It’s said that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I see examples of that proverbial expression often. For instance, me and she were out in the backyard  the other day gathering up junk that’s been laying around behind the shed for years. Our township has a yearly spring cleaning trash pick up day. There’s one particular junky item that kind of held some sentimental value to me - the kid’s old swing set. It had rusted and was an eyesore, but you couldn’t see it behind the shed. 

My little plot of ground here has a wooded area behind the shed, and I always stop on my way to the trees and look at that old rusted junky swing set. I picture how it once was with a couple of toddlers in the swings and wonder where the years went. I’ve always regretted not taking enough photos of my kids when they were little. But with township spring cleaning trash pick up day a couple days away I made the tough decision to get rid of that old swing. 

We drug it to the edge of the driveway and stopped to rest, “that looks like crap in the yard” she said. And I agreed, she knew I was going to cut it up and set it out for trash pick up day and it wouldn’t be lying there on its side very long (creepy looking, like maybe It The Clown would somehow find a use for it ”down there”). 

I cut the old swing into several pieces and we carried them to the end of the driveway. Goodbye old swing I mumbled to myself as the last piece of rusted metal was tossed onto the trash heap. 

Fast forward one day and not to my surprise I see an SUV backing into the driveway. An older gentleman got out, walked slowly to the pile of rusted cut up swing set and loaded every single piece into the back of his vehicle. We wondered why anyone would want such trash and she said “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” But I like to think that in this instance, the old man who picked it up was an artist looking for metal to mold and meld into a beautiful work of art and happened to spot our pile of cut up swing. And knew instantly he had found exactly what he needed for his treasured work of art. 

Having served in the United States Military I am highly patriotic and today I am keeping my words to a minimum in this week’s blog post. 

In honor of those who served and made the ultimate sacrifice.

In my last blog post I mentioned the “young old” phase of aging. One must accept the consequences brought about by this young old phase, one of which is being forgetful. I’m late with my weekly post due to being young old. Add to the fact that it’s also mowing and gardening season.

 Everyone who has a garden and a big yard can understand why some chores that aren’t quite as important as others get put on the back burner. Seedlings need transplanted, mower blades need sharpening, and other backyard chores take precedence over writing. And photography also takes a back seat. 

If I had my way, I’d move. 

My new place would have a yard just big enough for a couple flower beds, a grill, and a picnic bench. It’d be a small ranch or cabin style house, with only one floor, I’m tired of walking up and down stairs! Two bedrooms, two studio rooms (one for quilting, and one for writing, photography, and music production), and the usual rooms young old folks need, nothing fancy, nothing extravagant, just an easy living kind of house. 

My new place would have a yard that could be mowed in 30 minutes or less (compared to 3-5 hours), the two or three flower beds would be raised a little higher than normal (less bending for the young old), and the nearest highway would be 100 miles or more away (compared to two interstates almost within football tossing range). 

I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Do you?