I always say after nearly three decades of working in retail, I am going to write a book about my adventures serving the public.
But, on the other hand, nobody would believe some of the stories I have to tell.
Working in a home center might seem mundane to people who have never done it -- certainly, nobody would consider it as exciting as my other career as a writer if they have never lived through a day at the store. Well, let me tell you, there are people who are ALIVE today because I happened to wait on them, and, most often, talk them OUT of doing the dangerous and potentially deadly projects they thought they had the know-how to do for themselves.
Take the person who came in for stove pipe the other day (OK, it was a woman, but whether a man or a woman doesn't necessarily mean the client knows what they are doing. I think the husbands send their wives in not so much because they are too busy at home working on the projects but because they have no idea what they are looking for themselves and don't want us to know). We sell stove pipe ranging in diameter from four to 12 inches and in both black and galvanized metal. I showed her to our display and figured it would be an easy sale, until I asked what she was using it for and she said to run natural gas to the stove.
Not what stove pipe is for, ma'am.
So I am preparing to hook her up with the right piping for natural gas over in the plumbing department with all of the proper accouterments, but when I ask what size fittings she needs she has no idea. A voice inside tells me this person is now heading for the award for being the most likely to meet her maker in a blazing fire ball. I recommend she finds out what fittings it'll take from the person doing the job, so she goes home to do more research.
But to prove I'm not being sexist and dogging women -- we certainly do welcome women to the store and will help as much as possible -- we'll take a look at the guy who was trying to find a circuit breaker the other day. He doesn't have an old one to match up (that would make it too easy) so I ask what amp size he is looking for, but he doesn't know that either. Than he asks what size he needs when the house wiring he installed is 22 gauge.
For the non-electricians out there, 22 gauge is so thin you could pretty much bite it apart. There hasn't been a home since Edison that was wired with 22 gauge wire. I ask if he's sure, he says yes, and I ask if maybe it might be the more popular, and a heck of a lot safer, 12 gauge wire, figuring the confusion stems from the fact that they both have a "2" in them. He said that might be what he used; he wasn't sure. I'm thinking here's another jack of all trades heading for a shocking experience.
Hey, I'm not about to stop helping the people out when it is a reasonable project for a reasonable person. But when someone is wiring their house with dental floss or running gas through anything other than factory approved piping, I figure the best way to do the job safely is to hire it out. That expense is a small price to pay compared to the price of a new home, or paying for that hospital stay. And just because someone saw the project done on TV doesn't make him or her an expert.
I can't tell you how many times someone has held up the line at the register because he or she left the money in the car. Or the people who ask me to mix the same color paint they got three years ago, and then get mad when I don't remember what it was. Or the times people come in to have something cut to size without bringing along their measurements.
Then there was the guy who cashed out, went into the parking lot, and came rushing back in to say someone stole his car while he was in the store. Luckily, the customer in line behind him was an off duty State Trooper, so he quickly radioed in the description of the vehicle and put out an all points bulletin. The local Thruway exit was the likeliest destination for a car thief, so he notified the Troopers there to keep an eye out for it. We were kind of excited in the store because it was like watching a cop show come to life.
Suddenly the guy peaked out the door, and sheepishly said, "Oh, I forgot; I parked on the other side of the lot this time."
Our Trooper buddy was really glad he stopped to shop that day.
To be fair, I'm sure there are plenty of places I shop where they look at me with bewilderment when I ask dumb questions. I have left my shopping list at home, and gone to stores without the proper measurements figuring I can eyeball things. Wrong! So out of my element I am just as clueless as anyone else. It certainly takes the pressure off having to know what I'm doing all of the time ... and I know I'm in good company thanks to my own experiences in customer service.
I even imagine some people leave the store after a discourse with me and say, "Boy, that guy was an idiot!"
To prove the point, and to show that just as I bust chops of others I can take the heat as well, here's a favorite moment that the rest of the crew likes to bask in every now and then. Some years back, my co-worker Pat was out of work for awhile so I decided to give her a call to cheer her up and let her know how much she was missed. I checked our master employee telephone list for her number, dialed, and when that computerized generic answering voice finished, left a flowery message to the extent of "Pat, we miss you and can't get along without you," or some such.
The next day I'm figuring this is likely good medicine for her, so I call again. This time, I say, "Pat, the place is falling apart without you -- get back here ASAP!" As the week went on, the messages got sillier, until the last one where I said, "Pat, we miss you and love you! We can't survive without you!"
I hadn't heard anything back during the week I made the series of calls, but I just figured she was busy. Then, as I was ringing up a sale on the cash register, the phone rings and a guy asks for me. Since we were short-handed, I attempted to complete the sale while talking to the guy. But I lost my concentration on the sale at hand when he suddenly asks why I've been calling his son all week, why I keep asking the kid to come back when we fired him, and especially why I said I loved him.
It turned out the "Pat" on the phone list wasn't "Patricia," but "Patrick" -- a teen who we had recently let go because he was a slacker.
Try explaining that to an irate dad on the phone! Needless to say, there and then I decided anytime I get an answering machine that doesn't confirm it belongs to the person I'm calling, I don't leave a message...
Friday, March 16, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
LIVING WITH A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE
It was an odd trip from the start ... Samantha was driving and the roads were mostly clear, even though it was the middle of winter. We were taking an unplanned and longer-than-usual trip that evening, but the extra distance seemed strangely calming rather than a nuisance. It was almost like right from the time we left there was something strange about to happen, although strange in a good way.
Sam crested a hill out on the backroads out in the woods and suddenly hit a patch of ice. The car started to slide, and as she corrected her steering the car slid even more treacherously in the other direction. Suddenly, we were spinning out of control, speeding backwards down the steep icy hill.
I remember putting my left hand firmly on the steering wheel to keep it steady in a likely-futile attempt to right the car and save us from rolling over in the ditch. Then Sam said aloud that she was sorry.
The next thing we knew, we had come to a stop in a small snow bank near the bottom of the hill, facing forward with the car stalled out. Shifting into park, I had Sam restart the car and gently ease out of the snowbank to continue on, figuring to get her going again ASAP so she wouldn't lose her nerve about driving in the winter. I dropped her off, and then went back alone to look at the tracks in the snow where we spun out. I found we had crossed both lanes twice to then spin completely around before somehow ending up safe in the snow.
This was a time God wasn't just our co-pilot -- He actually climbed into the driver's seat!
Oddly, when I got home I was scheduled to write my previous blog, the one about the ghost hunters. I was a little scared when I was thinking about the belief that ghosts don't know they are dead, so I called Sam to ponder whether we might have only thought we survived the crash. Even more scary was that she said she was thinking the same thing. Of course, it didn't take long to get back into the normal routine of work and to realize that if this was the afterlife I'm really going to be ticked.
Reflecting on what could easily have been a destructive if not fatal crash, it's hard to rationalize why this happened. I asked Sam what she remembered about the incident and she recalled the same as I did -- spinning around backwards and speeding up as we came down the hill. Then opening her eyes to find ourselves in the snow facing forward. Neither of us remembered any moment of actual contact, and if it hadn't been for the tracks in the snow and the place where the snowbank was disturbed I might have thought we hallucinated the whole thing.
Obviously, death was not meant to be that evening. But I wonder why. Is there something I'm supposed to be doing with this new lease on life? What is the meaning of this whole experience? I keep looking for an explanation, but so far haven't really seen an answer, other than to be the herald of the Divine intervention that saved us from pain. That, plus the fact that Samantha got an invaluable lesson that will likely make her a safer driver for years to come...
Sam crested a hill out on the backroads out in the woods and suddenly hit a patch of ice. The car started to slide, and as she corrected her steering the car slid even more treacherously in the other direction. Suddenly, we were spinning out of control, speeding backwards down the steep icy hill.
I remember putting my left hand firmly on the steering wheel to keep it steady in a likely-futile attempt to right the car and save us from rolling over in the ditch. Then Sam said aloud that she was sorry.
The next thing we knew, we had come to a stop in a small snow bank near the bottom of the hill, facing forward with the car stalled out. Shifting into park, I had Sam restart the car and gently ease out of the snowbank to continue on, figuring to get her going again ASAP so she wouldn't lose her nerve about driving in the winter. I dropped her off, and then went back alone to look at the tracks in the snow where we spun out. I found we had crossed both lanes twice to then spin completely around before somehow ending up safe in the snow.
This was a time God wasn't just our co-pilot -- He actually climbed into the driver's seat!
Oddly, when I got home I was scheduled to write my previous blog, the one about the ghost hunters. I was a little scared when I was thinking about the belief that ghosts don't know they are dead, so I called Sam to ponder whether we might have only thought we survived the crash. Even more scary was that she said she was thinking the same thing. Of course, it didn't take long to get back into the normal routine of work and to realize that if this was the afterlife I'm really going to be ticked.
Reflecting on what could easily have been a destructive if not fatal crash, it's hard to rationalize why this happened. I asked Sam what she remembered about the incident and she recalled the same as I did -- spinning around backwards and speeding up as we came down the hill. Then opening her eyes to find ourselves in the snow facing forward. Neither of us remembered any moment of actual contact, and if it hadn't been for the tracks in the snow and the place where the snowbank was disturbed I might have thought we hallucinated the whole thing.
Obviously, death was not meant to be that evening. But I wonder why. Is there something I'm supposed to be doing with this new lease on life? What is the meaning of this whole experience? I keep looking for an explanation, but so far haven't really seen an answer, other than to be the herald of the Divine intervention that saved us from pain. That, plus the fact that Samantha got an invaluable lesson that will likely make her a safer driver for years to come...
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A QUEST FOR THE PARANORMAL
It all started as a challenge from my beloved brother-in-law Ken Ernenwein, who balked at a picture I posted on Facebook showing what was said to be an orb. Taken at the Spirit Fair in Morrisville, N.Y. last October, the pic became the hit of the event as host Madis Senner saw it and called everyone in attendance over to take a look.
But then Ken posted that in reality it wasn't an orb at all.
I admit I don't know an orb from a knob; I just enjoyed Sammy and I suddenly becoming the highlight of the show, as well as Madis' own blog, also found at http://www.oneidadispatch.com/. But Ken -- the head of Verona Paranormal Investigations -- intrigued me with an invitation to come out and see first-hand a live search for something otherworldly.
We met last November at Rutger Park in Utica to inspect two unoccupied and dilapidated buildings, one of which was formerly a nursing home. Joined by Marcus Zwierecki and Cano Davy, co-founders of New York State Paranormal Research, plus a handful of other volunteers, Sammy and I tagged along to watch as they set up video and sound recording equipment. Once the apparatus was in place, we all went silent as questions were posed to the attention of any ethereal presence that might be with us.
Ken would introduce himself, then ask questions like, "Do you know today's date?" and "Who is the president of the United States? Do you know her name?" (That, he later explained, is asked purposely to arouse a response in any paranormal who might not be aware of the year it was.) I even got to ask a few questions myself. Although we constantly tried to maintain our quiet, occasionally we made a noise that was then explained aloud on the recording. Voices would come over the walkie-talkies every now and then and someone would announce, "radio chatter." Sam's shoe squeaked at one point, and she said, "That was my shoe squeaking." My stomach growled; I had to preserve for posterity the confession to that fact on the recording.
At the scene, the only real evidence we heard was captured by Cano's group in the nursing home building; when someone asked, "Do you need help?" a weak female voice could be faintly heard on the recording saying, "Help me."
Recording of video and audio went on in various rooms throughout the home for several hours, and then it was time for what Ken called his favorite part -- listening to all of that audio and watching all of the video at home looking for things that seemed out of place. Sammy and I got the chance to hear some of the results of that recording this past Saturday night, as Ken invited us over to hear some of the unexplainable instances they had captured that evening.
Several times in the videos we saw strange, small yet bright lights that were out of place given the location of their own lighting. At one point there was a weird triangular object that fluttered through the frame and then out, much like a fishing lure as it is cast. The audio was a bit more revealing, as at one point Ken asked, "Have you lived here long?" and a subtle murmur seemed to respond, "A long time." At another spot there seemed to be a chant, although we all heard different words. And then there was the response to Sammy's squeaking shoe -- we heard the squeak, heard her announce it was her shoe, and then suddenly a voice with the same character as before sounded like it said, "What the frick?" (Yes, frick.)
But then Ken posted that in reality it wasn't an orb at all.
I admit I don't know an orb from a knob; I just enjoyed Sammy and I suddenly becoming the highlight of the show, as well as Madis' own blog, also found at http://www.oneidadispatch.com/. But Ken -- the head of Verona Paranormal Investigations -- intrigued me with an invitation to come out and see first-hand a live search for something otherworldly.
We met last November at Rutger Park in Utica to inspect two unoccupied and dilapidated buildings, one of which was formerly a nursing home. Joined by Marcus Zwierecki and Cano Davy, co-founders of New York State Paranormal Research, plus a handful of other volunteers, Sammy and I tagged along to watch as they set up video and sound recording equipment. Once the apparatus was in place, we all went silent as questions were posed to the attention of any ethereal presence that might be with us.
Ken checks the computerized audio and video recording equipment as he prepares for a question and answer session in one of the rooms at Rutger Park
Ken would introduce himself, then ask questions like, "Do you know today's date?" and "Who is the president of the United States? Do you know her name?" (That, he later explained, is asked purposely to arouse a response in any paranormal who might not be aware of the year it was.) I even got to ask a few questions myself. Although we constantly tried to maintain our quiet, occasionally we made a noise that was then explained aloud on the recording. Voices would come over the walkie-talkies every now and then and someone would announce, "radio chatter." Sam's shoe squeaked at one point, and she said, "That was my shoe squeaking." My stomach growled; I had to preserve for posterity the confession to that fact on the recording.
At the scene, the only real evidence we heard was captured by Cano's group in the nursing home building; when someone asked, "Do you need help?" a weak female voice could be faintly heard on the recording saying, "Help me."
Sammy inspects one of the old telephones in the building that used to be a nursing home.
Recording of video and audio went on in various rooms throughout the home for several hours, and then it was time for what Ken called his favorite part -- listening to all of that audio and watching all of the video at home looking for things that seemed out of place. Sammy and I got the chance to hear some of the results of that recording this past Saturday night, as Ken invited us over to hear some of the unexplainable instances they had captured that evening.
Several times in the videos we saw strange, small yet bright lights that were out of place given the location of their own lighting. At one point there was a weird triangular object that fluttered through the frame and then out, much like a fishing lure as it is cast. The audio was a bit more revealing, as at one point Ken asked, "Have you lived here long?" and a subtle murmur seemed to respond, "A long time." At another spot there seemed to be a chant, although we all heard different words. And then there was the response to Sammy's squeaking shoe -- we heard the squeak, heard her announce it was her shoe, and then suddenly a voice with the same character as before sounded like it said, "What the frick?" (Yes, frick.)
Ken, left, shows me and Sammy's friend Alisha some of the video he collected from our Rutger Park visit. Something is definitely going on over there!
I think that Sammy was a little disappointed that there wasn't a concrete, on-your-face ghost that came right out and said, "Hey, I'm here!" But I tried to explain that no matter what kind of high technological and high price equipment people have and whatever level of ability and experience they boast, contact with the paranormal is a fleeting experience at best. Those quick shadows passing by that disappear when you look for them could be a presence, and I will still always believe that the huge crash I heard one night as I drifted off to sleep -- which yielded no fallen object other than the wallet I had tried to find -- was a friend who passed away the day before helping me locate it.
I do believe in what Ken discovered. But the thing paramount on my mind after joining them is what to do with the information -- mainly as I think of a lost soul calling from the nether asking for help. How can I help? What possible use can I be to a spirit in need? And how does any of this information benefit either one of us?
There are definitely unexplained phenomenon in our world and beyond. If the day comes when Ken or someone like him discovers a link to it a world of new information will be opened for us. That in itself is reason for these guys to keep up their work. There is more to existence than simply what we see on our world with our eyes, and hopefully some day I'll live to see it.
Or maybe I'll die to see it. Whatever -- it's got to happen some day.
I think that Sammy was a little disappointed that there wasn't a concrete, on-your-face ghost that came right out and said, "Hey, I'm here!" But I tried to explain that no matter what kind of high technological and high price equipment people have and whatever level of ability and experience they boast, contact with the paranormal is a fleeting experience at best. Those quick shadows passing by that disappear when you look for them could be a presence, and I will still always believe that the huge crash I heard one night as I drifted off to sleep -- which yielded no fallen object other than the wallet I had tried to find -- was a friend who passed away the day before helping me locate it.
I do believe in what Ken discovered. But the thing paramount on my mind after joining them is what to do with the information -- mainly as I think of a lost soul calling from the nether asking for help. How can I help? What possible use can I be to a spirit in need? And how does any of this information benefit either one of us?
There are definitely unexplained phenomenon in our world and beyond. If the day comes when Ken or someone like him discovers a link to it a world of new information will be opened for us. That in itself is reason for these guys to keep up their work. There is more to existence than simply what we see on our world with our eyes, and hopefully some day I'll live to see it.
Or maybe I'll die to see it. Whatever -- it's got to happen some day.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
HAPPY EVERYTHING!
I think way too much effort is spent on being politically correct when it comes to wishing somebody a happy (fill in the blank with the holiday of your choice) when the end of December comes.
Are we afraid of offending someone, or afraid of being offended ourselves?
I celebrate Christmas -- always have, and, I assume, always will. I wish people a "Merry Christmas" this time of year. I remember the anniversary of the birth of my savior Jesus Christ and it's only coincidence that the holiday is also known for Christmas cookies.
That doesn't mean I'm forcing anyone to actually HAVE a merry Christmas if they don't want one. They can still enjoy their own Hanukkah or Kwanzaa if they celebrate those holidays instead. Heck, they can even have a miserable Christmas if they would prefer not to have a merry one.
I am just trying to share the celebratory spirit of my own holiday. I wouldn't take offense if someone wished me a Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, or even Happy Boxing Day. I'd like it even better if the boss gave me all of those holidays off, but that's not likely to happen.
So if you celebrate a holiday other than the one I am, feel free to share your own greeting of happiness with me. I'll wish you a Merry Christmas right back. Isn't sharing what it's all about this time of year, regardless of what holiday you are celebrating?
Have a happy one, whatever you choose to observe! That's what the holidays -- and America -- are all about.
Are we afraid of offending someone, or afraid of being offended ourselves?
I celebrate Christmas -- always have, and, I assume, always will. I wish people a "Merry Christmas" this time of year. I remember the anniversary of the birth of my savior Jesus Christ and it's only coincidence that the holiday is also known for Christmas cookies.
That doesn't mean I'm forcing anyone to actually HAVE a merry Christmas if they don't want one. They can still enjoy their own Hanukkah or Kwanzaa if they celebrate those holidays instead. Heck, they can even have a miserable Christmas if they would prefer not to have a merry one.
I am just trying to share the celebratory spirit of my own holiday. I wouldn't take offense if someone wished me a Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, or even Happy Boxing Day. I'd like it even better if the boss gave me all of those holidays off, but that's not likely to happen.
So if you celebrate a holiday other than the one I am, feel free to share your own greeting of happiness with me. I'll wish you a Merry Christmas right back. Isn't sharing what it's all about this time of year, regardless of what holiday you are celebrating?
Have a happy one, whatever you choose to observe! That's what the holidays -- and America -- are all about.
Friday, October 7, 2011
RUDE AWAKENING
I've got to readjust my sleeping schedule.
Once again, I set the clock radio to go off at 6:30 a.m. so I could get up for work, figuring listening to the local radio station was a lot more pleasant way to wake up than the shock of that dreaded buzzer.
Maybe not. First thing I hear is the news -- and it certainly isn't good news. This guy's dead; this child is kidnapped; the economy is in the toilet and they are marching on Wall Street. What happened to a little motivational good news that might prompt me to feel good about life and actually make me want to rise from my slumbers?
Instead, I just pulled the pillow over my head as I dreaded getting up and facing the day.
As both a feature writer and an editor, I am always looking for some good news to write about or place on the page to offset the bad. Laying out pages in the newspaper, I look for fun stories to balance out the grief ... but sometimes I can go through the entire AP wire without coming up with anything. I know it's like any good novel and conflict makes for an exciting story, but come on, people. There must be something good happening out there.
Maybe I should plan getting up so it's not on the half-hour and right at news time, or maybe it's time to put that old clock radio back on the buzzer setting.
It can't be any more harsh than the news.
Once again, I set the clock radio to go off at 6:30 a.m. so I could get up for work, figuring listening to the local radio station was a lot more pleasant way to wake up than the shock of that dreaded buzzer.
Maybe not. First thing I hear is the news -- and it certainly isn't good news. This guy's dead; this child is kidnapped; the economy is in the toilet and they are marching on Wall Street. What happened to a little motivational good news that might prompt me to feel good about life and actually make me want to rise from my slumbers?
Instead, I just pulled the pillow over my head as I dreaded getting up and facing the day.
As both a feature writer and an editor, I am always looking for some good news to write about or place on the page to offset the bad. Laying out pages in the newspaper, I look for fun stories to balance out the grief ... but sometimes I can go through the entire AP wire without coming up with anything. I know it's like any good novel and conflict makes for an exciting story, but come on, people. There must be something good happening out there.
Maybe I should plan getting up so it's not on the half-hour and right at news time, or maybe it's time to put that old clock radio back on the buzzer setting.
It can't be any more harsh than the news.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
New Year's Resolutions Fail!
Now that the three-quarters point of the year has passed, I am evaluating my New Year's resolutions and realizing that I really haven't done a good job of fulfilling my obligations to whatever New Year's fairies oversee that stuff. But I did get the most important one accomplished -- getting Gabby off to college. Even though I had to go back a week later to bring her home for a funeral. I think it was a good learning experience for her, especially when she arranged the train ride back to save me from the three-and-a-half hour return ride to Niagara University.
I'm sure I'm in good company among people who make promises to better themselves at the beginning of the year, but then fail miserably. Let's skip right over the weight loss thing and examine the "more positive outlook in the workplace" resolution -- with only a couple of slips and one major blowout, that might be my second closest-to-accomplished resolution. I think the "Attitude Adjustment Seminars" (aka wing nights) with my co-worker buddies have helped that one. Sipping a beer and eating wings with the boss makes for a happy work environment when we get back to the office, I think. I prescribe that for anyone feeling the workplace blues.
Well, I suppose I still have three months left to lose my age in pounds by my next birthday, and it's only a pound every other day. And if not, there's always another New Year's Eve right around the corner to make new (or remake the same old) New Year's resolutions ...
I'm sure I'm in good company among people who make promises to better themselves at the beginning of the year, but then fail miserably. Let's skip right over the weight loss thing and examine the "more positive outlook in the workplace" resolution -- with only a couple of slips and one major blowout, that might be my second closest-to-accomplished resolution. I think the "Attitude Adjustment Seminars" (aka wing nights) with my co-worker buddies have helped that one. Sipping a beer and eating wings with the boss makes for a happy work environment when we get back to the office, I think. I prescribe that for anyone feeling the workplace blues.
Well, I suppose I still have three months left to lose my age in pounds by my next birthday, and it's only a pound every other day. And if not, there's always another New Year's Eve right around the corner to make new (or remake the same old) New Year's resolutions ...
Sunday, August 21, 2011
DOES THIS MEAN I'M AN ANTIQUE?
I just got home from my annual visit to the incredible -- and this year newly-revitalized -- Madison-Bouckville Antique Week here in Central New York. After spending several hours pouring over the displays featuring just about everything I've ever owned, the question paramount on my mind is: If these things are now antiques, does that make me one too?
The second thought that keeps coming to mind is how rich would I be now if I had never opened these items and could now sell them all for the asking prices they have them tagged?
A trip to this antique capitol of the world is a blast into the past for me. I love looking at and reminiscing over all of those old toys I had as a kid, although the prices they are now asking for them blow me away. Even those old plastic cereal freebies that we had for a day before losing interest in them and then tossing them out are now big bucks. I did save some of my old toys for my own kids, and still cringe at the thought of the day we had my vintage Planet of the Apes treehouse set up on the living room floor when Gabby as a toddler fell and wiped the thing out. That's probably why the stuff is so pricey now -- we never appreciated the investment value of our toys back in the 60's and 70's like they do today. So we usually trashed the stuff.
Tallying up the prices I saw today marked on that Planet of the Apes collection comes to somewhere around $500. Playing with it as a child back in the 70's and then again with my kids in the 90's -- and maybe even another generation soon to come, since I managed to salvage the treehouse thanks to some glue and a couple of dowels -- is worth well more than that to me. So when the grandkids are old enough, I'm sure we'll get it out again. Hopefully they will be able to appreciate it.
I certainly would never think of selling the beloved apes ... we have many more years left to play with it! And that's worth a heck of a lot more than any $500.
People from out of town might not know how close we came to not having an antique event this year, nor just how great it was that so many people came together to keep it going. The organizers of the main weekend show bowed out after last summer's event and the field was sold, leaving the hometown dealers who count on it to bring them buyers wondering what they would do. But local merchants John Mansino and Jim Dutcher stepped up to the plate and hit a home run by organizing the Madison-Bouckville Promotions group of antique dealers and restaurants to keep this going. My hat's off to all of you for keeping the crowds coming to Route 20, and for keeping my trips of nostalgia alive!
The second thought that keeps coming to mind is how rich would I be now if I had never opened these items and could now sell them all for the asking prices they have them tagged?
(The Madison-Bouckville Antique Week festivities is about more than just shopping for bargains on old stuff -- you can also eat your way along Route 20)
A trip to this antique capitol of the world is a blast into the past for me. I love looking at and reminiscing over all of those old toys I had as a kid, although the prices they are now asking for them blow me away. Even those old plastic cereal freebies that we had for a day before losing interest in them and then tossing them out are now big bucks. I did save some of my old toys for my own kids, and still cringe at the thought of the day we had my vintage Planet of the Apes treehouse set up on the living room floor when Gabby as a toddler fell and wiped the thing out. That's probably why the stuff is so pricey now -- we never appreciated the investment value of our toys back in the 60's and 70's like they do today. So we usually trashed the stuff.
(Get your stinking paws off my Planet of the Apes toy collection!)
Tallying up the prices I saw today marked on that Planet of the Apes collection comes to somewhere around $500. Playing with it as a child back in the 70's and then again with my kids in the 90's -- and maybe even another generation soon to come, since I managed to salvage the treehouse thanks to some glue and a couple of dowels -- is worth well more than that to me. So when the grandkids are old enough, I'm sure we'll get it out again. Hopefully they will be able to appreciate it.
I certainly would never think of selling the beloved apes ... we have many more years left to play with it! And that's worth a heck of a lot more than any $500.
People from out of town might not know how close we came to not having an antique event this year, nor just how great it was that so many people came together to keep it going. The organizers of the main weekend show bowed out after last summer's event and the field was sold, leaving the hometown dealers who count on it to bring them buyers wondering what they would do. But local merchants John Mansino and Jim Dutcher stepped up to the plate and hit a home run by organizing the Madison-Bouckville Promotions group of antique dealers and restaurants to keep this going. My hat's off to all of you for keeping the crowds coming to Route 20, and for keeping my trips of nostalgia alive!
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