Category: Oddities

2023_BlogPrompt #28 – Discarded objects

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If you’ve ever spent much time examining trash on the side of the road, perhaps you have wondered about the objects that are discarded. We’ve all seen the shoes in the middle of the road, the coffee cups, the cassette tapes—all most likely placed on the top of the car and forgotten. But some things, they are a little harder to explain. Have you ever found an object on the side of the road and wondered about it? As always, if you choose to take up the challenge, please add a pingback to this prompt.

Photo by Jasmin Egger on Unsplash 

I have spent a fair amount of time navigating the side of the road. I was a runner for many years, and I learned the literal ups and downs of the sides of the road in four or five different states.

But even after all these years and thousands of miles logged, there is something I have yet to figure out. The strangest things end up on the side of the road, and I am deeply curious as tohow they end up there.

Last Friday, for example, it was crazy cold outside. I was out for my morning walk, and I was on a stretch of road where there are no houses. On the side of the road, I passed a clear plastic egg carton—the food-warehouse super-size container that holds 18 eggs. It was just sitting on the side of the road, as if it fell out of someone’s car. Through the plastic, it was obvious that many of the eggs were broken, and the inside of the container was smeared with frozen yellow yolk.

So I ask you this. How do you lose a carton of eggs on the side of the road with no houses in sight? Are you driving along and have an argument with your passenger and start tossing the just-purchased groceries out the window? Because you would have to actually have a carton of eggs in your car to lose one out the window, and that’s only likely to be the case when you are on the way home from the store. Are you out walking and just happen to be carrying a dozen-and-a-half eggs with you when you slip on the ice and fall? HOW do you lose eggs on the side of the road?? I have a deep curiosity and need to know.

Then again, one day long ago, on this same stretch of road, there was a pair of discarded dress pants. I made up a story about those pants. But the eggs… I’m just baffled.

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Traditions

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Sometimes, traditions come about in unusual ways.

For example, this Christmas, I was visiting my mom, and I brought her some cookies. This is something I do every year. I bake a gazillion different types of cookies, and I make up plates that I then distribute to neighbors and friends and coworkers.  It just so happens, I have a plastic container that I fill with cookies for my mother, so she gets more than anyone else. Most of these she puts in the freezer so she can enjoy them throughout the long months of winter.

Keep in mind, these are homemade cookies that have been baked with much love.

This year, I brought an extra plate with me. These cookies were on a paper plate—the type I typically use for people other than my mother. I had made the plate up as an extra, and I brought it with me so I wouldn’t feel bad about eating some cookies while I was visiting. In the car on the drive there, a couple of the cookies on this plate were broken by the bumps and potholes of the journey.

Somehow, my mother came to call this extra plate, “the garbage plate.” One night, she walked into the living room with a cookie in her hand. “I took this from the garbage plate,” she told me. I’m not sure where the name “garbage plate” came from. These cookies were far from “garbage cookies.” They were simply “extras” as I decide that traveling with extra cookies might be a good idea.

However, there is no doubt in my mind that in future years, the “garbage plate” of cookies will become a new tradition. I will bring the normal cookies, and I will also bring a “garbage plate” of cookies, so there will be extras. After all, once you have brought extra cookies, you can’t go back to the normal quantity.

Traditions are funny things. Sometimes they have important and respectable beginnings, and sometimes they emerge out of a silly joke. But joke or not, you can never have too many cookies!

The Letter Z

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Today’s nonsensical post will be brought to you by the letter Z. It was going to be sponsored by X, but my fingers inadvertently hit the wrong key. So Z, it is!

Lately, my thoughts have been somewhat Zigzaggy as they skip from one subject to another, seemingly at random and with little warning. I believe this to be the result of new responsibilities while trying to tie up previous commitments. And a lack of a stable and steady landing pad. Or perhaps I am just becoming sentimental as my last child zooms through his senior year of high school and contemplates the next steps on his journey.

I have zero tolerance for these mind-wanderings as they make me feel freakishly unfocused. Perhaps some invisible zombies have taken over my brain, and I am halfway to zombie-state, myself. Having recently made it through Halloween, this is a distinct—though distant—possibility.

Adding zombies to the zany zoo of my life might be a bit crazy, eh? Then again, it is likely that I wouldn’t recognize the difference between the animals, the kids, and the zombies. While we’re at it, let’s throw in a lizard or two. But now maybe we have gotten so far off topic that we are conjuring a magic potion that will cure the zombies: tongue of lizard, eye of newt, and two chicken teeth, ground to green pulp….

Together with the magic potion, all of the words in this post will be stuffed into a tiny Ziploc freezer bag (because freezer bags are stronger). I will zip them in where they will stay—until further notice—in the zone of the Zodiac in Xanadu.

Oops. That was meant for the X-sponsored post…. I need to catch some Zzzs!

Nothing

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Nothing. That is where I am. Still. After weeks of struggling with nothing, I am still at nothing. No ideas. No motivation. No creativity. N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

So… I have decided to go out and steal some ideas. I’m going to go and listen in on other people’s conversations. I’m going to use their ideas to jump-start my writing. Maybe, if I’m feeling particularly persnickety, I will interrupt their dialogue—jump in and try to redirect their ideas. I might even mess with them just a bit to see if I can incite a heated debate or two. You know what might be fun? I could follow someone around the grocery store while they carry on a phone conversation. I could keep reaching in front of them to collect items from my list, and since I am there, I might offer them advice to deal with the person to whom they are talking!

I am going to engage in some random acts of mischief. Maybe I’ll swap some price placards at the grocery store (those things are so easy to change out!) or leave messages on chalkboards in random classrooms: Today’s class has been moved to room 302. I could walk around in a Halloween mask, or—if I’m really feeling daring—flip the arrows on construction detours. (This last idea would be best carried out under cover of darkness…).

I am going to pretend to occupy myself with some intensely secret projects. These projects will involve all kinds of crazy equipment and supplies, none of which will be related in any conceivable fashion. But I will collect everything I “need” in a massive pile on my front lawn, all the while touting my “top secret endeavor.” Or maybe I’ll just dig a six by six by three-foot hole in my front garden. That might make  my neighbors curious about what I was up to….

I am going to plant seeds of kindness. I am going to leave post-it notes with inspirational messages in places where their discovery will be a pleasant surprise—next to the toilet paper dispenser, inside the elevator door, on people’s car windows, and on the napkin dispensers in the dining hall. I am going to hold doors, offer words of encouragement, and hand out flowers on a street corner.

I am going to hold a wacky raffle and give away tickets for free. (How many people will write their names and emails on wacky raffle tickets for a stranger?) I will raffle off items from my home that I no longer need or want. This will be a much easier way to get rid of my clutter than selling it or hauling it away. And imagine what a pleasure it will be to email strangers and say, Hey, you’ve won this week’s wacky raffle!!

I am going to go out on a limb once a day for the next week and step out of my comfort zone. I am going to sit with a stranger who is crying or upset. I am going to talk to the children whose parents are consumed by their phones and not paying attention. I am going to offer a helping hand, a hug, or a kind word or bit of encouragement and hope that I can make someone’s day just a little brighter.

And maybe when I’m done with all of this, maybe … just maybe … ideas will start to flow. Because right now, I’ve got no ideas. Not even one. I’ve got nothing. But if you want a wacky raffle ticket, let me know. I’ve got those!

{Photo by Mark Eder on Unsplash}

Remnants

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The last time I was visiting Mom, she handed me a small plastic sandwich bag. “This is stuff I cleaned off your father’s dresser. Do you want any of it?” I studied the bag, turning it over in my hand. Seriously? I squinted through the plastic, my mind flipping back and forth between: Of course I want it! and Why would I want any of this?

When my son was little, he would pick up all sorts of remnants that he found on the floor. If we walked into a fabric or craft store, he would gather balls of thread that had fallen off the frayed edges of material on the bolt, pieces of silk flowers that were lying on the floor, buttons that had fallen off clothing. His pockets were never empty, and I had to be careful to check every single pocket on laundry day.

The bag my mother handed me was much like the contents of my young son’s pockets—remnants of a life of gathering. The bag contained pieces of unrelated objects collected on the daily journey and deposited into a common container on the top of Dad’s dresser. All they had in common was the container in which they ended up. And the man who had gathered them.

The bag held washers, screws, broken things, a bunch of oddball items. I sat down on the floor and untied the knot at the top of the bag. I stirred the contents with my finger, revealing all of the treasures that Dad had felt it necessary to keep. The metal spring from a wooden clothespin. A ring that I had made by winding yellow electrical wire around itself. Around and around and around. A firecracker with an old, frayed fuse, but no doubt just as explosive as ever. Two broken angel wings, clearly from two different angels.

No. Dad was not an angel wings kind of man. Two broken eagle wings, clearly from two different eagles. But with a lack context, they are the wings of angels in my mind. Under the circumstances and left to my interpretatin, angels are more appropriate.

Why did Dad collect these items, number one, and save them all, number two? What was it about the yellow wire ring? The firecracker? The angel wings?

This bag might seem to be full of useless items, some broken or seemingly meaningless. But they had meaning to Dad. He saved them all for a reason. Perhaps he intended to glue the wings back on the angels. Find the wooden parts of the clothespin. Set off the one remaining firecracker. Or maybe he was waiting to see how someone else might piece together the remnants he gathered up along his way.

Confession

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I was at the grocery store recently, in the coffee/tea aisle perusing the selections of both, really. But as I made my way toward the back of the store, some hot chocolate caught my eye—something different than the usual individually packaged powdered mix. This one was in a miniature, old fashioned glass milk bottle, and there were several different flavors. I bought some for my son—Chocolate Moo-usse. He likes hot chocolate, and this particular brand looked fascinating (and good!)—all natural and (relatively) local.

However, I have to confess that I bought the hot chocolate as much for the packaging as for the actual product, itself. Imagine what a cute vase that would make with some flowers (real or silk) on my desk at work! And just like me, the product promises, “Sillyness by nature.” Indeed, this is the perfect message for me and my life.

This evening, I went to the company website to take a look. They have a great story, and I have to say, I am quite anxious to try the “Hot Chocolate Silly Cookies.”

You know, maybe this was a silly purchase. Seeing as we’re heading into summer, it’s not really hot chocolate weather, first of all. And, as I said, I purchased the hot chocolate mainly for the packaging.

But on the other hand, think about this: all-natural ingredients, great recipes, and pure yumminess (and a new office decoration, as a perk!) all for under $4.00! What’s not to love about that?

Hairpins

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Every so often, my house coughs up a hairpin. This is an awkward habit that doesn’t seem to have an end. Every now and then, I will be walking through a room, and suddenly, there is a hairpin on the floor where there wasn’t one previously.

I am not sure where these hairpins are coming from. Years ago, my daughter had long hair. Years ago, she had to put her hair in a bun on a near daily basis for dance practice. But years ago, she cut her hair and donated it. It hasn’t been long since. And she hasn’t used a hairpin since.

Other moms sometimes complain of this same phenomenon, but their daughters still have long hair and use hairpins regularly. The fact that they have hairpins in their house makes sense.

We got rid of the hairpins—all the hairpins, I thought. The bulk of them, she gave to friends who were still dancing. Stray pins were thrown out as we came across them—usually in a logical place like her dance bag or her dresser.

Yesterday, I found one on the floor of my bedroom. [I do not use these devices in my own hair]. The fact that somehow my house is still holding on to hairpins is odd. In fact, it startles me when I come across one because no one in my house has used hairpins in years. Where are they coming from?

This is one of the mysteries of life for moms of girls.

Ice Cream

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The question was bound to come eventually. We had finished dinner (though apparently not dessert), and I was upstairs when I heard it, asked from one boy to the other, older brother to younger.

“What is it about those two flavors that make it better to mix them?” he asked. A burst of laughter threatened to give away my own curiosity on this issue. In truth, I had wondered this same thing countless times, but because this was a long-standing habit, I was used to it, and never asked.

Ever since I can remember, any time we went out for ice cream, W would order one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of mint chocolate chip in a large bowl. Then he would proceed to stir it up until it was all one flavor—vanilla-mint, melty and smooth.

I had been observing this phenomenon for years. I bought cartons of classic vanilla and mint chocolate chip ice cream, so he could prepare this concoction at home. And yet, I had never asked the reason why.

Sometimes, brothers can take not knowing only so long, and they finally break down and ask. But then I heard him ask, “What does it taste like, anyway? Can I try it?” And I wondered if he really wanted to try it, or if this was his way of getting some of his brother’s ice cream. Vanilla-mint or diluted-mint would not be my own personal choice….

The question of why he mixes these flavors was bound to come eventually. From upstairs, I didn’t hear the full answer, but for me, it was satisfying just to hear the question asked.

Unexpected Messages

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I am a huge believer in the power of inspirational messages. Apparently, so is the person who designed the pants I wore yesterday. As bizarre as this may sound, I unexpectedly discovered a message in my pants yesterday. I say “unexpectedly” because I have had these pants since the early fall, and despite wearing them somewhat regularly, I never noticed the message. It was printed inside the front of the waistband for no apparent reason than to brighten my day.

I was in the bathroom at work, going on about my unmentionable business, when I looked down and saw the message, “You are Gorgeous.” I looked closer, just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Nope. The message was really there. It wasn’t connected to any other writing in the pants. “You are Gorgeous” was all by itself in the front of the pants. I felt a glimmer of encouragement, and I smiled to myself. What a great idea!

We all need a little positivity in our lives, and this week was particularly opportune timing. I am finishing up three weeks of what feels like nearly non-stop work between my responsibilities at my two jobs.

Whoever decided my pants should contain an unexpected message was brilliant. It was perfectly placed so as to elude my notice until the exact moment I needed it the most. I so appreciate the smile at the end of a long week, and I hope more clothing manufacturers will follow suit. Unexpected compliments are the best! KUDOS to the messenger!

 

Forbidden

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I have all manner of items—ranging from helpful to slightly odd—stuck to my refrigerator with magnets. I have magnets with helpful information—the non-emergency number for the local fire department, the hours for the dump, my plumber’s contact information. I have photos of my kids when they were much younger, the rehearsal schedule for the high school theater department, information for an upcoming summer camp job, a small calendar, and various magnets and magnetic clips.

Some things have been on my refrigerator for so long that they have become invisible to me. For example, one day last week, I suddenly noticed I still had a 2017 full year calendar stuck on the refrigerator. It had obviously arrived as a Christmas card in 2016, and it hadn’t been moved since. Until last week when I re-noticed it.

But the most unusual item on my fridge—depending on your perspective—was brought to my attention over the weekend. C was home from college for spring break, and while he was waiting for his bagel to toast, he was studying the items on the fridge. I had gone to the basement to get something, and when I returned, he said, “Hey Mom?”

“Yeah?” I responded.

“What’s this note on the fridge with the phone number that says ‘Do Not Call’?”

I burst out laughing because something that seemed so harmless to me suddenly took on a much more ominous and taunting quality. A post-it note with a phone number that we were not to call. Perhaps I was provoking my kids to see if they would take the bait and call this forbidden phone number.

Really, that was not it at all. I had been at work one day when I received one too many robo-calls on my cell phone. I contacted my carrier, and they gave me the number for the national “do not call” list. I had called, but now my kids needed to call from their own numbers. I had scrawled the number on this paper, and carefully labeled it, so I wouldn’t forget, and then, I stuck it on the fridge, so it wouldn’t get lost.

But my son’s interpretation of this note has given me an idea. If you suddenly find a note like this around your house, it’s probably not the national “do not call” registry, so I would suggest you not call it. Just don’t ask me where the note came from….