Another Man's Junk

Don't go to the salvage yards to find unique or interesting items for your home. The dealer in antiques has been there long before you to stock his shop and left behind endless rows of windows, toilets and other things only an expert could identify. Just as likely, the owner of the antique shop is friends with the salvage man and has been through the building before demolition and removed anything he thinks will bring a good price. It is very hard to find a bargain in an antique shop.
To find a bargain, visit an auction. You may be bidding against the antique dealers, but you know at least that he won't overbid. And maybe he's sick that day or at a wedding, then you've got a good chance, though you've had to forfiet the day yourself. On the third hand you'll get your dosage of vitamin D for the day and catch up with neighbors you only see at auctions.

A Day of One's Own

My friend Steve, co-publisher of The Raven, is the one who started naming days in people's honor. My brother Steve had done a signal service to The Raven, and as thanks, Steve the publisher named March 16 as Steve McDonnell Day in Palmville Township. It is quite a day here in the township. The bank and the school are closed. There is a parade, poster waving, and beer drinking and much goodwill is expended, and we trust Steve my brother enjoys the day as much as we do. There is a standing invitation to Steve to be here all expenses paid (excluding transportation to and fro) to enjoy his special day with all of us.
Well a few years later, Steve from The Raven did my father a signal service and to say thanks, March 18th was designated Steve Reynolds Day in Hull, Massachusetts. Of course there is a parade, efforts are made to string banners across Nantasket Ave., and beer is consumed in Steve's honor.
All this naming of days made me realize that each of us is born with 365.25 days to give away to whoever we like. Say it's your mother's birthday and you can't afford a gift. Wouldn't mom be thrilled to have a day named in her honor, even if it's in Palmville Township, pop. 46.
I'm thinking of having a boxed set of 365 "A Day Has Been Named in Your Honor" cards made up to make the process as simple as pie.

Today's the Day

Our country is in competent hands. That doesn't mean everyone's happy about that. There was a vote today to provide consumer protection regarding investments. The conservaives were against it. I try to see their point of view. They're afraid the rules will hobble entereprise. They needn't fear. The Enterprisers will find ways around the rule, through loopholes we did not foresee. The Conservatives want to preserve their ability to make money. The Libs want to spread it around: a little bit of a lot is still a lot for each. The Conservatives want to have it all. They say they earned it so keep off. Can't blame 'em for thinking that way. But the better brighter way is to share, imho. My question is: are the Cs the creators of all wealth? That is a good question. They take risks so should they not have the rewards when thinhgs go well? Many Conservatives are in the poor house. Where does the wealth of this country come from? China? Oh, our very good friends in China. Let us work together. You make, we buy.
And yet we're still the #1 manufacturing country in the world. What do we make? Not sieves or anything else in the store. I think Obama needs to expalin that more.

Tippy

I aquired my penchant for tipping back in my chair on my father's ship. The galley had a dozen captain's chairs along the walls. I liked the aft wall best because tipping back here complemented the natural slope of the deck.
I'm not comfortable in a chair unless I'm tilted back a few inches. However women are not comfortable seeing me tip back in their chairs. They pretend they're worried I'll get hurt, but really they think I'm hurting the chair which is nonsense. I'll obey their request, finish my tea as quickly as possible, then I'm out of there.

Hairy Situation

I like to take my daily shower in the little bathroom upstairs. There's not much traffic up there; it's a world unto itself. I used to find it a relaxing place until I started to notice a strip of hair along the baseboard between the sink and the door. Where the heck was this coming come from? We have no animals and only the occasional guest. It made me nervous. I once read that all the dust in the world is left over from the Big Bang. I found this fact comforting and decided it was futile to fight against something so stupendous and something that happened way before my time. Just enjoy life as best you can I told myself. Don't make yourself crazy. So could I blame this hair in the bathroom on the Big Bang as well? One afternoon as I pondered this while toweling myself down I noticed one of my own hairs drift to the floor. Hmmmm. Could it be? Me? Just in case, I now rake up the hair when it reaches a depth of one inch and deposit in the trash can that has always been there. This hair is transported to a landfill in the next county not to be seen again in this lifetime.

All Bull All The Time

Most residents at Greenbush Manor have TVs. There is free cable, one of the perks of our facility. One resident wanted an extra channel that covers farm news and views. The maintenance man had to hook up a special antenna just for this channel. As I walk past this resident's room in the afternoons, I hear the drone of an auctioneer. There's something enticing about his spiel, like that of a carney barker, and I sometimes wander in to watch. On the screen there will be a bull trotting around a large corral. The bull always looks too small, but 700 lbs is the weight they sell them at. It takes just a couple of minutes to sell a bull. They start the bidding close to what they want and it quickly escalates to what they're going to get. There's no "going once...going twice." The auctioneer is no more than deep, rapid voice swallowing air. The bull is oblivious. He explores his corral. Back and forth he goes, rarely standing still. I thought we were seeing the bull in real time, but then noticed him looking through the bars at the same crony in the next pen, or examining the same lump of manure in a repeating loop. I realized the bulls are filmed earlier and shown during the auction. The seller can reject a bid he thinks too low; we are not privy to those dealings. There's a phone number in the corner, but all the buyers have had to register and have their accounts pre-approved. The buyer receives a 2% discount for the contents of the bull's stomach which will be gone by the time his truck arrives. For the next few years the bull will stay busy breeding cows, but once his ardor flags, he will return to a pen like this for a final scene like that of a victim in a horror movie. That will go unrecorded.

Fifty-two Pickup

The depression after '29
Was like a deck of cards
Blown around the porch.

This time the house of cards
Is tumbling all around us.