You Want It, We Got It

Junk

The wife and I are Mr. and Mrs. Just-In-Case. Over the years, if there’s been some small, inexpensive thing that could make our lives easier, we’ve purchased it.  As I bitched about in my ‘Autumn Housecleaning’ post, the problem is that we never get rid of things we no longer use.

Living as we have, in the same houses for decades, we have accumulated the greatest collection of ‘stuff’, some of it fairly non-standard.  We lived for a couple of years beside a single mother with two young daughters.  She acquired a long-term boyfriend who was there for more than just the free sex.  Whenever he tried to clean up, fix up or paint up, she never had any/the right tools, so she would tell him to go next door, and ask Archon if he might borrow something.

A tree branch had grown over the driveway where he wanted to park his car. Would I have a saw that he could use to cut it off?  We used to go camping when the kids were young.  How about a small, light bucksaw? Perfect!

Later, he wanted to clear out a lilac bush which had overgrown a fence corner. Did I have a small axe or hatchet that he could cut out the sucker shoots with? See ‘camping’, above.  Weekend after weekend this went on, many requests common, some, not as much.  A circular saw, a hand drill and set of bits, a pipe wrench(?), tape measure, carpenters’ level, (3-foot professional, or foot-long home version?) a pry-bar, (standard crowbar or 8 inch window jimmier?) all quickly, freely provided.

Finally, she wanted to reward him for the things he’d done around her place, by baking him a cake. For this, she wanted a spring-form cake pan.  “Go next door and ask (Mrs.) Archon if they have one.”  If it involves food, ‘Of course we do!’  As I handed it to him, he asked, “Do you guys have everything?”

I guess she didn’t understand the ‘spring-form’ concept. You’re supposed to unlatch the little clip on the side to increase the diameter and have the cake slide out.  Apparently she tried to remove it with a large butcher knife, ruining the non-stick, Teflon coating, and gouging the aluminum pan.  She felt badly, and bought a replacement at a Dollarama store, but it wasn’t the quality that the wife had found.

Loupe

Even now, there are things in our house that I’m sure few other homes contain. The son owns a jewellers’ loupe, that thing that you stick in your eye and hold in place with your eyebrow, which magnifies things 10 times.  He bought it from a local jeweller after he left high school, but can’t remember why.  I’ve used it often over the years to check the detail on some of the coins I’ve acquired.

Mortar and Pestle

Recently, the wife encountered a recipe that called for powdered ginger. We have fresh ginger root, grated ginger and dried, chunk ginger.  We also have a small, powerful little electric ‘thing’ useful for such tasks as grinding coffee.  It would quickly turn the dry chunks into powder, but the wife decided to go a different way.

(To the son) “Call your sister, and ask her if we can borrow her mortar and pestle.  She just bought one that she uses to crush herbs for cooking, home remedies and aromatherapy.”

The son replied, “Why bother her? When she bought the new one, I bought her old one from her.  It’s in my room.”  It now sits in pride of place, below the overstuffed spice rack in the kitchen, groaning under every spice known to man, and a couple only to Martians.  ‘Eat your heart out bland potatoes, Matt Damon.’

Into each life, a little weird must fall. It’s just that it falls a little harder and faster at our house.  😉

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Lawsuit

Five Golden Rings

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 14, 2014

Dearest John,

I went to the door today and the postman delivered a Partridge in a Pear Tree.  What a thoroughly delightful gift!  I couldn’t have been more surprised.

With deepest love and affection
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 15, 2014

Dearest John,

Today the postman brought your very sweet gift.  Just imagine – Two Turtle Doves.  I’m delighted at your very thoughtful gift.  They are just adorable.  You big silly, what next?

All my love
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 16, 2014

Dear John,

Oh!  Aren’t you the extravagant one! Now I really must protest.  I don’t deserve such generosity – Three French Hens.  They are just darling, but I must protest, you’ve been too kind.

Love Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 17, 2014

Dear John,

Today the postman delivered Four Calling Birds.  Now, really, they’re beautiful, but don’t you think enough is enough?  You’re being far too romantic.

Affectionately
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 18, 2014

Dearest John,

What a surprise!  Today the postman delivered Five Golden Rings; one for every finger.  You’re just impossible, but I love it.  Frankly, all those birds squawking were beginning to get on my nerves.

All my love
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 19, 2014

Dear John,

When I opened the door there were actually Six Geese A-Laying on my front steps.  So you’re back to the birds again, huh?  Those geese are huge.  Where will I ever keep them?  The neighbors are complaining, and I can’t sleep through the racket. Please stop.

Cordially
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s body, OH

Dec. 20, 2014

John:

What’s with you and these fucking birds?  Seven Swans A-Swimming??  What kind of God-damned joke is this?  There’s bird shit all over the house, and they never stop with the racket.  I can’t sleep at night, and I’m a nervous wreck.  It’s not funny, so stop with the fucking birds.

Sincerely
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 21, 2014

Okay Buster:

I think I prefer the birds.  What in Hell am I going to do with Eight Maids A-Milking?  It’s not enough with all those birds and the Maids, but they had to bring along their God-damned cows!  There’s shit all over the lawn, and I can’t move in my own house.  What are you doing to me?  Just lay off me, smart-ass!

 

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 22, 2014

Hey Shithead:

What are you?  Some kind of fucking sadist?  Now there’s Nine Pipers Piping.  And Christ, do they ever play!  They’ve never stopped chasing those maids since they got here yesterday morning.  The cows are upset and they’re stepping all over those screeching birds.  What am I going to do?  The neighbors have started a petition to evict me.

You’ll Get Yours!
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 23, 2014

You Rotten Prick:

Now there’s Ten Ladies Dancing.  I don’t know why they call these sluts Ladies.  They’ve been balling those Pipers all night long.  Now the cows can’t sleep, and they’ve got diarrhea.  My living room is a river of shit!  The Commissioner of Buildings has subpoenaed me to give reason why the house shouldn’t be condemned. I’m going to sic the police on you. One who means it!

Venomously
Honey

***

Miss Honey Waste
Dog’s Body, OH

Dec. 24, 2014

Listen Fuckhead:

What’s with the Eleven Lords A-Leaping on those Maids and Ladies?  Some of those broads will never walk again.  Those Pipers ran through the Maids, and have been committing sodomy with the cows.  All twenty-three of the birds are dead.  They’ve been trampled to death in the orgy.  I hope you’re satisfied, you rotten, vicious swine.

Your sworn enemy
Honey

***

From The Legal Offices Of DEWEY, CHEATHAM and HOWE
Dog’s Anus, OH

Dec. 26, 2014

Dear Sir:

This is to acknowledge your latest gift of Twelve Fiddlers Fiddling, which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, one Miss Honey Waste.  The destruction, of course, was total.

All correspondence should come to our attention.  If you should attempt to reach Miss Waste at the Happy Dale Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight.  With this letter, please find attached a warrant for your arrest.

Cordially

I. M. A. Badger

How Now Pow-Wow

To inform NotestoPonder, an inquisitive, new, Western-Canada follower, here follows the tale of the Great Pow-Wow.  😉

Knowing I had to get up early to take the daughter to the Pow-Wow, I went to bed early.  Since regular for me is four AM, I headed for bed at three….right after a blog comment…and another.  It’s 3:30, and the wife is still reading….it’s 4 AM and she’s turning the light out.  Toss, turn, toss, turn….it’s 4:26, I’ll never get to slee….waddya mean it’s 7AM, and the alarm’s going off?

Juice and pills, feed the cats, water the dog, the son comes home and I take the car to pick up the daughter’s friend, and then her and her stuff.  Not a cold day, but the fog’s so thick I can see KayJai’s face in it.

It’s so thick, I almost couldn’t see the photo radar police car.  I drove past one last year.  They sent me a picture of my car and licence-plate, along with a $50 speeding ticket.  I sent them a picture of a Fifty-Dollar bill.  They sent me two photos, one of a pair of handcuffs, and the other of a cell door.  I sent them an email video of me, walking into the police station, right now, to pay the damned ticket.

By the time we got to the venue, the worst of the fog had dissipated, but the grass was wet.  The nearest parking was at the top of a 40 foot hill.  I hauled down the first couple of items, just in time to claim a good spot, but I am not hauling 500 pounds of stuff, down, and later, up, that hill.  We were allowed to, carefully, drive on the paved walkways, and park at the bottom.

After getting the daughter unloaded and set up, I headed home for some more sleep, and some chores.  There either was, Friday night, or would be, on Sunday, an old car show.  At a red light, a 1972 Oldsmobile 442, and a 1939 Ford drove past my nose.  After some computer time and more sleep, I drove down to the plaza to pick up a pizza for lunch.  In the parking lot, near the restaurant were 8/9 more oldies, a ’41 Dodge, a ’67 Mustang, and, side by side by side, a ’62, ’63, ’64 and ’58 Chevy Impalas.

The son says the only person who impresses him more with old cars than me, is the young fellow he works with.  We just look at a car and tell, within a few years at least, the make and age.  This was easy back in the day of yearly model changes, before they all became featureless clones, and you can’t tell Detroit iron from imported rice-burners.

Back in the tailfin heyday, 61 Chevies ended with a \ slant.  62s looked like /, 63s combined those with a <, and 64s softened it to [.  I could probably have got the ’58 on my own, but an IMP58ALA vanity plate gave it away.  I could even tell the unchanging VW Bug by a larger rear window or taillight.

I got back to pick the daughter up early enough to catch the end of the outdoor, commercial portion.  There was an indoor feast and speaker for those with tickets.  There were 40 to 50 vendor booths, none with fewer than two attendants, arranged in a horseshoe around a grassy lea.  About half were Native Indians.  The rest were White Eyes.

Closing the horseshoe was a large gazebo tent for the organizers.  This is where the dancers danced, the singers sang, the drummers drummed, and the First Aiders aided….announcements, contests, lost and found.  Some woman tried on a pair of earrings, and walked away leaving her large silver hoops.  Another left a green leather (?) purse with a $500 bill in it….or so the emcee claimed, to drum up interest.  Like the U.S., I think drug dealers have forced Canada to not print denominations larger than $100.  I need to research that.

At the base of the hill, white canvas skinned a cone of poles to make a teepee, but her dress had shrunk, and didn’t meet the ground by eight inches.  You’d need to pile a lot of bison shit around the bottom, to keep out vermin and snow.  At the other cusp of the horseshoe, a crew built and maintained a smoky campfire all day.

Everyone had a good day, socially and financially.  Daughter’s friend did some card readings and sold a bit of bead jewelry.  No beaded bookmarks, but the wife sold $51 worth of beeswax candles, in absentia, including a votive that the buyer pulled the wick out of, to rub on buckskins, for waterproofing.  The daughter didn’t actually spin yarn, but brought along two bobbins full, and plyed them together.  The fascinated watchers didn’t know the difference.

Aside from mother’s candles, the daughter sold some of her jewelry, and a couple of hand-knitted shawls, one of commercial yarn, the other, a bit more expensive, with her handspun yarn.  She asked $50 for the first, of the girl in the next stall, but she only had $40 in cash, so the daughter bartered in a $10, hand-painted leather wristband for the grandson, for coming along to help.

$30 bought her an antique Sterling ring with jade stones – cheap at twice that price.  Another $25 bought her a hand-knapped stone knife with an elk-antler handle, held on with elk sinew, with a plain, handmade leather sheath.  I expected it to be flint, but she tells me it’s agate.  Not delicate enough to trim salmon filets, it would still hack a roast off the side of a bison.  The grandson bought a four-feather smudge-fan, and two plastic bags of sage.

Daughter forgot to bring her camera, but went home with lots of happy memories, more money than she came with, some lovely parting gifts, and the intent to do this again next year.