April at 60 . . . and a mallet, too

April is a good part over, but this morning it is here – stepping out into the back vestibule, I was met with warm, gentle, moist air. Not one thing harsh about it. When I was 30 – and younger, and some older – I would have been aware of it in the back of my mind. But I would not have felt it like a warm bath. Not that I don’t have worries, but I noticed noticing it. I think it is an age thing.

Oh, yes, I forgot about the Trinity Methodist Rummage Sale yesterday until about four in the afternoon. Today is bag day, but judging from the slim pickings I found at four, I doubt that I will go. I did spend a dollar and donated another one, and came away with these four things:

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A book I already have, but one I can stuff in the glove compartment for emergency reading; a mallet that screamed “I’ve been waiting here for you”; a flat thing with a handle and this muffin thing for Mother.

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I am particularly pleased with the mallet. Can you see? The head is held on with a rusty nail bent to serve as a cotter pin. How did this treasure go unclaimed? Oh, yes, I guess it is because it is sooooo AmeliaJake. That might scare some people.

One thought on “April at 60 . . . and a mallet, too”

  1. I understand the mallet. As I was helping clean out the upstairs of the family machine shop before the ranch sold I came upon a hoe. It was just a short hand hoe, rusty, kind of wobbly with the name Ted carved in the handle. It had been left and forgotten for years, a remnant from when the ranch was a vegetable farm back in the 1930s. Ted resides in my garage now and helps me on a regular basis in my garden. I like Ted. Old and wobbly, nicked and scarred. He fits me.

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