Last year, My Sweet Rib and her gang of dames drove to southern Indiana for a wine tour. In a hunkydunk store MSR found this hanging pot man. She bought it for The Purging Lutheran for $1.00. My world was turned up side down. Only $1.00? I would have been willing to pay three times that. OK, let us not get confused with tricky economics.
Is it a wind chime? If it is, it would only make those clunking sounds clay pots make when playing tackle football. I don’t think it was meant to be a wind chime. MSR knows as well as me that we fail at wind chimes. We both love windchimes. I mean, really, c’mon who doesn’t enjoy a windchime? Nature and metalsmithing combine to create (choose your favorite)
1) soothing 2) mellow 3) honeyed 4) mellifluous 5) agreeable
sounds on a warm summer evening with the kids playing tag in the front yard, your wife waxing the car and you shooing away flies with the afternoon paper while enjoying a cool glass of water on the front stoop. All windchimes we have bought all defy the simplest law of nature – wind. We don’t know where it comes from and we don’t know where it ends up, but we do know that wind never … NEVER visits our windchimes. EVER. Limp noodles make better chimes than the ones we buy and we buy real, metal chimes, we really do! We just seem to have a knack of buying the stupid ones.
I am throwing this away because it is not a windchime. How do I know it is not? Because it is broken. The wind knocked it around and two tiny pots broke and fell to the ground.
Exploit or abuse your family, and end up with a fistful of air;
common sense tells you it’s a stupid way to live.