Can you still get film developed at a drug store?
I asked myself this question after reading one of my kids' Berenstain Bear books. The book was about the worst vacation the Bear family ever took. It was filled with stinky skunks, sunken boats, and leaky roofs. At the end of the book, Mama takes the film to the drugstore, waits a few days, and goes back to get the pictures to share with the family.
After reading the passage, I looked over at my kids (4 and 1 1/2) and wondered to myself if they would even understand what film is when they got older. I suppose they will still have pop references in songs, but I haven't used the real stuff for at least five years, probably longer. We still have the old cameras, though.
I know because I found them while looking for our lost digital camera.
It is amazing how a lost item can drive you crazy. This past weekend, not only did we lose the digital camera, we discovered that the shovels were lost too. I don't know where those could have gone either. At least all four items are together, wherever they are.
When you discover things are lost, there is a reliable chain of events that goes on. First, you look in all of the obvious places the item might be. In the case of our digital camera, that included its normal resting place on top of the buffet, also on the desk near the computer (you get the idea). Then, you look for it in all of the unusual, but still perhaps possible places it might be. Those might include the kids' room, under the couch cushions, etc...
Then some helpful soul, who invariably is not helping you look for the lost item as they should be, suggests that you think back to where you saw it last and retrace your steps. Eureka!
Well, not really. Those shovels walked off last fall and could be at one of several friends' houses, or the dump for all that I know. The camera might have had a better prognosis. It was last seen taking pictures of items to be listed on Craigslist. But then, we rearranged the furniture, and it disappeared. Back to square one.
The final effort on my part, was to begin a CSI search of the house, flashlight and all. I started in the mudroom, opened every cabinet, checked every clothes hamper. I looked in places so impossible for a camera to hide, that finding one there would have been tantamount to discovering the missing human evolutionary link under an old service manual in my junk drawer.
Nevertheless, I looked in those places too. I discovered, with my flashlight and latex gloves (OK, so I didn't wear latex gloves, or even yellow kitchen gloves. The ones my wife buys are too small for my hands. But I would have.) dozens of lost toys, a nice ladies bracelet, and that the couch really needs spring cleaning.
I looked in the vehicles, in shoes, in the cellar doorway, and in closets containing big people and small people clothing. I looked int he garage, and in the barn. It was quite extensive, take my word for it.
I never found the shovels, or the digital camera. I did find the big, old, reliable, and hard to lose 35mm SLR cameras. Does anyone know if the drugstore still develops film?
Showing posts with label Dump. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dump. Show all posts
Spring Cleaning
Why can't I ever seem to throw anything away?
Some folks say that being a packrat runs in your blood. I might just believe that. My grandmother had the bug for certain. When she died, years ago, it almost took the corps of engineers to go through all of the stuff that she had accumulated over a lifetime.
I'm not that bad yet. My wife might have a different opinion. I still shudder at the thought of tossing a perfectly straight coffee can with lid. It might be useful holding nuts and bolts in the garage some day.Or it could turn into a set of stilts for my daughter to get hurt on. Those things have a million uses, after all. So, I stash it away with the old ice cream container and the old mesh fruit sack (those make a good scrub brush for car tires if you ever need one).
I do try to get rid of useless stuff, but somehow, I can always seem to find a use for most of what responsible people might send to the dump. You know that "Reuse Zone" they have at the transfer station? That was practically built for me. I have rescued books, skis, and sundry other items as well. Stopping in that little shed is almost as exciting for me as bringing stuff to the dump is for my wife.
Perhaps it comes with space. Years ago, when I lived in an apartment alone, my life could fit in the bed of my pickup truck. Over the next few residences, each a bit larger and nicer than the last, I somehow acquired more and more stuff. The house I live in now has a barn. It was a major selling point when my wife and I bought it. I didn't ever think that I would be able to fill it up. But time passed, we had kids, and I did it.
Somehow over the last eight years or so, I have covered the floors of the four horse stalls with snow tires, play pools, a boat we don't use, lumber, furniture, and boxes of leftover junk from my youth. The open areas now have a conglomeration of Jeeps and Jeep parts. it is getting so that it is difficult to walk through there these days in the dark. What to do? What to do? What to do?
Or, do I need to do anything? I have seen those shows about the people who horde everything under the sun away in their tiny houses stacked to the ceiling. I am not that bad, I don't think. Birds still use the barn for a home in the summertime. They can fly through there. That is proof enough for me.
Why, you would have to be standing in my back yard to see the piles of firewood and old scrap steel lying in the snowdrifts. From the road, my house is as clean as the statehouse (both of which are prone to the occasional dog chasing a ball across the grass, mind you). But despite appearances from the outside, I feel the need to do something about my growing piles of stuff.
Spring is in the air. Before we know it, the warmer weather will prompt the annual garage clean out... and the house clean out... and the barn clean out. Dutifully, as a husband and certified junk collector, I will go through and half-organize, half hide away, half junk my amassed collections. Why you might ask? Well, I am more than familiar with the habits of Vermonters all across the state this time of year. Many will be doing the same. And with the great clean-out comes the other springtime tradition, the great garage sale.
Did I tell you that I got a working chainsaw at a garage sale last year for $3.85?
Yes, the decimal is supposed to be there, and yes, I now own two.
I am a junk collector, after all.
Some folks say that being a packrat runs in your blood. I might just believe that. My grandmother had the bug for certain. When she died, years ago, it almost took the corps of engineers to go through all of the stuff that she had accumulated over a lifetime.
I'm not that bad yet. My wife might have a different opinion. I still shudder at the thought of tossing a perfectly straight coffee can with lid. It might be useful holding nuts and bolts in the garage some day.Or it could turn into a set of stilts for my daughter to get hurt on. Those things have a million uses, after all. So, I stash it away with the old ice cream container and the old mesh fruit sack (those make a good scrub brush for car tires if you ever need one).
I do try to get rid of useless stuff, but somehow, I can always seem to find a use for most of what responsible people might send to the dump. You know that "Reuse Zone" they have at the transfer station? That was practically built for me. I have rescued books, skis, and sundry other items as well. Stopping in that little shed is almost as exciting for me as bringing stuff to the dump is for my wife.
Perhaps it comes with space. Years ago, when I lived in an apartment alone, my life could fit in the bed of my pickup truck. Over the next few residences, each a bit larger and nicer than the last, I somehow acquired more and more stuff. The house I live in now has a barn. It was a major selling point when my wife and I bought it. I didn't ever think that I would be able to fill it up. But time passed, we had kids, and I did it.
Somehow over the last eight years or so, I have covered the floors of the four horse stalls with snow tires, play pools, a boat we don't use, lumber, furniture, and boxes of leftover junk from my youth. The open areas now have a conglomeration of Jeeps and Jeep parts. it is getting so that it is difficult to walk through there these days in the dark. What to do? What to do? What to do?
Or, do I need to do anything? I have seen those shows about the people who horde everything under the sun away in their tiny houses stacked to the ceiling. I am not that bad, I don't think. Birds still use the barn for a home in the summertime. They can fly through there. That is proof enough for me.
Why, you would have to be standing in my back yard to see the piles of firewood and old scrap steel lying in the snowdrifts. From the road, my house is as clean as the statehouse (both of which are prone to the occasional dog chasing a ball across the grass, mind you). But despite appearances from the outside, I feel the need to do something about my growing piles of stuff.
Spring is in the air. Before we know it, the warmer weather will prompt the annual garage clean out... and the house clean out... and the barn clean out. Dutifully, as a husband and certified junk collector, I will go through and half-organize, half hide away, half junk my amassed collections. Why you might ask? Well, I am more than familiar with the habits of Vermonters all across the state this time of year. Many will be doing the same. And with the great clean-out comes the other springtime tradition, the great garage sale.
Did I tell you that I got a working chainsaw at a garage sale last year for $3.85?
Yes, the decimal is supposed to be there, and yes, I now own two.
I am a junk collector, after all.
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