It rained and the sun came out alternately during my shift at the Thrift Shop yesterday. Customers focused on the sunshine portion of the program. With determination. True, one person did buy a rain jacket, but it was a London Fog. And red. And only cost ten dollars. She would’ve bought that jacket at any time of the year, regardless of weather.
The other shoppers were concentrating on summer, if not outright summer vacation. One lady, for instance, checked out with two Malcolm Gladwells, and her friend right behind her chose three decks of cards. They figured that covered daytime and evening entertainment for wherever they were going. Maybe they’ll be getting together with the woman who came later, looking for a wine-bottle opener and stoppers, and found them. Or the stream of ladies stocking up on sunhats.
Folks had decided that not only had spring come but summer would be here shortly. A friend from French class wore sandals last week. As we walked out together, she told me that she’d also put away all her corduroy pants. I was wearing corduroy pants at the time and refrained from asking if she just stayed indoors until the temperature rose high enough to support those decisions, as mornings are still often in the twenties. She’s got to do what she’s got to do. Another friend stops wearing winter jackets on the first day of spring, no matter what. Some of us don’t stop till August.
Mid-shift yesterday, the fire alarm went off at the Thrift Shop. This is not an event that can be overlooked. The blasts of high-pitched noise do not lessen when you cover your ears, and bright lights flash as well. We quickly ascertained that, one, the shop was not on fire and, two, the fire department had to come to turn off the alarm.
A customer told us later that the alarm had been going off throughout the shopping center, so it makes sense that the fire department has to come look the situation over. It was disturbing, however, that not one of the dozen or so staff in the building knew that that was the case. It made me wonder what other holes there may be in our emergency protocols.
On the home front, my efforts at downsizing continue. Glancing inside a box that’s been on a basement shelf for years, I saw nothing familiar. Most of the contents seemed to be my sweetheart’s papers, but there was also a smaller box inside. Once opened, it revealed a set of six cordial-sized, finely detailed, brass chalices, each one individually boxed—it took tearing through commercial staples to get a look at one—and there was a brass tray as well.
I took the boxful of stuff upstairs for my honey to go through, looking forward to whatever story went with the cordial service, but he was as mystified by it as I was. Neither one of us could remember ever setting eyes on it before. Could it have been a wedding present, he wondered. Nope, I assured him. And we had no other theories. No matter how we got it, we won’t miss it, and some customer at the Thrift Shop will be happy with it.
We haven’t seen any more camels, donkeys, horses, or deer in the back yard lately, although a possum strolled through last weekend. At least, it strolled in. It didn’t quite stroll out. It was not a well possum. It browsed a bit, but kept falling over on its side and just lying there, until at length it fell over and didn’t get back up.
Our friend Don said that he didn’t want the beastie’s fur. Don said that the bottom has fallen out of the fur market, so he hasn’t trapped for years. Last time he had coyote pelts, he couldn’t sell them. No one wants them anymore.
Furthermore, he updated me on the status of his new business venture. He was supposed to receive a bunch of pregnant deer this month. He plans to keep a herd and raise them to sell on to hunting clubs. Only, he said, the Michigan departments of agriculture and natural resources are engaged in a turf war over who signs off on operations such as this, and won’t issue permission to transport the deer from their current location to Don’s place.
The farmer who has them now won’t transport them too late in their pregnancies in any case. Thus, the man can’t ship any of them anywhere and will shortly have eight hundred deer at once.
“Can you imagine?” Don asked. “It will be chaos.”
10 April 2026