When I was a kid there was a place that
affected me like metal drawn to a magnet, our town’s very own Disneyland—the
City Dump.
Like many boys, I looked forward to our
annual trip to this place of riches and enchantment. The visit was preceded by
Mom telling Dad it was time to clean out the garage because it was getting
difficult to squeeze the car inside. It was a mystery to me how she knew this
since she didn’t drive, but before long Dad would be cleaning out the garage
and borrowing grandpa’s old pickup for the journey to junk nirvana. Read about it (here).
Never heard of the term The Farm before, but the wallet thing reminded me of one year when my grandma got me (in high school) a pocket-watch for Christmas. Is this the 19th century. You got the time? Yeah let me check my pocket.
ReplyDeleteha. as kids we def have a different perspective...one of possibility in everything...esp all the treasures at the dump, for sure....its like a big free garage sale...smiles.
ReplyDeleteI live with a couple of genuine hoarders, which makes me feel better about my tendencies toward holding onto stuff long after I remember why. What makes it even more ironic is that climbing over stuff is usually as hard on them as it is me, but when I go to confront them, they freely admit that they should have thrown me out long ago. Sigh.
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