Yes! It's that time of year ya'll...

Hey, Hey, Hey –IT’S GROUNDHOG DAY!

Late afternoon was turning into evening on what promised to be another sub-zero night in the frozen, yet Wonderful World of Le Tron, when all of a sudden -- 

CRASH! BANG! BEEP! BONG! BUMP!!!

Madame Le Tron raised her head from her computer screen, as a cold chill swept into the room.  ‘Mon Dieu, not another invasion from the other-side?  I have hardly recovered from Friday the 13^th!’  she thought.  

Beep-Beep-Buzz, whir, PING.  “Je regret, Madame, Carry-on!”  exclaimed Managing Mike, the recyle-tron, as he rolled by the old office door.

‘Hmmm,’ thought Madame Le Tron, as she returned to her computer screen.

Tippy, tap, Tippy, tap, Tippy-tap-tap-tap.

 

“Alice?”  Madame queried between chattering teeth.

A  light ‘Tap…tap…tap’ could be heard
as a pink tutu and two elemental Fairies-on-Sticks
passed by the old office door.

“Does that petite phantom really think that I can’t see her, or hear her for that matter?  Giselle was brilliant in getting that small ghost into a tutu and tap-dancing lessons,” Madame sighed, as she returned her gaze to her computer screen.

But before she could focus on the work at hand, a display of flashing lights filled the room, and yet another cold chill swept across the floor.

“If this weren’t February1^st, I would bet my bottom dollar, if I had a dollar left to bet after I finish theses taxes, that we were in the midst of another paranormal visitation, GHOULISH GORDON!” cried out Madame Le Tron.

Instantly the lights stopped, and Ghoulish sheepishly poked his robotic head around the corner of the office door.

“I’ve got it, madame, no need to worry,” interrupted Managing Mike, as a wrench-like arm extended across the expanse of the old office doorway and drew Ghoulish Gordon away.  Within seconds the cold chill that had covered the floor had dissipated.

‘All right,’ thought Madame Le Tron. ‘Obviously there is a problem at hand; however, Mike is the robot in charge, and I need to let him do his job. Back to the taxes.’

An eerie scraping sound came next from the far end of the hallway. Slowly the sound drew closer. A laboring noise of machinery accompanied the sound in rhythmic cadence.

Madame sat frozen, staring at the half-completed tax form in front of her. 

‘To move or not to move?  That is the question,’  she thought.

And no sooner had the question formed in Madame’s mind than she heard what sounded like a metal spade trying to break frozen ground. This was followed by an eerie scraping and mechanical laboring noise, now no longer moving down the hall, but coming from around the side of the house and passing right by her office window.

‘Hold,’ she thought. ‘Remember that Mike is in charge, and he is more than capable of handling a frozen pipe or sewer drain. And it does seem as if he has plenty of help.

‘Concentrate, you are almost done. Today’s goal is to finish this tax package and send it on to the accountant….”

The hammering of nails into wood could now be heard. And sawing, the sound of sawing wood, as if a scaffold or coffin were being built.

 

“D’accord, Mon Cher Madame Le Tron,” Madame said to herself. “You are letting your imagination run away with you.  I am sure there is a reasonable explanation. Always the dark side for you, isn’t it.  Steady now, just finish these taxes.”

The cold chill returned, and with it, a brisk wind, and on that wind came --   

“Giselle?”

“…Kingdom – Animalia…Phylum Chordata…ah, Bon Soir, Madame,” replied Giselle, never looking up from the small notebook she always carried.

“Bon Soir, Giselle. College going well?  Another Biology test coming up?” Madame inquired.

“Family… Sciuride…Genus….Marmonta….Hmmm? Oh no, just getting a net,” replied Madame’s teenage assistant, never once lifting her eyes from her page as she walked by.

“Got it!” Giselle called back, as she continued to ponder her notes aloud.  “Ah, here it is --  Diet – Herbivorous, also grubs, grasshoppers, insects and snails….”

“Sounds like you’re burying a dead body out there,” Madame laughed lightly.

“Uh-huh,”  was  Giselle’s only reply. The cold breeze returned briefly with her opening and closing of the large oak front door.

“Very funny,” Madame called after her.

Madame tapped a few more keys on her computer and hit the “send” button.  “Voila, C’est tout! Il est fini! At least until next year,” she mused.

“Drop her in…and raise the net high…” Managing Mike’s mechanical voice bellowed outside.

A chill descended upon Madame Le Tron, and not the kind of chill that comes from outside, or even the OTHER-SIDE. This was the kind of chill that came from fear or dread.

And with that Madame grabbed her lab coat from the hook by her old office door and flew out the oak front door, her coattail flying behind her.

“Arreter Vous, maintenant!” Madame cried to the gathered crowd.

In the blinding wash of the Le Tron’s studio work lights appeared what could only be described as some kind of primitive ritual site.  A crude scaffold of scrap wood had been haphazardly nailed together.  Around this scaffold were hung a variety of elemental fairies mounted on sticks and a very large and sturdy net.  Within the interior of the scaffold appeared to be a variety of jars fill with all types of bugs and grubs and snails.  And, at the very center of this outdoor spectacle, the snow had been completely removed from a hole in the ground where a pink tutu and pair of tap shoes lay motionless nearby.

“But, Madame, we have not yet begun,” pleaded Giselle.

“Begun what?” Madame asked in complete exasperation.

“to put an end to it once and for all,”  explained Managing Mike.

“To what?” Madame barely managed to say, her teeth chattering in the cold night air.

“Winter,” said Giselle, as she took off her scarf and wrapped it around Madame Le Tron shoulders.

 “By sacrificing a 300-year-old, 3-year-old ghost in a pink tutu?”

“No, that would be ridiculous.  Alice is just a standing in, right, Alice?” called Giselle. “And this is just a rehearsal.”

Childlike laughter floated in the air.

“For whom?” inquired Madame, wrapping the scarf a bit tighter.

“Not whom, what!”  explained Giselle.  “What comes around this time every year?”

“Taxes?” replied Madame Le Tron

“The Super Bowl?” interjected Managing Mike.

“Really, Mike?”  Giselle shook her pretty blonde head and added, “I love you guys so much, but you are both wrong.  It’s Groundhog Day!”

“Well, I am no smarter than when I began,” Madame said under her breath.

“Here’s the plan,” explained Giselle, as she unwrapped a very large sheet of paper and read from her notes.

“We coax the groundhog out of his hole there with the smell of his favorite foods, which are in the jars that you see inside the scaffolding. 

“Then, ” Giselle indicated the recycle–trons and Alice crudely drawn upon the same paper, “we are all standing on the scaffolding, see? And each one of us is holding on to the end of the net. That’s the one you see hanging over there. Then when the groundhog appears in searh of the food he has smelled while inside his hole, we gently drop the net over the hole, preventing him from going back inside and hibernating for six more weeks.  Voila, an early spring!”

Madame just stood staring at Giselle and nodding her head.

Finally she said, “what are the fairies for?”

“Dramatic effect! That was Ghoulish Gordon’s idea. 
I thought it was a nice touch though.”  Giselle
beamed at Ghoulish, and the robot flashed his lights in what appeared to be a blush.

“I see.  Let me guess,” Madame eventually said. “Biology extra-credit or perhaps the College version of ‘Odyssey of The Mind?’”

“Neither.  Cute boy in the ‘Hey, Hey, Hey, it’s Groundhog Day Club.’ The club meets just one month a year, and whoever comes up with the best plan to guarantee an early spring becomes the King or Queen of Groundhog Day! What do you think?”

“I think that you might want to see if there is a cute boy in your psychology class instead! You could use a bit of tutoring there.”

“An A-, I got an A- in that class, and anyway I already checked,” retorted Giselle.

Well, Bon Chance!  I’m glad Groundhog Day comes ‘round but once a year,” Madame winked, as she turned to go back inside.

“That and taxes!” Giselle giggled gayly!

“Touché, Mon Cherie, Touché’!”

Ah yes, all is well that ends well in the FORZEN yet, "Wonderful World of Le Tron!"

Au Revoir!

And don't forget to tune is next Friday at 3pm central as we begin our 

SPRING CLEANING 

Le Tron Style!

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