Finding Treasures

You'll never guess what I found the other day while cleaning up.

See, about twice a month we have events here at the farm, and that means that around once a month we have to clean up (we try to schedule the events back-to-back so as to maximize the labor element). That means not just the dog shit in the yard and the newspapers on the kitchen floor, it means the upstairs bathroom, guest room (actually, we just call it that; it's really the Fishing Room, where I rest – throw? – my gear in between trips), as well as the hallway, and a glimpse-worth's view of our own bedroom, should anyone be silly enough to open doors while "exploring" the house.

It's easy to procrastinate about the top of the stairs in particular. This is a zone between our bedroom and my bathroom and where onto the bookshelf I toss loose change and hairpins, receipts and lipstick, and onto the floor goes anything larger.

Today I was going to keep it simple so as not to get too discouraged by the task. Just find the floor to the landing, I bargained with myself. Then you can go back to work (meaning my studio).

It was deceptively difficult. In the space of about 4 feet of hallway floor (not counting the shelf, in other words), I unearthed quite a bit, including but not limited to: a stack of folded towels, 4 Weekend sections of the Wall Street Journal, 2 old souvenir wallets, a flashlight, earrings, a loose fly (rubber-legged ant, intact), probably $6 in loose change, the vacuum cleaner, 3 pairs of shoes, a box of .22 caliber cartridges, name tags from shows I'd done in January, garment tags for the silk scarves I make, two, possibly three marriages worth of earplugs, and socks galore.

But the thing that held me up was a pocketbook that I'd carried all winter and well into springtime. A dark blue messenger-bag sort of thing that was dowdy and fashionable at the same time -- or was for the week that messenger bags were fashionable. I brought it over to the bed and tried to dump it out.
Don't you love it when you find money in a coat pocket or squirreled away in some cargo pants?
Me, too. And I'm not above siphoning old candy from the bottom of such places either. I mean, what do you take me for, some kind of mad spendthrift?

In today's excavation I was awash in rubber bands and shreds of tissue, with a hash of unrecognizable melted candy slowing me down. Then, clunk, out fell an unexpected shape, a sort of envelope of paper napkin wrapped around several pencil-shaped items that weighed a lot more than pencils. Lo, the wrap unfolded, and there to my delight lay a selection of dental instruments! And now I remembered that my hygienist, Sally, had given them to me at my last cleaning. I mean she was going to throw them away, can you believe it? Hell, I said, Sally, give 'em here! I'm a tyer of flies! Such tiny instruments might come in handy!

Sally was happy to oblige, remarking that she will try to save more for my next visit.

Needless to say I haven't tied any flies lately, but boy, when I do, I'll be prepared. Especially now that trico season is beginning. I mean how else do you separate bunched wings on a size 22 spinner?
They're fascinating instruments - deadly and precise, rife with the sheen and sex-appeal of genuine gear. I just hope I remember where I put them when I start tying flies again.