Robinswetz's Blog

It’s time to move this along. I have had it for years, actually decades. It is a 50’s style jacket, very vintage. I inform my husband I am going to finally donate it, letting him know I am not going to fit in it any time soon. He asked the last time I wore it, and I said “never”. There it is. I bought something that I couldn’t wear and kept it for 30 years. The most attention it got was when I was moving it along to the donation box. I notice the buttons down the front were strictly for decoration, not a button hole in sight. Also, there are no tags whatsoever anywhere on the garment; not for the brand, not for laundering instructions. It looks like it may be handmade. How charming. Out it goes with a wish for the next person who takes it home to wear it!

What is it being saved for?

Perhaps to move things from door to door.

Maybe tilt it to one side to balance.

That is really taking a chance.

Or is a wheel in route from Amazon?

Not likely, come on.

It’s been out here for weeks.

I’ll keep giving it peeks.

Two metal bows with rubber rosin.

Move across the glass.

With just a bit of rain to play on.

In a squeaking, squealing, screeching swell.

A crescendo of annoyance for the audience.

A turn of the conductor’s baton ends the windshield wiper symphony.

Today at Chili’s, I was standing by myself waiting for three other people to join me. The hostess asked “how many” and I said “four”. She got four menus and looked at me, the only person in the whole front area said “OK you guys can come this way”. I think she thought I had three imaginary friends.

There are little do the right things and big do the right things. Today I attended a jazz quintet concert at the library. I noticed a mom and her two kids leaving just a few minutes early. I watched as she carefully guided the door closed behind her as to not disturb the performance. This is an example of a little do the right thing. I firmly believe that doing a lot of little do the right things adds up to people doing big do the right things when the time comes.

Fluffy feathered friends

Gather around front window

Subtle hint- Breakfast!

Please open at other end of box. Who does this Capri Sun box think it is? I most certainly will open this box right here at this end. I get my nail under the thick cardboard edge and pull at it. My nail promptly breaks. Dam it. And here in lies my destiny for not having headed the warning. I usually easily follow such demands from the world, probably a little too much.

The Dunkin’ Donuts is completely empty, and the sign to direct the flow of traffic when they are busy with customers reads “Enter Here”. I still weave my way through the empty maze until I get to the counter. Rule follower.

I pass by the 12 Items or Less line at the store. I am unclear on whether to count the 5 yogurts as one item. But, all the other items fit easily into a carry basket so I should be able to use the Express lane. I decide against it, as I do have more than 12 individual items. Rule follower.

“Wait Here For Next Teller” reads the sign at the bank. There are no customers at the counter as the two tellers look my way. I patiently wait and listen carefully for the blonde bank teller to say “Can I help you?” Rule follower.

No Right On Red. The street is completely empty, no cars in sight. I just cannot get my foot to move from the break pedal to the gas pedal. I wait patiently as the light stays red for a while. My foot moves when the light turns green. Rule follower.

My 8 year old son is much like me, a rule follower. Just yesterday at Target, I pulled the cart into the 12 Items Or Less lane. My son proceeded to count every last item, picking some of them up to make sure he was not missing any. He announced “12 Items, yes we can stay in this line.” Thank goodness there were only 12 items, otherwise we would have to move along and I may have created doubt in my son, doubt in my counting abilities or worse, doubt that I am in fact a rule follower.

My younger son, age 6, now he will try to get around any rule there is. I once found him steadily working on a cookie. I asked him who gave him permission to have it. “ I asked myself and I said yes” was his honest answer, no humor or sarcasm intended.

I reflect on each of my son’s and my approach to rule following. I am probably fairly rigid and it may serve me well to loosen up a bit with the rules. Just a bit, though.

A sprinkle of rain

tickles my face through the crack

in the car window.

Every time my husband buys a new car, he cleans the trunk of the outgoing car by shoving everything into a big garbage bag and putting it in the basement. We have had several bags. No, he doesn’t get a new car often, he has just been driving for a while.

When I get into a cleaning and organizing spell, I get the obligatory permission to go through a bag. Like an archaeologist, I research and estimate the approximate date range of when time was frozen here inside the trash bag. The most recent bag yielded several, presumably unchecked lotto tickets dated 1996. Who knows, we could have been millionaires. I did discover cash in the bag, though. $2.87 worth of change in various coin denominations. I knew there was some coin cash in the bag because when I shook it, I could hear it rattling on the bottom. Another interesting find was a ring. I have a pretty good memory of my rings, so I don’t think this was one of mine, but it is now.

For now, the big dig is over, until the next trade in sends another trash bag time capsule into the basement.

As I sit by the front window with my hot tea, taking a few minutes to relax and read before I head out to work, I am struck by it. I am reading the February 1998 issue of Writer’s Digest. This month’s theme is how to write for the web. This should be interesting seeing as how it is now 2024 . As I am reading the feature article, another thought creeps into my head. I’ve had this magazine since February 1998. I ask Siri to do the math, 2024-1998. “It’s 26” she confidently announces. I have had this magazine for 26 years. A few weeks ago, when the rain deposited several inches of water outside, some of the water seeped into our crawlspace. This required us to remove some wet items from down there, thus unearthing a box of old magazines. Now, I am reading and writing about this magazine that I’ve had for 26 years. We haven’t even lived in this house for 26 years, so that means we brought it over from the apartment. It is time to get into that crawlspace and really go through it. Who knows what other interesting treasures and inspirations for writing I may discover.