Tinker Bell hasn’t shown any of her magical powers, but Mustard is holding out hope.
Photos by Laurie Mustard / Winnipeg Free Press
Ringing the Kiwanis bell after a few sips from his special goblet is among Laurie Mustard’s favourite pastimes.
Presently, in homes across the nation, definitely including those here in the Peg, people are sorting, stacking and organizing stuff for their spring garage sales, done without a hint of empathy for our addiction.
These people are so smart, possibly even a little psychopathic. Their plan is a cold-hearted one, almost evil, absolutely premeditated, in which they trick the vulnerable public into hauling away their unwanted stuff, and get us to pay them to do it.
The word Machiavellian comes to mind.
Sure, we get some great deals, but is it really a fabulous deal if we don’t need it, and very few other people do as well? That’s why it’s in their garage sale instead of for sale on eBay.
Take for example some of the things I’ve hauled home, which I had to have, but don’t need, simply because it was a good deal.
I have a brass, (maybe brass coated), Kiwanis bell, and the wall plaque that goes with it, even though, shocker, I am not a Kiwanian. Great bunch, they do some wonderful work in the community, but right now, I’m not even sure I know a member of said club. And although the bell has a robust ring, with wonderful tone, I have no one to call to order.
I tried using it to summon the cats. You can imagine how that went. And the dog just goes and hides because he thinks he’s in trouble. And there the bell sits.
I got a great deal on a shelving unit, and thought I was so clever because my end-of-the-day offer required I get everything that was on the shelves with it. I was a tad surprised when he so readily agreed. So now I have an ornamental clown collection as well. I don’t collect clowns, and again, don’t know anyone who does. Value being in the eye of the beholder, I know there’s someone somewhere who does, and will give me a big dollar for these clowns, but I know I’ll never find that person. And I swear, late at night, when the house is stone dead quiet, I can hear them talking to one another on their shelf in my Aunt Olive’s old china cabinet. And I believe their eyes follow me every time I walk by them.
Anyone have Stephen King’s contact info?
The shelving unit deal also included some miniature New Zealand souvenirs. I’ve never been to New Zealand, and don’t know any Kiwis. So, yeah.
I also have the most adorable little Tinker Bell lamp, with sparkly wings. There are no children in this house anymore, I have no Tinker Bell theme happening anywhere here, so I don’t use it. It just sits there.
Perhaps because it has wings the cats always look like they want to kill it. Maybe someday they will. At least somebody would get some use out of it.
I even have a couple of very cool, (well I think so), mini bedside potties, probably with a hospital history of some sort. Strangely, in this age, where there’s a flush toilet around every corner, they’ve never been used here. Not even in the caboose.
Sometimes I hold them up to my ears, and I think I hear the ocean in there. Then I realize it’s probably not the ocean, and I put them down. I don’t do that in front of company — anymore.
I could go on, and on. Did I mention the boatload of old Singer sewing machines I have that I’m going to make one good one out of?
I feel your pain, and mine, but readily admit I will passionately self inflict a great deal more of it this summer, because I just have to.
See you at the meeting.
Comments or feedback welcome!
lmustard1948@gmail.com
