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captainsblogIt's garbage night in central Amherst. I rolled the totes and two cans of yard waste out to the curb right before Eleanor got home. She then asked that I put out a couple of ladders which she'd gotten afraid of using. One, metal, came with our last Rochester house (making it older than Emily) and was on the verge of collapse for most of this century. The second was wooden, slightly newer, but just as weebly-wobbly.
As for the timey-wimey part, they got kicked to the curb right around 8 p.m.
Moments ago, not two hours later, I tossed a couple of last-minute cat fud cans into the recycling tote, and, sure enough, already the local cotillion of garbage pickers had silently, silently claimed both trophies.
Neither is bloody good for their current designed purposes, so the only possible benefit is as scrap. One's likely 40-year-old aluminum (aluminium to some), the other a decent evening's portion of firewood with some metallic burn smells.
You can shine like silver all you want, but it's just aluminum. Wood. Whatever.
As for the timey-wimey part, they got kicked to the curb right around 8 p.m.
Moments ago, not two hours later, I tossed a couple of last-minute cat fud cans into the recycling tote, and, sure enough, already the local cotillion of garbage pickers had silently, silently claimed both trophies.
Neither is bloody good for their current designed purposes, so the only possible benefit is as scrap. One's likely 40-year-old aluminum (aluminium to some), the other a decent evening's portion of firewood with some metallic burn smells.
You can shine like silver all you want, but it's just aluminum. Wood. Whatever.