Basement Labels

Long about 1990 my parents had a few rooms built onto our house (I don't know if that date is exactly correct or not, but I'm sure my mother can tell us all).  Under the new rooms was built a new (unfinished) basement with walls of cool concrete.

I have memories from not long after 1990 (we'll assume this date as the baseline for this story, even if it's wrong), of playing "basketball" in that basement with a pool ball and a hoop made from a cross-section of a cardboard barrel nailed to the wall.  I also used to obsessively run up and down the basement stairs on snow days when I was in junior high and high school.  Even though we couldn't have sports practices with no school, I still felt the need to keep up my conditioning (I was a very strange and committed youngster).

I think some "gladiator" escapades also may have taken place in that basement.  I also remember stacks of Gatorade and Snapple bottles, slowly depleting through the summer and possibly some rendition of "school" (which was probably more reminiscent of prison education than public school - we were never very nice teachers for each other).

Somewhere along the way (sooner than later), the basement filled up with odds and ends.  Literal odds and literal ends.  Each of my parents lost their last surviving parent in the past 10 years, and this has put a severe strain on the basement's seams.  But lest I sound too critical of the basement's capabilities, I should admit that it has been the source of my end (inn) tables, coffee table, silverware, wine glasses, plates, and other items too numerous to catalog.

But as wonderful as it is to have a veritable rummage sale in your parents' basement, I am convinced that there are now items in that basement that none of us can identify or claim responsibility for (dangling prepositions notwithstanding).

My parents have been working on organizing and going through the stacks and stacks of boxes.  That process has resulted in new and revised stacks of boxes.  But this time, the boxes bear informative labels to expedite the search for not-oft-used memorabilia, kitchen gadgets, and toys.  At the bottom of some of the labels, below the (apparently non-exhaustive list) there exists some suggestion similar to "(See complete list on top...)," telling the reader that there is more diversity in there than can possibly be cataloged on an oversized address sticker.

I happen to find some of these labels quite humorous and would like to share with you some examples...

1) "Russian bldg model"  -  For all of those times when we're having a heated discussion about some specific detail of the architecture of a Russian building.  The defendant must leap up and locate this box in order to settle the debate.

2) "Curved baby pillow"  -  For those sweet, blessed curved babies that sometimes cross our paths.  Heaven forbid one should ever be in the house and we be unable to locate this special pillow.

3) "Assorted toys - xylophones"  -  I know that there were three of us and that we didn't always share well, but how many xylophones could we have possibly had?  Perhaps there is another family out there somewhere who also has a box of assorted xylophones, but as far as I know, we are the only ones.

4) "Plastic for winter plants table"  -  This label was actually the impetus for some strife.  One of my parents chose the wording for and wrote the label.  The problem was that the label was written to avoid the brand name printing (for Bounty paper towels or something similar) already on the box.  So, the label came out looking some thing like this:

                                                  Plastic                    for winter                                                          
                                                  plant                           table

The parent who did not write this message, mistakenly thought there was some sort of plastic plant for a winter table in this box and became very confused (perhaps understandably, but I refuse to take sides).
[In the way of an explanation - my mother has several gross of house plants that migrate to the outdoors in the summer and back in again in the winter when they take up their new home on tables (apparently ones covered with special plastic to prevent seepage).]

5) "Round leather table"  -  I truly, honestly have no inkling of what this item is or how one can fit a leather table into a box (not to mention how a table (round or otherwise) can even be made of leather).  My best guess is that it is some sort of code.  I should investigate further sometime and report back.

And this one is my very best favorite of all...

6) "Tiny cleaver"  -  Raise your hand if you own a tiny cleaver?  Have seen a tiny cleaver?  Know someone who has seen a tiny cleaver?  No?  I didn't think so.

This label sub-heading was on a box with the overarching label "Misc. kitchen + dining room items."  So the obvious assumption was that there was truly some sort of miniature cleaver in there, presumably for cleaving tiny meats.

We chuckled at this box for some number of years in between basement purging sessions.  But lo and behold, one day we went through the box, and there was no tiny cleaver to be found.  It was a sad, sad day.  The tiny cleaver was naught but a myth.

There was, however, a very undersized meat tenderizer.  So the conclusion was drawn that a hasty labeler had confused these two kitchen apparati.  The box was duly re-labeled, and we went on with our lives, still sometimes feeling a small ache in our souls where the (fictional) tiny cleaver had lived.

Until one day... my sister and I were shopping for stocking gifts and came across a box of packaged sausages and cheeses - complete with a tiny cutting board and (drumroll) a tiny cleaver!  We had at long last found the infamous tiny cleaver.  We purchased the gift box at once.  And on Christmas Eve, we deposited the tiny cleaver gently into our mother's stocking.

I don't think she got quite as big a kick out of it as we did.  But then again, we may have been inordinately amused by the tiny cleaver in the first place.  It now resides (as far as I know) in a drawer in my parents' kitchen along with the can-opener, corn-holders, fondue sticks, and egg-slicer.  It has not yet been banished to the basement, but no doubt it one day will be.  

Out ridin' fences

4:30a: an early morning thunderstorm (alarm clock reset, sleep gratefully resumed)

(obviously this isn't a photo of a thunderstorm at 4:30a, but of an afternoon one last week)

7:18a: pack cooler full of cold water and Gatorade

7:23a: load truck and leave for Prairie Chicken telemetry

7:44a: see first Common Nighthawk of the day

7:48a: stop for a minute to watch baby bison

7:54a: hop out of the truck while Clint Black's Desperado starts to play on the radio

7:57a: record first triangulation point for today's Prairie Chicken #1

8:00a: glad to be back at work in the field in Kansas

11:45a: run ATV through a too-fresh pile of cow dung and get a bit splattered

11:46a: reassess

11:47a: still glad to be back at work in the field in Kansas

One on One

I have spent the better part of my life being a basketball player.  For those of you living under a rock, basketball is a team sport.  Very much a team sport.  Five on five.  May God have mercy on the weakest link on each team. 

I have recently been watching some grass court tennis and Olympic swimming trials. The head-to-head nature of tennis and swimming makes these two sports very different for me to watch compared to my own sport of choice.

But  I think I may be converting to a head-to-head sport fan.  While the team nature of basketball (along with the essence of the game itself) will always hold some amount of interest for me, I can freely admit that I do not enjoy watching it as much as I used to. 

More and more I find myself attracted to the person-to-person combat of individual sports.  There is something that I find intriguing about what is lurking beyond the surface of the immediately obvious in these races and matches.  The mentality of the participants is a huge part of their success or loss.

It's not that that's not also true to some extent in team sports, but it is possible for a team to do well while one member is struggling.  The same is virtually impossible in an individual sport.

In college, I kept playing basketball long after I stopped really loving the game because I loved my team.  It's not that I didn't want to let them down.  It's that I didn't want to miss being a part of what they were, what we were.  It was worth it.  Every second of it.

 (Well, except maybe those several thousand horrendous seconds when coach kept sending us out of the gym during an early morning practice to come back in more cheerful and full of pep.  And then there was the time when he expected us to run 10 double-downs in 2 minutes because we could all run 5 in 1.  Except for those seconds, I have no regrets.)

Tennis players and swimmers have the ability (or not) to single-handedly best their opponent.  They deal with fatigue, injuries, bad calls, crowds, and intimidation all on their own.

To me, this is impressive.  And I would have to think long and hard about it.  But I might even say that they are the superior athletes because of the mental strength they must possess in addition to their physical assets in order to win.

But my team, my girls... I would not trade my experiences with them for any amount of athletic superiority.