Thursday, July 24, 2014

The Gods of Curb Finds.

Sometimes, I think to myself "How the hell did I get here". And I don't mean that in a geographical sense or anything like that. What I mean is "How the hell did I find myself dragging a wheelbarrow, half in the bag, down a block in Brooklyn, mosquito bitten,  to scavenge flagstone from a house reno?"

Let me explain. Today I had some running around to do, and briefly, while I was home, brought the dog out for a walk and while we were out happened upon a lovely pile of flagstones, they might also be called slate, but they're thick slate, not the measly stuff you slate things with, but the tough thick stuff that you walk the street in hooker heels with.  Sadly, neither without the time or any fellow gardener to snatch the stones and schlep them back to the garden I (foolishly) placed my hope in the gods of the curb finds and went on with my day, hopeful that I'd be able to dash back once I got home.

The Gods of the Curb Finds are a vicious and vengeful sort. They will not hold stuff, they will not give what you beg to find. They are fickle and they are cruel. They will bless you with the discovery of a gorgeous shelving unit ONLY when you have your mini schnauzer (who loves to stop and smell EVERYTHING) and they will laugh and enjoy the sight of you as you invoke your Momma Bear strength to carry said shelving unit with one arm while Miss Daisy smells every rock and tree and creature. And despite knowing how cruel the Gods were, after walking a friend who had come over to try some of the tomato jam that I spent 4 hours making, with some Hungarian Rose, I ran to the garden to borrow a wheelbarrow to ferry the stones back. WELL, as we enjoy collecting (hoard) dead plants and weeds, we also in the garden like to hoard wheelbarrows. Literally, there are 5 wheelbarrows in the back. None of them have inflated tires, one has an entirely flat tire AND NO HANDLES. I know. One day I'm going to drag them out to the curb. ONE DAY.

And so after all that, and doing a pretty damn good (horrible) job at walking (dragging) Barrow (yep, I shortened that, we're on first name basis after our ordeal) down the street, guess what was gone from the curb. Back on the list of curb wants goes flagstones. Sigh. I will go comfort myself (and my mosquito bite covered legs) with Camembert and Tomato Jam and Hungarian Rose. Life is hard.

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