Garbage Day Treasures

My dad used to ride around on his bike the night before Garbage Day, in my little town of Mineola on Long Island in New York, and search for broken lawn chairs. He would then go back with his car to pick up any treasures he discovered. He had rolls of webbing, in multicolors, that he would use to repair these chairs, and the collection of them in our garage grew and grew and grew.

We had many barbecues in our backyard and my father took great pleasure in pulling out all these chairs and setting them up in a big circle before guests would arrive. My bedroom was just above the yard and I would fall asleep on nights like this to the tinkling of ice in glasses and the hushed conversations of grownups punctuated by sudden peals of laughter.

And so, now, on Garbage Day, here, 900 miles away, I scan the curbs in my morning travels, occasionally stopping for a big clay pot or a willow basket, recycled valuables that now blend seamlessly into my garden.

One day while walking to school, my younger daughter and I fell upon a rare and glorious find. These windows. These beautiful windows. We both just stood there.

"This is a good one, Mom," my daughter said

But we were walking. How on earth could I get even one of these windows home? (And there were many.)

While on my way back home, just past the windows, my friend Mark pulled up and said the magic words, "Do you want a ride?" He does this sort of often, and usually I just take a lift up the monster hill and then leap out, a minute and a half of friendship shared. But this day, I said, "Oh, Mark! It's our lucky day! We get to have an adventure!" Mark is used to me, thank goodness, and smiled at this.

Next thing you knew, we loaded up five of these windows in the back of his car. He drove me home and I was on a cloud with my bounty. When my daughter got off the bus that day, the first thing she said was, "Did you get the windows?"

And so, now, what to do with them . . . We were at an art festival the following weekend and saw windows like ours painted with flowers. My daughter likes this idea, and there will surely be a day soon that involves windows and paint. I also called Richard and suggested we do a little "cold frame" project, with a hinged window as the top--we'd do one for him and one for me. "It will be fun!" I said. And we'll be so proud of ourselves come winter when we have a little greenhouse of lettuces.

But more than anything, I just like looking at the windows and imagining their possibilities. And imagining mine.