Sure signs of spring, they were.
A little red mustang with its top down going one way, passed by a pickup pulling a fishing boat, followed by a car with a little, red Dashchund hanging out the driver’s side window with its mouth wide open and eyes smiling.
Well, the eyes looked happy, anyway. Which begs the age-old question: if a dog loves the wind blowing in his face, why does he hate a person blowing in his face?
Even seeing the convertible, the boat and the happy dog within minutes of one another, I couldn’t call it spring. The big test had yet to come. But just as I thought that thought, my husband turned our van in at Dairy Queen.
He does that voluntarily only once a year. When he feels like spring. It doesn’t matter how many other indications we may have seen, until he feels like spring, he doesn’t stop.
We don’t live far from the west side DQ, so we went home before eating our Buster Bars, though we did sit in the car to eat. Opened the garage door and looked at the stuff inside as we ate.
“How about putting the lockers on the garage sale?” I asked.
Nope. He wants them. I bought them — three old lockers stuck together — from Montgomery Ward in Greeley, Colo., when I was the ad rep for the store, and when they wanted to sell store stuff to employees, they let me play too.
“Get rid of the type, though.”
The type, too, came from Wards when they found a different way to make signs. Their old sign-making machine was useless to them, so I bought it. Of course, we never got around to using it and finally junked the actual printing machine. We kept the type. All sizes, in good shape.
It reminds me of the Keene Valley Sun, a small weekly we owned in Keenesburg, Colo., about 35 years ago. We used movable type for lots of stuff there.
“And sell the table the type’s sitting on,” he added.
Not my table. I bought that from the daily paper in Oshkosh, Wis., when I worked there. The top can sit at an angle, so I bought it for my daughter to use as an easel. She never got to use it as an easel, however, because as soon as it hit the basement, my junk jumped on top of it.
It’s a good thing the ice cream didn’t take hours to eat or I’d been in trouble. Everything I love would be in my rummage sale pile.
Before going into the house, we walked into back yard and before my brain had time to complain, I was raking the pinecones off the rock garden. In the five minutes it took to move rocks and rake, I forgot where the rocks went, so now can’t put them back until something starts growing or I could rock over a plant. That seems wrong.
I had planned to clean the basement last weekend to get ready for my rummage sale. Which could be, by the way, a purge of all those unopened boxes in the basement. Instead, on Saturday we drove to Des Moines to check gas mileage on our new old van.
Sunday, I intended after church not to surface until my husband had a grilled cheese sandwich sitting on a paper towel beside a bowl of tomato soup for my lunch.
Instead, after church we went out for breakfast. Then I watched “Another Thin Man,” slept for several hours and woke up to Denver Nuggets leading the Los Angeles Lakers in a playoff game. By then I was hungry again, and we went out for supper.
Another spring day happily down the drain. And that’s why those boxes are still in the basement.
So long friends, until the next time when we’re together.
Contact Sandy Mickelson at (515) 573-2141 or email@example.com