Last week, I walked up the steps from the driveway and saw two glass jars on the walkway. I had just returned from a trip and deprived of sleep when I glanced down at them; I thought to myself where on earth did they come from? The entire hoard has been gone since late April, but even so, John has come across a couple of little things that were somehow overlooked.
As I looked down at them I saw writing etched in both black lids. I squinted and thought is that really what I think it is? 1967? No, way! I leaned down for a closer look and sure enough, both jars said 1967. They’re older than me! One of the jars is wrapped in paper and says epoxy and God only knows what the red liquid contents are in the larger jar. Scary! I didn’t even want to touch them. I walked right by them.
For the past week I have been meaning to ask John where on earth he found them but it has escaped my mind about a half a dozen times. With having to deal with everything else concerning permits, contractor bids, ordering windows, ordering building material, a French drain in the basement, and the media slamming all of us with Bruce’s new name, the origin of the two jars is at the bottom of my list.
But out of curiosity, I will finally get around to asking him–hopefully tonight.