dropping probably the most famous Stuart McLean story of all time. And it's the one titled Dave Cooks the Turkey. This is the most requested Stuart McLean story, the most popular one ever done on the show, and it is absolutely hilarious.

So, we want you to enjoy it. Here it is, Dave Cooks the Turkey from Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. Well, it's December. And you know what that means, right? That means that today is the day that Dave cooks the Turkey. Dave Cooks the Turkey was the very first Vinyl Cafe Christmas story that Stuart ever wrote. This is the story that, well, that made Christmas a bit of a deal here at the Vinyl Cafe.

This is the story that inspired all of the other Christmas stories that followed. The story that inspired the Christmas tour, the story that so many people say is their favorite. We used to play the turkey story every single year on the Vinyl Cafe. It became a tradition. And what is this time of year for, if not for traditions? I know that many of you built Christmas traditions of your own around our tradition. I know that there are people out there who are armed with a pack of Christmas cards and a pen, people who always write their Christmas cards, to this soundtrack. I know there are some of you out there armed with butter and flour, ready to make shortbread while you listen to Stuart. And I know there are some of you out there armed with boxes of ornaments ready to listen to this story while you decorate the tree.

And that is why I am so delighted to be able to say the words that Stuart used to say every year at this time. Today is the day that Dave cooks the turkey. We're going to play you a special version today. In honor of this momentous occasion, we're going deep into the archives today. We're going to play the original recording today on the podcast. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, when the show first started, it wasn't a touring show. It wasn't a live show. It was a studio show.

Stewart and founding producer Dave Amer used to record all the shows in studio. No audience. Just Stewart. This is the story that changed all of that. I think it was Amor's idea. So many of the best ideas were his. From what I can gather, Amor went to Stuart with the idea that they should do a Christmas concert. Music, stories, that sort of thing.

And if you were going to do a Christmas concert, then you were going to need a Christmas story. So Stuart set off to write one. This is what he came up with. From way back in 1996, from the very first vinyl cafe Christmas concert ever, this is Dave Cook's The Turkey. Last year when Carl Loebier bought his wife Gerda Martha Stewart's complete Christmas planner, he did not understand what it was he was doing. On Christmas Eve, Carl found himself staring at a bag full of stuff that he couldn't remember buying. He wondered if he'd maybe picked up someone else's bag by mistake.

And then he found a receipt with his signature on it. Why would he have paid $23 for a slab of metal to defrost meat when they already owned a microwave oven that would do it in half the time? Who could he possibly have been thinking of when he bought the ab machine? Although he did remember buying Martha Stewart's complete Christmas planner. It was the picture of Martha Stewart on the cover that had drawn him to the book. A picture of Martha striding across her front lawn with a wreath made of chili peppers tucked under her arm. Carl had never heard of Martha Stewart, but she looked like she was in a hurry, and that made him think of Gerda.

So he bought the book, never imagining that it was something that his wife had been waiting for all her life. Carl was as surprised as anyone in the neighborhood last May when Gerda began the neighborhood Christmas group. Although not perhaps as surprised as Dave was when his wife Morley joined it. It's not about Christmas, Dave, Morley said. It's about getting together. The members of Gerda's group, all women, got together every second Tuesday night at a different house each time. They drank tea or beer and the host baked something special and they worked on stuff usually until about 11. But that's not the point, said Morley. The point is getting together. It's about neighborhood, not about what we're actually doing, but there was no denying that

they were doing stuff while I got together. It was May and they were doing Christmas stuff. It's wrapping paper, said Morley. You're making paper, said Dave. We're decorating paper, said Morley. This is hand-painted paper. Do you know how much this would cost? That was July. In August, they took oak leaves and dipped them into gold paint and hung them in bunches from the kitchen ceiling. And then there was the stenciling weekend. The weekend Dave thought if he stood still too long, Morley would stencil him. In September, when no one could find an eraser anywhere in the house, Morley came home and she said,

that's because I took them all with me. We're making rubber stamps. You're making rubber stamps, said Dave? Out of erasers, said Morley. People don't even buy rubber stamps anymore, said Dave. There were oranges drying on the clothes rack in the basement. There were blocks of wax for candles stacked on the ping-pong table. And then one day, Morley said,

Do you know there's only 67 shopping days until Christmas? Now Dave did not know this. Had not in fact completely unpacked from last summer's vacation. And without thinking, he said, what are you talking about? And Morley said, if we wanted to get all our shopping done by the week before Christmas, we only have, she shut her eyes, 62 days left. Now Dave and Morley usually start their Christmas shopping the week before Christmas, and suddenly there they were, with only 67 shopping days left standing in their

bedroom staring at each other in comprehension hanging in the air between them it hung there for a good 10 seconds and then Dave said something he had been careful not to say for weeks he said I thought this thing wasn't about Christmas. Which he immediately regretted saying. Because Morley said, don't make fun of me, Dave. And she left the room. And then she came back like a locomotive. Uh-oh, thought Dave.

What, said Morley? I didn't say that, said Dave. You said, uh-oh, said Morley. I thought, uh-oh, said Dave. I didn't say that, said Dave. You said uh-oh, said Morley. I thought uh-oh, said Dave. I didn't say uh-oh. Thinking uh-oh isn't like saying uh-oh. They don't send you to jail for thinking you want to strangle someone. What, said Morley?

She slept downstairs that night. And she didn't say a word when Dave came down and tried to talk her out of it. Didn't say a word the next morning until Sam and Stephanie had left for school. And then she said, do you know what my life is like, Dave? Dave suspected correctly that she wasn't looking for an answer. My life is a train, she said. I'm a train dragging everyone from one place to another, to school and to dance class and to now it's time to get up and now it's time to go to bed. I'm a train full of people who complain when they have to go to bed

and fight you when they have to get out of one. That's my job because I'm not only the train, I'm the porter and the conductor and the cook and the engineer and the maintenance man and I print the tickets and stack the luggage and clean the dishes and if they still had cabooses, I'd be in the caboose so I could pick up everything after the train went by. Now, Dave, Dave didn't want to ask where the train was heading. He had the sinking feeling it was one of those Civil War trains, and that somewhere up ahead, someone had pulled up a section of the track. And you know where the train is heading, said Morley. Yep, thought Dave. We're going off the tracks. Any moment now. What, said Morley? I said no, Dave said. I said I don't know where the

train's going. Morley leant forward over the table. It starts at a town called First Day at School, Dave, and it goes to a village called Halloween, and then through the township of Class Project, and down the spur line called Your Sister is Visiting, and you know what's at the end of the track? You know where my train's heading? Dave looked at her kind of nervously. He didn't want to get the answer wrong. He would have been happy to say where the train was going if he knew he could get it right. Was his wife going to leave him? Maybe the train was going to D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Not at Christmas, he moaned. Exactly, said Morley. To the last stop on the line, Christmas dinner. And this is supposed to be something I look forward to, Dave.

This is supposed to be a vacation. Christmas dinner, said Dave, kind of tentatively. It seemed a reasonably safe thing to say at the moment. And Morley nodded, and feeling encouraged, Dave added, with a turkey and everything. But Morley wasn't listening to him. She said, and when we finally get through that week between Christmas and New Year, you know what they do with the train?

They back it up during the night when I'm asleep so they can run it through all the stations one more time. And you know who you are, Dave? You're the guy in the bar car pushing the button asking for another drink. And by the way Morley said that, Dave could tell that she still loved him. She didn't, for instance, say that he had to get off the train, or for that matter, even out of the bar car.

But he did realize if he was going to stay aboard, he was going to have to join the crew. So the next weekend, he said, why don't I do some of the Christmas shopping? Why don't you give me a list, and I'll go and get some of the things for the Cape Breton cousins? Now, Dave had never gone Christmas shopping in September before. But when he came back, he said, that was okay. And Morley said, I'm sorry. It's just that I like Christmas so much. I used to like Christmas so much. And I was thinking, if I got everything done beforehand, maybe I could enjoy it again. I'm trying to make it fun again. I'm trying to get control of it. That's what all this is about. And Dave said, well, what else can I do?

And Morley looked at him and she said, on Christmas Day, Dave, after we've opened the presents, I want to take the kids to work at the food bank. And I want you to look after the turkey. I can do that, said Dave. Dave didn't understand until Christmas Eve when the presents were finally wrapped and under the tree and he and Morley were snuggled in bed and he was feeling warm and safe there beside his wife and he nudged her feet with his feet and she said,

Did you take the turkey out of the freezer? And he went downstairs and couldn't find a turkey in the freezer. In either freezer. And was about to call out, where's the turkey anyway? But stopped abruptly when the truth landed on him like an anvil and he understood that looking after the turkey, something he had promised to do, meant buying it as well as putting it in the oven.

He decided he'd wait downstairs for a while. And when he went back up, Morley was asleep, and he thought, I could wake her. Instead, he lay in bed and imagined in perfect detail the chronology of the Christmas day waiting for him. Imagined everything from the first morning squeal to the moment his family left to work at the food bank, and then that moment when they came home with his mother-in-law, who they would have picked up, all of them expecting turkey, saw the look on his wife's face as she sat at her table with the homemade crackers and the gilded oak leaves as he carried a bowl of spaghetti across the kitchen. At 2 a.m., he was still awake. But at least he had a plan.

He would wait until they left for the food bank, then he'd take off and go to some deserted Newfoundland outport and live under an assumed name. And at Sam's graduation, his friends would say, Why isn't your father here? And Sam's graduation, his friends would say, why isn't your father here? And Sam would say, one Christmas he forgot to buy the turkey, so he had to leave. Then at three, after rolling around for an hour, Dave got out of bed, dressed, and went looking for a 24-hour grocery store. It was either that or wait for the food bank to open.

And though he couldn't think of anyone in the city who more in need of a turkey than he was, the idea that his family might spot him in line made that unthinkable. At 4 a.m. in the morning on Christmas morning, Dave found an open store and bought the last turkey there, 12 pounds,

frozen as tight as a cannonball. Grade B. Whatever that meant. He was home by 5 a.m. and by 6.30 he had the turkey more or less thawed. He used an electric blanket and the hair dryer, and the turkey, and a bottle of scotch on himself.

As the turkey defrosted, it became clear that the grade B part was the cosmetic part. The skin on the right drumstick was ripped. To Dave, it looked as if the turkey had made a break from the slaughterhouse and dragged itself a block or two before it was recaptured and beaten to death. This bird looked like it had died in a knife fight. Dave poured another scotch and began to refer to the turkey as Butch. If that had been the worst thing about the bird, that it was cosmetically challenged, Dave would have been happy.

Would have considered himself blessed. Would have been able to look forward to this Christmas with equanimity. Might eventually have been able to laugh it off. The worst thing came later, after lunch. After Morley and the kids left for the food bank. Before they left, Morley dropped pine oil on some of the living room lamps. When the lamps heat the oil up, she said, the house will smell like a forest. Then she said, mother is coming.

I'm trusting you with this, Dave. You have to have the turkey in the oven. Dave finished her sentence for her. He said, by 1.30, don't worry. I know what I'm doing. The worst thing began when Dave tried to turn on the oven. Morley had never had cause to explain to him about the automatic timer, and Dave had never had cause to ask about it. The oven had been set the day before to go on at 5.30. Morley had been baking a squash casserole for Christmas dinner because she always does the vegetables the day before. And now, until the oven timer was unset, nothing anybody, least of all Dave, did was going to turn it on.

At 3.30 in the afternoon, Dave retrieved the bottle of scotch from the basement Nothing anybody, least of all Dave, did was going to turn it on. At 3.30 in the afternoon, Dave retrieved the bottle of scotch from the basement and poured himself a drink. He knew he was in trouble. He had to find an oven that could cook the bird and cook it fast. But every oven he could think of had a turkey inside it already. Now, for 10 years, Dave was a technical director to some of the craziest acts on the rock and roll circuit, and he wasn't going to fall to pieces over a raw turkey. Inventors are often unable to explain where they get their best ideas from, and Dave is not too sure where he got his. Maybe he spent too many years in too many hotel rooms.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, he topped up the scotch, and he phoned the Park Plaza Hotel, and he was given the front desk, and he said, do you cook special menus for people with special dietary needs? We're a first-class hotel in a world-class city, sir. We can look after any dietary needs. And Dave said, if somebody brings their own food because it's on a special diet, would you cook it for them? Of course, sir. Dave looked at the turkey lying on the counter like a naked baby. Come on, butch, he said, we're going out. Morley had the car. Dave called a taxi. He stuffed the bottle of scotch in his pocket on the way out the door. The Park Plaza, he said, it's an emergency.

He took a slug from the bottle in the back of the cab. The man at the front desk of the hotel asked if Dave needed help with his suitcases. No suitcases, said Dave, then turned breezily to the man behind him in line and patted the turkey, which he had dropped on the counter and was spilling out of its plastic bag, and said, only slightly slurred, just checking in for the afternoon with my check. The clerk winced, and Dave turned, wobbled, and peered at the man in line behind him. He was looking for approval. Instead of approval, he found his neighbor, Jim Schofield, standing beside an elderly woman

who Dave assumed must be Jim's visiting mother. And Jim didn't say anything, tried in fact to look away, but he was too late, and their eyes met. And Dave straightened himself out and said, Turkey and the kids are at the food bank. I just brought Morley here so they could cook her up for me. Oh, said Jim, that explains everything. I mean the turkey, said Dave. I bring it here every year. I'm alone. Dave held his arms out as if he wanted Jim to frisk him. And the man at the desk said, excuse me, sir, and handed Dave his key. And Dave smiled at the man behind the counter, at Jim, at Jim's mother, and walked toward the elevator, one careful foot in front of the other.

And when he got there, he heard Jim calling him, and Dave turned, and Jim said, you forgot your chick, pointing to the turkey on the counter. The man on the phone from room service said, but we have turkey on the menu, sir. And Dave said, this is a special turkey. I was hoping you could cook my turkey. The man from room service told Dave the manager would call. Dave looked at his watch.

And when the manager called, Dave knew this was his last and only chance. This man was going to either agree to cook his turkey or he might just as well book the ticket to Newfoundland. Excuse me, sir, said the manager. I said I need to eat this particular turkey, said Dave. That particular turkey, sir, said the manager. Do you know, said Dave, what they put in birds today? No, sir, said the manager. He said it

like it was a question. They feed them. Now, Dave had no idea what they fed them. He wasn't sure what he was going to go with this, just that he had to keep talking. They feed them chemicals, he said, and antibiotics and steroids and lard to make them juicier. I'm allergic to that stuff. If I eat any of that stuff, I'll have a heart attack or at least a seizure in the lobby of your hotel. Do you want that to happen? The man on the phone didn't say anything, so Dave kept going. I have my own turkey here. I raised this turkey myself. I butchered it myself. I butchered it this morning. The only thing this thing has eaten, Dave looked frantically around the room. What did he feed the turkey? Tofu, he said triumphantly.

Tofu, sir, said the manager, and yogurt, said Dave. It was all or nothing. The bellboy took the turkey, and Dave gave him $20 and said, you have those big convection ovens? He said, I've got to have it back before 5.30. All he said was, you must be very hungry, sir. Dave collapsed onto the bed, didn't move for an hour and a half, which was when the phone rang. It was the manager.

He said the turkey was in the oven. Then he said, you raised that bird yourself? It was a question. Dave said yes. It was a pause. The manager said, the chef says the turkey looks like it was abused. Dave said, Ask the chef if he's ever killed a turkey.

Tell him it was a fighter. Tell him to stitch it up. The bellboy wheeled the turkey into Dave's room at quarter to six. They had it on a dolly covered with a silver dome. Dave removed the dome and gasped. It didn't look like any bird he could have cooked. There were white paper armbands on both drumsticks and a glazed partridge made of red peppers on the breast.

He looked at his watch and ripped the paper armbands off and he scooped the red pepper partridge into his mouth and ripped the paper armbands off and he scooped the red pepper partridge into his mouth and then he realized the bellboy was watching him and saw the security guard standing on the corridor. The security guard was holding a carving knife. They obviously weren't about to trust Dave with a weapon. Would you like us to carve it, sir? Just get me a taxi, said Dave. What, said the guard? I can't eat this here, said Dave. I have to eat it. Dave couldn't imagine where he had to eat it. Outside, he said. I have to eat it outside. He took out another $20 bill and he gave it to the bellboy and he said,

I'm going downstairs to check out. You bring the bird and get the taxi. And he walked by the security guard without looking at him and said, careful with that knife. And he got home at 6 o'clock and he put Butch on the table. The family was due back any minute and he poured himself a drink and he sat down in the living room and the house looked beautiful and smelled beautiful. It's like a pine forest. My forest, said Dave. And then he said, uh-oh, and jumped up and got a ladle of turkey gravy and ran around the house smearing it on the light bulbs. You do what you've got to do. There he thought.

And he went outside and he stood on the stoop and he counted to 50 and he went back in and breathed in and the house smelled just like Christmas. And he poured himself another scotch, and he looked out the window, and he saw Morley coming up the walk with Jim Schofield and his mother. We met them outside and invited them in for a drink. I hope that's okay. Of course, said Dave, I'll go get the drinks.

And he said, Morley, could you come here a moment, please? There's something I have to tell you. Thank you. That was the story we call, well, you know what it's called. That was Dave Cook's The Turkey. That story was recorded at a live concert at the Glenn Gould Studio back in 1996. We're going to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another Christmas story, also from that very first Christmas concert, one you probably haven't heard for a very long time, so stick around because you don't want to miss this one.

Welcome back. Time for our second story now. We're playing stories from Stuart's very first Christmas concert today, from way back in 1996. This is a story you may not have ever heard before. From way back in the archives, this is Dave on the Roof. For those of you who are regular listeners to this radio show, you probably know about Dave, who runs the world's smallest record store, The Vinyl Cafe. We may not be big, but we're small, their motto.

And I just thought in the next half of the show, I'm going to tell you a little bit about Dave's Christmas, but I just thought I might tell you to warm you up and to get you ready for that and with a view for what is coming in the next half. A little bit of something that happened to him last week. Thursday of last week, actually, when Dave climbed up on top of the roof of his house to put up the Christmas decorations. And he came home early from work

last Thursday, hoping to be up and down before dark, but he had to go to Jim Schofield's house, who just lives kitty corner, to him to borrow a ladder. And then they had to have a beer. And then they had to find the ladder. And then Dave had to replace all the burned out bulbs. And suddenly it was dusk. And you know how fast it gets dark at this time of the year. So it was dark when Dave finally got onto the roof and colder than he expected it to be. But all the same, it was kind of nice in a wintry, cold kind of way. And Dave stood by his chimney holding onto the TV antenna wondering why he only got up there on his roof at the worst

times of the year. He could see all over the neighborhood and he thought, I should come here more often. And then he sat down with his back to the chimney and began to untangle the lights that he had already untangled before he climbed onto the roof. And it took him about a half hour to string them up onto the antenna and down onto the chimney. And when he finished, he looked up at them, and he thought that they didn't look half bad. The antenna actually reminded him of the clothesline in his backyard from when he was a child. They had that kind, you know that kind of clothesline with the one metal pole that looks like an umbrella with the fabric removed, and you hang your clothes up in a circle around the arms of the umbrella. Dave was brought up in Cape Breton, and a lot of people have that kind of

clothesline down home, and he stood there on his roof for a moment thinking about his home and his sweet mother and the old clothesline. And he remembered those winter mornings when his mom would push him into a snowsuit and then stick him out to the backyard like a blimp. And suddenly he could hear his mother's voice filling his head, and she was saying, Dave, don't lick the clothesline. Sometimes you do things just because somebody tells you not to. And sometimes you do things because you've never done them before, and you want to see what would happen if you did. And sometimes it's hard to figure out why you do things because you've never done them before and you want to see what would happen if you did. And sometimes it's hard to figure out why you do some things at all.

Dave looked at the TV antenna. He had never put his tongue on a TV antenna on a cold night in December. And although he knew perfectly well what would happen if he did, the moment his mother's voice came into his head, he could feel himself drawn to the antenna. And as he moved across the roof towards the chimney to which the antenna was attached, he was saying to himself, this won't happen.

I won't do this. Why would I do this? I'm not that stupid. I'm just trying to scare myself. Yet he felt as if he was outside of his body, as if he was a car skidding out of control. And although everything was moving in slow motion, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Part of him was saying, I don't want to put my tongue on that TV antenna. But another part of him, the part which seemed to be in control, the part which his tongue seemed to be listening to anyway, was saying, just do it, Dave. You're an adult. You can do whatever you want.

You don't have to listen to your mother anymore. He was surprised by how unequivocally his tongue grabbed onto the metal. It was not at all uncertain about what it was expected to do. Dave himself was uncertain that he had even touched the metal. He thought there was still some space between him and the antenna, and then suddenly he was adhered to it. At first, he was intrigued by the way it stuck. He was kind of proud of it. It was as if it was an accomplishment of some sort. And then he noticed it hurt a bit, but not really hurt. It hurt sort of the way melted wax hurts when you put your finger into the rim of a candle. And then it hurt a bit more. And Dave thought, okay, that's enough. And he tried to pull his tongue off the

antenna, and it didn't come. And he leant forward because it hurt when he tried to pull off, and then more of his tongue was stuck to the antenna. And he felt a wave of panic rush through him as if he was alone in an elevator, and the power had gone off, and the elevator was stuck between the floors, and it was dark in there between the floors, and maybe the power had gone off because the building was on fire, and he had to get out of there, which is when his mother's voice filled his head again. And she said, I told you not to do that. And Dave said, so why didn't you stop me? Except it sounded different. It sounded more like...

And when he said it, his top lip brushed against the antenna. And then his top lip was stuck as well as his tongue, and he knew he was in serious trouble. And he stopped moving, and he was very still. And he thought, I've really got to get it off now. And he tried to lean back just a little bit at a time, and it hurt. And his tongue didn't seem to want to let go, and he thought, maybe it's like taking a band-aid off a kid. You have to do it fast and

hard and be sure about it. So he began to count. And just as he's about to say, his mother said, have you thought maybe you could pull your entire tongue out of your mouth? Could leave it on the antenna? And he stopped and he thought, no, that's impossible. And then it occurred to him, if he didn't actually lose his entire tongue, maybe he could lose a layer of it. The one with the taste buds. And he'd never be able to taste anything again ever in his life. And for the ever in his life. And for the rest of his life, he might as well eat tofu, and it wouldn't make any difference at all. And then that scared him so much, he didn't move a muscle for a good 15 minutes.

He stood on his roof motionless, and he could see his neighbors walking up and down the street. He saw the Kelman stop and look up at him, and he began to flap neighbors walking up and down the street. He saw the Kelmans stop and look up at him. And he began to flap his arms up and down. And the Kelmans just stood there and looked at him and said something to each other, and then they walked away. And Dave realized they walked away and they weren't going to come to his rescue because what they had been doing was admiring him. They thought he was part of the display, hanging from the antenna in the middle of

all the lights. And then Dave could hear his family moving around the living room, hear their voices as clear as day floating up the chimney, heard his wife say, I think I'll put a log on the fire. No log, said Dave, don't do that. His face frozen in place over the top of the chimney heard his son say, let's put on two logs! Dave and Morley, they burn those synthetic logs, the ones made of wax. And the moment that sickly, waxy smell hit Dave, he needed to pee.

And he thought, the fumes must be be poisonous and I'm being asphyxiated and my body is trying to clear the toxins out of it. And he imagined his family finding him, probably not until the next morning. And he'd be frozen solid. And what would they think? Would they think that he had gone up there on Christmas and hung himself by his tongue on purpose? And would he make a spectacle of himself and his death? Would the whole neighborhood come up and be there to watch them carry him down? And he couldn't remember when he had had the chimney cleaned last,

and what would happen to him if the chimney caught fire, and he needed to pee so badly now, and if the fumes were stinging his eyes, and what if spring never came, and what if there was never a thaw, and did he pay the hydro bill? And what would happen if he peed on the antenna? Would that warm it up enough? And what God help him would happen if his penis touched the metal? And then why didn't he take one of the Christmas lights and hold it against his lip and the warmth from the light would melt his mouth free.

It only took five minutes. In five minutes, he was down the ladder and in the house and into the bathroom, peering into the bathroom mirror at his tongue, which was red, but not too sore. And Sam and Stephanie were snuggled up on the couch watching a Christmas movie, and Morley, his sweet wife Morley, was watching too and sticking clothes into an orange. And he thought, they didn't even know I was in trouble. I could have been in such terrible, terrible trouble and they didn't know.

All that time they were down here safe and warm and they looked so happy. And he was so happy. And he loved them so much. And then there was a commercial and Sam said, what were you doing up there anyway? The picture was real fuzzy for a while. And then all of a sudden it got better. And Dave said, I don't know. I don't know. I was just fooling with the lights. That was the story we called Dave on the Roof. That was recorded in 1996 at the very first Vinyl Cafe Christmas concert.

All right, we've got to take a short break now, but we'll be back in a minute with a sneak peek from next week's episode. So stick around. That's it for today. We'll be back here next week with two more festive Dave and Morley Christmas stories. And by the way, we're leaning hard into Christmas this year. It's sort of our thing at the Vinyl Cafe. We'll have two Christmas stories for you every week in the lead up to the 25th. Next week? Of course, if you're talking

about getting into the Christmas spirit, it's also better if it happens to be night and the snow is coming down soft and slow, big soft flakes falling out of the perfect darkness, like in all those Christmas movies, like it always fell in the narrows. That's next week on the podcast. Until then, if you want to find out more, you can go to Facebook or Instagram or just go to our website, vinylcafe.com. And while you're there, you can check out our Advent calendar. We do a fun little thing on social media every December, an Advent calendar. How it works is, well, you know what? Why would I tell you how it works? Just, you can go check it out for yourself. You can find it on our Facebook page or on our Instagram.

And if you don't have either of those, just head over to our website. It's all there. And you can find out about our new CD too. We have a new CD called Merry Christmas Dave. Three Stuart stories about Christmas and New Year's and the holiday season. Probably some you haven't heard before. So check it out. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Greg DeCloot is our very merry recording engineer. Theme music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week.

Until then, so long for now. There you are, alone in your car, waiting at a red light. Suddenly, there she is, pressed against your window, holding a homemade cardboard sign. Can you really tell what it says about her? Don't let homelessness assumptions get in the way of homelessness solutions. Go to CanadaCanDoIt.ca. Help the Canadian Alliance to end homelessness.