deb’s chickens

One of my new small joys is meeting the people from craigslist who actually want to buy things from our box of “junk” that D. told me I should throw out. Today I met “Deb” in the K-Mart parking lot, which was an experience all its own. Deb was waiting patiently in her car near the entrance to the parking lot while I was patiently waiting near the entrance to the store. Who can be blamed for such an innocent difference of interpreting “entrance”?

As I handed over the signed and dated glass chicken that had been given to D. for speaking to chicken farmers, Deb handed me an envelope with $3 in it and joyfully proclaimed, “I collect chickens!” 

“Cool!” I said enthusiastically as I turned back towards my car, imagining her house full to the brim of chickens. I happen to remember that Deb contacted me about some wooden ducks for sale earlier in the summer, but someone else had beaten her to it.

But what’s this collecting all about? Where does it go and what does it do for us? I used to collect fountain pens. I “restored” one of them today and tried to write a letter of recommendation with this once cherished instrument. It squeaked and dragged. It did not at all reconnect me to Leïla Sebbar who also expressed love for her Parker fountain pen. Nope, mine’s going up on craigslist, probably alongside my turtle collection.

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