of garbage, garages and dumpsters

I know that this will be hard to believe, and/or accept but; the truth about me is that at one time I was a certified "Dumpster Diver." At the time, I lived in central Florida; dumpster capital of the world. There are more strip malls, grand malls (no pun intended) than a mind can take in-in a lifetime. Some of course were grocery store types which were to be avoided at all cost. Real garbage in there. Others behind big department stores were rife with treasure. Every once in awhile I would find a dumpster that had been set out for a particular reason; renovations etc that were gold mines of opportunity.
For instance. I pulled in behind a department store one day that had just closed down. My God, there were several dumpsters there with every thing from chrome clothes racks to furniture. A quick inspection let me know the furniture was not worth my time. Those chrome clothes racks were music to my ear. Have you ever wondered where wind chimes come from? Certainly, there are wind chime factories up and down both coasts of America and at many places in between; but have you had a set of wind chimes that were made from a department store clothes rack. I think not.
I loaded my van from floor to roof with dismantled clothes racks. (While I was busy taking them apart, the district manager for the store chain came out and in a very imperious voice wanted to know, "just what the hell I thought I was doing?" So, I told her. She liked the idea, invited me into the empty store and we wandered around for a while looking at more clothes racks and shelving that was stacked in great piles on the floor. She had been charged with the responsibility of ridding the store chain of these shelves which were no longer going to be used in the stores. Could I take them away? How much would I charge? How fast could I do it?
This old boy was a-countn' the profits and ready to make a deal faster than my (ex) wife coulda said; "you dumb ass." Her cell phone went off. It was her boss telling her he had arranged on his own to have the shelving picked up and moved to a warehouse for storage. Relieved, she didn't ask why-when she had already been told the shelves would never be used again. Oh well. The good news was that my (ex) wife never got the chance to give me hell over the shelving. She did a pretty good job on the chrome clothes racks though.
I filled my half of the double garage with dismantled chromed clothes racks. I even had to make a sort of structure to put them in so none would inadvertently scratch that high dollar car in the other half of the garage. (I really believe she went out there every night after I fell asleep to check on that high dollar car.)
My neighbors were intrigued with my project. Encouraged me, and once the proto-type was made, several asked for their own set. My wind chimes were longer than most. Depending on the number of tubes, different melodies played out. Our house had a huge plate glass window which looked out on the rear patio. I had enlarged our yard, built an arbor, had a large long bench out there and trees. At one time I had several sets of home made wind chimes hanging from branches, eaves, arbor and tall poles stuck in the ground. A veritable chorus of sound when the wind blew. I'd go out there and sit on the bench, praying for the wind to blow so I cold hear the chiming of my wind chimes.
I really do wish this story had a happy ending. It don't. The wind didn't blow much. The cut off ends of the tubing began to rust. Several limbs were giving way under the weight of the chimes. My neighbors knocked on my door and wondered when I might be starting another project that was a little less noisy. (I think it was the sound of the saw that bothered them.) It wasn't long before I abandoned my dreams of becoming the "wind chime" king of Central Florida. And it wasn't long before I loaded up "Nellie," my van, and carried the remnants to the dump. Since they weighed every vehicle going in and coming out, charging to dump the load; my (ex) wife had another opportunity to express herself about the crazy things I do um-DID)
and how any sane man would find a more constructive means to demonstrate creative tendencies. (I did say she is an ex-wife) didn't I?
It was during this period of my life (URGED ON BY MY EX-WIFE) that I really began to consider how people conversed, one with another. It was then I discovered the secret to my interpersonal conversational system.
Communication between couples can be reduced to five phrases. YUP!, NOPE!, BINGO!, OK!, AND THAT WON'T WORK FOR ME! In couple-dom, anything more is an open invitation to a verbal disaster. For instance. "Jack. Do you really think that somebody will be dumb enough to buy wind chimes made out of old clothes racks?" I could have gone into a lengthy discourse on the sound of wind chimes; expressed my amazement that she didn't share my enthusiasm for a garage (half) filled with old chrome clothes racks; etc. Just more (verbal) logs on the fire of sizzling antagonism. But, using YUP,NOPE, OK, BINGO, OR THAT WON'T WORK FOR ME. Not only sprang directly to the answer needed to the question, is shuts off the conversational flow. Besides, it's really hard to hear what some one is saying (ok-shouting) as they move rapidly away from where you're standing.
Being honest (remember what I said way back before the first blog word hit the screen? One of us would be totally forth coming, remembering things as best we could. Well this is an example.)
There were other incidents that gave rise to my new found verbal skills. But for some reason, my (ex) wife chose not to talk to me in these terms. So honing this verbalicity proved difficult. Enter Mary. No no no, I've never said; yup, nope, ok, bingo or that won't work for me to Mary.
I did though (a pre-emptory strike?) explain to her the rudiments of; YUP, NOPE, OK, BINGO, AND THAT WON'T WORK FOR ME. Funny thing; I've never felt an urge to say Y-N-OK-B-, and TWWFM to her. The acronym works just as well. jdc