Tom grew up in Milwaukee, bartended in Wauwatosa in the '70s and moved here in 1984.
Commentary, observations and musings about the outdoors, life in general and maybe Tosa politics and personalities will be the order of the day. He savors a lively debate as much as terrific cooking.
My day job is a staid, old-fashioned, office environment kind of job.
There is decorum, routine and even a dress code. Although once in awhile I manage to escape the keen eye of the Director of Operations and sneak in through the secret escape passage and actually do day job stuff in blue jeans, moccasins (sans socks) and a polo shirt. I have to keep my office door closed - but it is so deliciously illicit that the thrill effect of getting away with it makes it all worthwhile.
If I have no reason to be present at my office I might be working from home in an old ratty t-shirt and my plaid flannel pants and nobody knows the difference. I could even be hunting, fishing or gardening. This is the wonder of modern technology. You can take your day job with you everywhere.
But I digress.
One of my retired co-workers also happens to be a member of our deer camp.
He probably isn't going to appreciate my telling you this.
During his working years he was also a dumpster diver.
Yep. If there was something to be fetched from the dumpster in our parking lot he might just've climbed into the bin right then and there and dragged it out.
Ewww. That's gross. Tell us it isn't so.
This is the bible truth.
He wasn't diving for garbage however. He reached for usable office furniture. I like to think of it as high-end recycling.
You might find this hard to believe but he has produced no less than four very comfortable, slightly used, yet quite functional desk chairs (including swivels, casters or wheels) making them ideally suited to pivoting shooting platforms.
All of them have found their way to our deer camp.
Over a decade and a half several of them have succumbed to the elements having spent their lives abandoned in an exposed platform high in a tree. Left like the sacred remains of a long lost culture their synthetic and man-made bones fell to the ground.
Eons from now alien explorers will excavate them and marvel over how remnants of chrome, Naugahyde and foam stuffing came to reside in the woods.
One really comfy chair remains in the machine shed for him to sit-upon when he packages venison.
This was on my mind as I put this slightly used basement dehumidifier out at the edge of my Magic Curb.
Huh? Magic Curb? What's that all about?
Everyone in Tosa has a Magic Curb.
You will not find this mentioned on the city website. You will not find it discussed as a subject of important public policy proceedings during Council meetings. Nonetheless, it's included as a benefit of residency.
Even if you are a renter.
Although I had previously believed that the Ju-Ju of my curb is greater than most of my neighbor's curbs that has recently come into question.
Mind you this appliance was perfectly functional.
However last year it manifested a persistent vibration.
That might not seem so disturbing to you except that it was right below the bedroom.
Do you have any idea how annoying that is?
Echoing from the cellar when you are trying to sleep?
So I gave it a thump and the sound disappeared.
The vibration returned.
Another hefty thump seemed to cure it.
Before too long the vibration returned with renewed enthusiasm.
Pretty much permanently.
And the darn thing was out of warranty.
I was torn.
I couldn't ascertain the source of the noise. Compared with the price of a replacement it wasn't worth having it repaired.
So I purchased a brand new (and whisper quiet) identical model and took the old one out to the curb.
Sure - it had an annoying vibration but nonetheless is was still operational. It could suck all the humidity out of anyone's basement.
Yet like a persistent wind howling through an abandoned home on the great plains it might just also drive you nuts.
And wouldn't you know it - the following morning it was gone.
Along with the slightly used vibration.
I sure hope the new owners are hard of hearing.
Lest you think I am feeling smug about all of this business of dumpster-diving and getting rid of your personal junk at your curb I just want you to know that I am sharing this story with you as sort of a weird morality tale.
In the fashion of a parable this is irrefutable proof of what goes around comes around.
Think of it as the circle of life.
I'm not making this up.
My lovely wife returned with a television stand from someone else's curb.
Just look honey. It's only slightly used. It's perfect for the upstairs guest room.