It started out so innocently. As instructed by the good folks at Toshiba (with whom I've developed a closer-than-ever-anticipated-or-desired relationship) I was just dropping off my (completely trashed) computer at the UPS store. And like a good momma, I graciously acquiesced to my Mojy's (all-but-rabid) request to stop at a yard sale across the street. (Even though it was Friday. And I had a house in desperate need of intensive attention. And a Shabbos meal to prepare.) We spent 10 minutes yard sale-ing and emerged with a mind-numbingly cute dress for Shani and a couple of books. No great shakes, but for a buck, who's complaining?
Having loaded the troops into the Green Machine and taken roll call (yes, I take roll call...there are lots of them, only one of me, and sometimes it's just better to be safe than sorry...) I assumed I was off the proverbial hook. Until...(insert Jaws theme music here) we saw The Pile. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with my legendary trashpicking-addiction, click here.) The Pile was large and fruitful, yielding a basketball hoop that required the full scope of my engineering skills to wedge into the back of the van. Sweaty and triumphant, I reloaded the kids and we were off.
Except that two houses down, we chanced upon Another Pile. Folks, I'll cut to the chase. Here in the Des Moines, they have a wondrous thing called Bulk Waste Pickup. Every neighborhood has a designated date to dump all of their unwanted goodies on the side of the road, and then freaks like me can tear around, chortling manically, and gather them up.
We scored a galvanized trash can (for the chicks' feed),
a wading pool, several boxes of vintage glass balls,
an on orange ottoman with a screw loose (ahem),
and an easel for the kidlets.
Also an odd assortment of metal lock-boxes for the boys, who are key-fascinated these days, and a nifty little enameled tray, because I couldn't control myself.
If ever I questioned the wisdom of moving to the Middle of the Midwest, my qualms have been quelled.