[continued from last entry]
Summing up (finally, mercifully): The weather gods and goddesses smiled upon me. The deities of organization and small-scale capitalism, on the other hand, must have been at home sleeping off a major bender.
Few people let the allure of a yard sale lead them up the hill, fewer still bought anything though most took something from the mound of free items. Which was okay by me, myself being more concerned with my prime directive (CLEAR SHIT OUT) than with the small amount of cash the
Murphy's law kicked in as soon as I threw in the towel and began closing up 30 minutes early. The moment I began carrying things inside, a string of cars came slowly, hesitantly up the road, one after the other. Not to buy, you understand -- to wander through, mumbling unintelligibly, claim an item or two from the free pile and wander back down the hill. (One slightly unkempt gent grabbed the lovely old Kundo clock that occupied a prominent place in the free pile -- a sweet timepiece that stopped working years ago, one I'd been unable to find a repairperson for, could not give to an outfit like Goodwill in its current state, and had it out hoping that some capable soul would see it and give it a good home. The guy appeared before me after wandering out of view for a couple of minutes, the clock cradled in his arms, smiling shyly. He said he'd learned to repair clocks while in the armed services, loved Kundo timepieces, was timidly overjoyed at this find.)
I finally managed to close up, went into the house, changed clothes, got ready to lock up and head into town. When I stepped out the door from the laundry room into the garage, I found someone in there looking through everything. Someone I knew, thankfully (though finding her there made my heart leap up into my throat), the adorable daughter of my downhill neighbor, Mo, the current postmaster/postmistress/postperson of the teeny local post office, who'd seen the handbill I'd pinned to the bulletin board outside the p.o. door, and headed over after Sat. a.m. counter hours. She eyed a vacuum cleaner that waited patiently for a new home, told me it would be for the post office, I gave it to her, practically shoving it into her arms. (Yo, U.S.P.S. -- you're welcome!)
Since then I've been giving away bags of stuff -- to friends, to Salvation Army, to libraries. And suddenly there's a growing sense of slowly digging out from under in the living space. Enough that I'll be able to start in on the one room I've been avoiding up to now, the tool/utility room cubbyhole, enough that I'll be able to begin some work painting outside one of these days (during one of the several-hour stretches of rainlessness we occasionally experience).
Meanwhile, signs of the season's slow turning are gradually piling up. The first orange leaves appeared on a tree across the gravel road a week ago. Crowds of robins -- 20 or more at a time -- forage through sections of newly-mown grass in the yard, done with breeding season and preparing to head south. I hear talk of the Perseid meteor shower, evening shadows stretch across the grass earlier and earlier, the nights have grown distinctly more chilly. It's mid-August, and autumn looms in these green hills.
Morning, mid-August, northern Vermont:
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Further entries in the 'Star Wars quotes' quiz.
Brief, like the last. Multiple choice, fill in the blank. As follows:
"R2D2, you know better than to trust _____________." -- C3PO
a) a strange computer
b) Dubya
c) badgers in heat
d) a drunken Klingon
e) a drunken pederast
"Chewie, this won't _____________!!" -- Han Solo
a) help me
b) fit in my pants
c) let go of my pants
d) cover up the stains on my pants
e) stop playing Neil Diamond tunes
España, te echo de menos
rws 6:30 PM [+]
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