Travels of the Olson Vase

Little is known of the vase, but what we have been able to ascertain is the following:

1. It is not possible to destroy the vase. It will always come back.
2. If the vase finds its way into your possession the only way to be rid of it is to pass it on to another member of the Olson family, under stealth. If an attempt is made to relinquish the vase to a non-Olson, certain doom will befall you.
3. It has been found possible to gift the vase to a fellow Olson, but only at family events, and only for special accomplishments (ie. outstanding accordion solos)

The vase entered the realm of the Olson family during an action packed house warming at the House of Domestic bliss; mine and Carrie's first house in beautiful Saskatoon at 1509 Lorne Avenue. The house warming gifts from our generous friends and family included an absurd glass-swan ashtray (Hazel and Ian) that turned into a cognac drinking vessel, a wooden shelf that Jayesh had "rescued" from a ditch, claiming it was a liquor cabinet, and one endearing diarrhea-brown vase from Lynn Exner that actually matched the mustard rug in our new abode. While the swan and liquor cabinet served definite purposes in our house (recall "drinking out of the swan's ass"), the vase just didn't seem to fit to well into our décor. Thus, we seized the opportunity when Uncle Mark and his, ummmm....bewildering accordion solo, resulted in him being charged with a DUI-O; Dancing while Under the Influence - of an Olson.

I can’t be sure of the origin of the vase but I do know that I was aware of it being around prior to it becoming in my possession. I also know that once it was acquired, through whatever means was necessary to complete the transfer, that I was committed to protect the vessel; with my life, if necessary. Although the thoughts of the vase coming in contact with the bumper of my car or perhaps “falling” off the counter might suffice in quick dispossession; I could never bring myself to the task.

The opportunity presented itself when Curtis and Carrie decided they would spread their wings and migrate to the warmer westerly Pacific and Vancouver Island. I quickly volunteered to assist at a time when there was much activity in loading the heavy articles of furniture, beds, dressers, etc. and of course several dozen boxes that conveniently fit into the little nooks and crannies that formed and required filling. I had very carefully packed the exquisite and very expensive vase in a nondescript and completely unidentifiable box that indicated “Compressor Parts” and “Non PCB Material” in bold lettering on all four sides. However, I was uncertain as to whether Curtis and Carrie had actually identified the contents of any packaging, therefore I marked “Wedding Gift” in what I considered to be Curtis’s handwriting which is very similar to tiny chicken scratch.

All this preparation and planning would have been very useful had Curtis suspected any sort of nefarious activity; however, as it turned out the placement of the package in a convenient cranny was without incident and the container sealed and secured for the trip to Victoria.

The “coup de gras” was the telephone call I received 9 days later. It went like this:

Peter: Mission accomplished; you are now the proud protector. Have a nice day. Click.

It all started out just another pleasant day over the Christmas holidays. I was feeling good, having just returned home to Kingston from Barrie after being with my new grandson. Imagine the horror I felt when I discovered the vase in my family room. How did it get there? There was only one answer. Curtis and Carrie had somehow conspired to slip it into the house while visiting from Victoria. I think it was an inside job and the guilty party (or parties) when discovered, will be punished!

Of course, the first option was the best however I knew of the curse and could not proceed down that road. The second option was impossible according to the legend. Option three? - I was physically ill soon after the above picture was taken. Option three was definitely out. I sent the above pictures to Carrie and Curtis hoping to throw them off as I had decided on a course of action to somehow rid myself of this vile object. Their mocking response is shown below:

The vase is now resting in a comfortable location thankfully far, far away as I have rid myself of it. The new owner must now deal with this abomination and good luck to him.

My real name is Gerry Davidson but I am commonly referred to as "The Old Goat". I like bicycling, baking cookies, dancing in the rain, trying to kill nephews on dangerous mountain hikes, and calculating after tax yields on high quality income generating securities. What I do not like is the shadow of death the cruel Olson Vase casts over my living room and my life. It sadly came into my possession as a result of some financial charity work I did for yet another of my financially challenged relatives. Though he called it "a token of his appreciation" I think he was really trying to get back at me for that unsettling bought of fisticuffs we engaged in some decades before while drunkenly discussing British politics in the El Kuroki bar.

My initial reaction to the unwelcome gift was to hurl it off my back deck at one of the deer standing there eating my raspberry bushes. But then I realized if I did this, it would only shatter and leave sadistic shards all over my grass which I would surely trod upon while dancing out there in the rain. Instead, I wrapped it in burlap and stuffed it under the stairs where it would no longer soil my surroundings. The next morning, the vase appeared again in my living room! So I double wrapped it, once with burlap then again with kevlar and jammed it much deeper under the stairs and layered it with pieces of furniture and boxes of clothes left abandoned in my basement by various nieces and daughters. Curses! The next morning it yet again appeared, even shinier and more sinister than before. Realizing it could not be hidden and knowing it could not be destroyed, the only option available to me was to pass it on. So I watched. And I waited.......

Tremendous family gatherings are the perfect opportunity to hand off the wretched vase. The Olson family cottage at Fishing Lake, Saskatchewan turned 50 this year prompting a homecoming of many of the Olson clan. There had been talk of the vase's destruction at the hands of uncle Gerry but he was unable to - obviously due to the vase's awesome power of self-preservation. The vase was located, bound and packed into the trunk of a car headed for the lake.

The plan was to award the vase to the winner of the scavenger hunt, planned by some of the Olson cousins. The beauty of the plan was that the elder Olson siblings were to be the various team captains, therefore ultimately destined to take responsibility for accepting the unnatural prize.

...and it was Team Pedro who won the scavenger hunt, though it was universally agreed that it was a contest hardly worth winning considering the payload.

When the Dark Lord RayBan first created the vase of power, we had no idea of it's insidious magnetism. First we received it from the house of Curtis and Carrie, then passed it to the house of Peesker, then received it back with twin butterflies on a drive-by vasing and then having transported it through the misty mountains, it arrived on Mark's doorstep... insert disk 2

It was the summer of 2005, and the vase was won by "he who shall not be named" (yes we are mixing movies) who then...one week later... breaking all rules of propriety and engagement, dumped the vase at a mere insignificant weenie roast. (not your typical family event and totally ignoring the rules regarding passage of the vase of power.)

Having been passed in such a manner, the aura of strength surrounding the vase had weakened. The vase was displayed with pride in the front yard and was blown over by a strong wind. In it's weakened state, it shattered. Through the ministrations of a Celtic Elder it was rebuilt (a.k.a. glued back together) and has been passed to a new generation who we are sure will appreciate it's beauty and balance and form as much as Peter. ( he who shall not be named) (oops we named him)

Well I have been putting off telling our chapter of the "Travels of the Olson Vase" for two reasons. One - it has been an unpleasant experience I would rather forget. Two - what really can be said about it?

It all started on a glorious Sunday afternoon - the day after our wedding. We had barely slept the previous night, and were delirious with happiness. We decided to sit down with the Ron Peeskers and open a few gifts. I remember Chad picking up a big box that was beautifully wrapped in blue paper (my favourite color). He opened the card and paused for a minute and then read it out to all of us.

We looked at each other and said "no it couldn't be!!" but when Chad opened the box, the horror became reality. The vase had been passed on. At first I was shocked that I hadn't expected this (I should have known better). And then I was saddened by the fact that I would have to look at it everyday, until I came up with my own brilliant plan. I tried to make the best of it by putting some of my wedding flowers in it. The flowers died immediately.

The most disheartening thing was that even though the card said "Love Uncle Peter" the handwriting looked mysteriously like my own mother's handwriting! Could she be so coldhearted? No, not Maxine. But who........?

Many a mile I have traveled. Though none quite as far as my travel from the great state of Texas where bigger is always better to the beautiful bridge city of Saskatoon. My latest journey to my new owners almost didn't happen. It all began at the joyous occasion of a party to celebrate the marriage of one Marla Peesker to Tom Ireland. My current owner Jennifer Copeland was gleefully telling her mom, Maxine and sister, Marla of her plans to leave me at her brother, Jason's new home so that he may enjoy my beauty. Little did she know that her brother's wife, Nicole was standing directly behind her, listening to her dastardly plan. Jen did not notice the wide eyes and subtle shaking of her mothers head to alert her to Nicole's presence. It was the loud NOOOOOO!!!!! that made her realize that Nicole was behind her. But never doubt my power. I was quietly left behind at Jason and Nicole's new home hidden in a dark closet behind the most beautiful white wedding dress. Jen left me there just before whisking back off to Texas. It was that same day, when Nicole suspected Jen may have left me behind, that the closet door opened and I was greeted to a scream that could be heard across the country. Nicole had found me and was not happy to see me. I was instantly confused. Why wouldn't she be happy to see my beauty? Wouldn't I fit in perfectly with the decor of her brand new home? Immediately I was moved into another dark closet out of sight but not out of earshot. I could hear the frantic planning of where I was to go next. No one was to know my whereabouts. Even my last owners Chadifer were not to know that I had been found. I was to be given in a sneak attack to the next lucky recipient. As time went on many occasions had come and gone. A family wedding would have been a great way for me to be passed. A cousin's house warming would have been even better. It was at this housewarming of Curtis and Carrie's where the whereabouts of me was discussed. But my new owners, tricky as they are, never let on that they knew where I was located. A few ideas were discussed as to how I should be awarded to the next person. At home I could hear Nicole and Jason discuss the ideas and come up with a variation of one that would work perfectly. As the day of my impending travel drew closer the excitement in the house grew. It was with great anticipation that I was to be wrapped up with toys for a cute little boy and girl in Paris and sent as a Christmas gift. The day arrived for me to be lovingly wrapped and placed gently into my means of travel. Some colouring books, a Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer book and a jungle animals puzzle were placed in the box with me and we were all sealed in for our journey across the frozen tundra. I remember that the last things I head were the evil laughs of my current owners as they closed the box. Off I was, onto another journey where I was to bring joy and happiness to my new recipients. All I could do now was wait and see as to what my next adventure brought me.

There is dark subterfuge at work here. We are currently attempting to salvage the torn shreds of the outer wrapping of the package in question for detailed handwriting analysis. The paper remains were left at the scene of the horrifying opening – Ana’s aunt’s house, along with the gift wrappings from twenty other Borges clan, so the reclamation processes is more like an archaeological dig than a simple search and rescue operation. But how strange that I would receive a phone call from you two weeks ago asking for our address so that a Christmas package for the kids could be sent. Then a package arrives, not just with your name and return address, but also with a collection of colouring books. As obvious as it looks, we were plagued with suspicions from the start, I mean, the idea of my tight fisted youngest brother freely giving up $47 Canadian dollars to mail a gift was not just implausible, but practically ridiculous. The second assumption, that dad sent the foul urn, seemed much more likely as retirement has provided for him even more time to spend on petty pranks in the attempt to keep himself entertained, but since he would be the first to fess up to such a dastardly deed and has denied it, I cannot believe he is the culprit. I agree that the shortlist of suspects must include Chadifer and the Starks. I can see from the inscriptions (actually, strips of paper attached with scotch tape) on the flawed vase that it was last “awarded” to Chadifer on the occasion of their nuptial vows back in 2006 - surely, a most unwelcome dowry. In fact, nothing has been heard of the vase since that day, minus a single journal entry on our website describing the terrible incident. Yes, Chadifer is the obvious culprit, yet I’m not entirely convinced. Why wait so long? And look at how many perfect opportunities to pass it on have gone by, for example, it could have been a wonderful housewarming gift for Skinnah and his bride and excellent retribution for all the big brother abuse over the years. Or why not gift it to Marla and Tom? They could have taken it back to England and displayed it prominently in their flat as a constant reminder of the love of their family back in North America. If those opportunities were not enough, they could have easily made it the “Jeff and Ming Vase”. The Starks are a natural suspect for any sort of underhanded activity. Their treachery runs far and deep. But as yet, I have no proof so we must wait for the handwriting analysis to return from the lab. I will leave it at that. We have a family meeting planned for tomorrow night including the Mark Olson family, who have themselves been touched by the deadly urn. The evidence will be presented, discussed and analyzed and we will determine the appropriate next course of action. To be continued….. Kris