Sunday, March 18th, 2012

Tim stopped by last night to call a locksmith after he locked himself out of his apartment. He stepped out onto his patio to get something and unthinkingly swept the patio door closed behind him, realizing as soon as he heard the click of the latch that he was not going to be getting back in any time soon. The front door was locked and he didn’t have his keys on him, so he made the fifteen-minute walk to our house to see what he could do about getting in.

And I tell this story not to embarrass Tim, although I suppose it does just that. Sorry, T-Dawg. My purpose, though, was to tell you that, if there are people out there determined to get into your home, the lock you’ve got on your front door is going to do exactly squat to stop them. It’ll surely lock you out, but to somebody who knows locks it’s a momentary delay. The locksmith that we called came in a van stocked with lots of very impressive gear, and he carried a big bag full of tools into the apartment building, but after eyeballing the lock on Tim’s door he took out a little wallet chock full of what looked like dental picks, just like they do in the movies, shoved the pointy ends of two or three of them into the lock on after the other and, after jiggling them around a bit in what did not look like a very delicate manner, he put them all away, jammed a screwdriver into the keyhole, gave it a twist, and the door swung open. Took him less than a minute. I got the feeling that a much more expensive lock might have occupied as much as five or ten minutes of his time.

lockout | 10:13 am CST
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Saturday, December 4th, 2010

The snow came, just like they said it would, but it didn’t stop us from going to the farmer’s market just the same as we do almost every Saturday. It came close to stopping us, if only because My Darling B didn’t have any boots to wear, just her regular street shoes, but since the farmer’s market is at the Monona Center and we can park in the ramp, she didn’t have to walk through any slush to get there. Neither did she have to worry about the snow or slush to shop for groceries at the co-op, and when we stopped at Batch Bakehouse for some of their fresh-baked yumminess I let her hop out of the car after pulling into someone’s newly-shoveled driveway before parking the car. And that got her safely around town before we stopped at Monona Bootery so she could find a pair of new winter boots and we wouldn’t have to even think about parking shenanigans like that ever again.

I was going to completely blow off shoveling the driveway until tomorrow, but just after we finished a scrumptious lunch (B whipped up a cheese spread made with sun-dried tomatoes and all manner of good things) our own T-Dawg stopped by to see if us old folk needed any help clearing the snow off the sidewalk and driveway, so I suited up and we each took a shovel in hand to finish off the job in two shakes. Then he came in to sit for a few minutes and swap stories with us before heading off to scare up some lunch for himself.

Snowfall | 9:26 pm CST
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Sunday, August 1st, 2010

image of sock

“I was moving the bed out of your old room and I found a sock between the box springs and the mattress,” I told Tim, while he was here to buy some quarters so he could wash his clothes. “Do you want it?”

“Uh, no?” he said carefully, watching me out of the corner of his eye.

I grinned at him. “You sure?”

Still watching me he answered, after a pause, “Yes?”

“Well, okay then,” I said, holding up the thick wad of dollar bills I dug out of the toe of the sock I’d found, “I guess I’ll just keep this myself.”

“Oooo! I’ll take it! I’ll take it!” My Darling B squealed from the other side of the room, but Tim had already snatched the wad from my hand and was counting the bills. Together with the fin and the sawbuck rolled up in the middle, it came to a grand total of forty bucks.

“Don’t you just love finding money that you stashed away for later, then forgot about?” B asked.

“It’s like your past self is giving you a special treat,” Tim laughed.

Socked Away | 6:07 am CST
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