Posted on September 14, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

We live in a capitalist society.  We buy and sell goods.  In some cases we barter goods and services.  And, of course, there is the ever present “underground economy” that thrives on cash transactions, far away from the peering eyes of CRA (IRS Lite).  And if that isn’t enough economic activity, there are flea markets and yard sales.  You are either a yard sale type or you’re not.  There’s no in-between on this one.

In our house, one person lives to go “yard sailing” and it’s not me.

I stared at the counter and saw what had to be the world’s smallest slow cooker.  This was on a Saturday morning so I had no doubt where it had come from.  After a long and reasonably happy marriage, I have learned that not being inquisitive is a good thing.  But, I’ll admit, I did the old head scratching thing wondering why we needed a dwarf slow cooker to go along with papa slow cooker, mama slow cooker and baby slow cooker.  I mean, how many slow cookers does a married couple need at this stage of the proceedings with all of the eaglets out on their own?

More than three, I guess.

I have learned a lot about the sub culture of yards sales.  You can never have too many of one item.  Case in point:  Iggle Piggle. Even Ken Jennings of Jeopardy fame probably doesn’t know who Iggle Piggle is so you can be excused for having that stunned look on your face.  Iggle Piggle is a character from a British children’s show called “In the Night Garden.”  Rather than have me try and describe him (her?), just go ahead and Google the name.

One of our granddaughters lived with us for two years and regularly watched this show.  She became fond of all the characters but none more so than Iggle Piggle. To satisfy this craving, my wife bought an Iggle Piggle doll, and then, the feeding frenzy started.  In relative short order, the number of dolls multiplied, like mitosis on steroids, most of them purchased at yard sales.

Why?  Sorry.  I don’t understand calculus either.

Which brings me back to the teeny weeny slow cooker.  After two days of it tantalizing me from the kitchen counter, I had to ask the question.  And I did.  And I got an answer.

How often do you use a slow cooker?  Once a month?  Five times a year?  Or is this a wedding gift that you have pondered re-gifting because you already have enough of them to cater a wedding?

I was told that this newest prized possession was for the use of a new tenant in our household, an education student.  “And what are the chances that he will need this cooking vessel on the same day that we have all three of ours on the go?”  As is the custom, my comment was dismissed.  A stern rebuke was not required.  The Look said it all.

Too many crocks spoil the broth.

Posted on September 12, 2013 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

Have I mentioned the big fundraiser coming up on Sept.26th. at the Schwartz auditorium? Only about 10 times. Two weeks from today is the day and tickets are starting to sell. If you want to make sure you get in, get your tickets early and while you’re at it, invite a few friends to join you. Phil and I are planning on doing a dry run of the program this evening at a senior’s apartment building. Remember…. every penny raised goes to charity. Phil and I have waived our normal exorbitant speaking fee!

Do you like going to yard sales and flea markets? Do you ever buy something that you really don’t need? Do you ever buy more than one of the same items on successive weeks? Do you ever end up selling things you bought at a yard sale at your own yard sale? I have come to the conclusion that you either love yard sales or you don’t. There doesn’t appear to be a grey area on this subject. So, in our house, there is one of us who LOVES yard sales and the other person is me. My better half arrived home recently with more “treasures” and I paused when I saw one particular purchase. I know better by now, not to ask why. It’s like asking “why do you breathe?” I thought it would be much easier for me to explain all of this by writing a story. Coming this Saturday ( yard sale day ) is a brand new story called ” It’s Just a Crock”

Also coming soon is the new story I recently wrote about CJFX radio station and some of the characters who worked behind the microphone in years gone by. It is called “In The Shade of The Chestnut Tree.” You see, the only thing separating our old family home from the radio station was a chestnut tree. Do kids play in chestnut trees or any other trees for that matter, these days? If you are of a certain age, you will remember all of the people in this story.

On a more serious note, someone stopped me the other day and suggested I write a serious piece on people who text and drive. It is a real problem. I’m sure you’ve witnessed this. I think distracted drivers have overtaken drunk drivers as the major threat on our highways and byways.

If there is one of my stories that you think I should read at the fundraiser , let me know. I’ll see if it passes censorship!

Have a great weekend.

Posted on September 10, 2013 under Storytelling with no comments yet

When you live in a university town, there is a constant ebb and flow that follows the school year.  Students arrive en masse in September and leave in late April.  You see a lot of moving vans and teary eyed parents.  The tears are a mixture of sadness and apprehension that their children are preparing to leave the nest forever.  At least that’s the hope.

After a year or two of living on campus, many students opt for off-campus housing in the form of rental units.  There’s only one thing worse than helping your children move and that is the delicate task of helping them clean their apartment when the lease is up.  If you want to see tears, watch a parent clean up after a horde of quasi-adults.

There is a hierarchy of dirt.  There is our own, our children’s and finally, that of total strangers.

We can all deal with our own squalor, as bad as it might appear.  We have moved a little bit more than the average family.  Once it was a move to the county to accommodate a flock of chickens and a few roosters that graced our property in town.  There is a longer version to that story including our haphazard attempts at corralling and transporting the flock.

At the best of times, doing the final cleanup in your own home is soul destroying work.  But it can be worse.  A lot worse.

Inevitably, your children will want to leave home.  Some say they will be gone for good by the time they reach the age of thirty.  It starts in high school when they plead to share a summer rental with buddies.  A piece of advice to parents: under no circumstances, allow your teenage child to do a sublet with buddies.  Ever.  Even if they guarantee never to come home again.  One memorable year, we were pressed into action and undertook the cleanup of the rental at the end of the summer.  It is hard to describe what we encountered upon entering the house but, by all accounts, we should have been wearing hazardous waste suits.  Fukushima looked like the Public Gardens in comparison.

As bad as it seems, cleaning up after yourself and your offspring is mere child’s play compared to cleaning a complete strangers’ grunge.  Recently, a friend moved to Halifax and was taking up residence in an apartment.  The sign outside the building said “ready for occupancy”.  Unfortunately it did not contain the disclaimer that the preferred occupants would be recent hires of Molly Maid.

The young woman, about to attend law school, took one look at the filth left by the predecessors and was already pondering her first law suit.  A small tear welled in the corner of her eye.  She and her mother rolled up their sleeves and formed their own version of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.  The place was rendered spotless with the help of Mr. Clean and a bottle of Yellowtail merlot.

I would like to be filthy rich some days.  If I could just skip the filthy part.