I hope that my boy-to-be has the good sense to have grabbed some good Woodger procrastination DNA, and puts off his debut until the weather turns a bit. I’m not sure which is the more daunting thought: dragging my pregnant wife on a sled to the Chappy ferry or delivering the little fella myself. Though I did watch my cat have kittens behind the clothes hamper in our old bathroom on Bushey Road in 1973, so it’s not as if I’d be totally clueless. Maybe I could just pile up a bunch of socks and underwear for Arlene.

I have started cramming for the birth, however, by reading my first baby book. On the advice of our midwife, I’m reading Bring up Bebe — an American mother’s experience of bearing and raising a child in France. I figure it’s applicable as Chappy is the most most France-like (of all the Island towns) with its aloofness, and Bob Fynbo’s own Eiffel Tower.

I was watching the ice floes pass by in front of our house, like Pilot Cracker pieces floating in broth. I looked for the odd penguin or polar bear, but they had the good sense to stay in more hospitable environs. And yes, that is what we do here on Chappy — we stand with our backs to the land and simply stare at the steady, almost immeasurable progress of sections of frozen ocean across our field of sight. It’s not the floor of the stock exchange, but it has its own appeal.

Becca on the ferry seems concerned that she’ll miss the arrival of our baby. I think she wants the great honor (and the accompanying fame) of delivering our baby . . . across the harbor on his way to MVH. I’ve put her captaining schedule on our fridge, and have informed Arlene that those dates are the only ones available for her labor. I’ve considered strapping one of the Baby Alives (that Arlene has bought for her nieces back home) to the hood of my car, and racing down to the ferry, horn blaring, and my hand out the window gesturing wildly to the baby, and screaming for Becca to drop the chain. Maybe not.

There will be a potluck dance party at the CCC on Wednesday, Feb. 11. This news won’t be of much good for those of you reading the print version of the Gazette (unless Woody Filley finally decides to be a little more generous with use of his time machine), but you online readers are in luck. I imagine it will be of great fun, if only to witness the semi-feral energy of those of us that may be a bit stir-crazed.

Speaking of stir crazy, I don’t recommend viewing The Shining on your home TV anytime soon before the snow melts. I’m starting to see myself in the background of old family photos from the 1920s. Not cool.

I hope Google Earth picks now to take a satellite picture — might discourage Wynn Casinos with planning their casino expansion here.

Finally, I encourage all to use extra caution when pulling out of Chappy side roads and driveways. The combination of the expectation of no traffic and the tall snow drifts can make for an unwelcome meeting of neighbors. It’s times like this that I wish I was a giraffe driving in a car with a sunroof.

Send your Chappy news to: ibwsgolf@aol.com.