Goodbye But Not Gone

We had a sofa, a small dining table with four chairs, and an arm chair that we wanted to get rid of. The sofa and dining table with chairs was still in good shape though, and we learned that the Salvation Army would take them.

We felt that it was certainly better that they would be put to good use than just help to fill up the landfill. So Barb called and arranged the pick-up for yesterday.

Typically when I run into someone who is about my height I notice it right away. Frankly I'm not used to having to look up to anyone, and it's rare that I actually go eye-to-eye with someone.

When the two furniture movers arrived from the Salvation Army yesterday I was just another tree in the woods. The two movers stepped in the house and I couldn't help myself. I said, "Whoa, you guys are big."

They were huge. Each was at least as tall as me, if not an inch or two taller. And each had 75- to 100-pounds on me. I guess now I understand better why I'm not always that approachable. Jeesh, I'd hate to get on these guys bad side.

But they were very professional, and very polite. They continually thanked us for donating this furniture to the Salvation Army, and kindly provided Barb with a receipt.

It was like two offensive tackles for Penn State showed up at my door.

The arm chair had seen its better days and we set that out for the landfill earlier this week. The chair was donated to me by a good friend many years ago. As we were carrying the chair a photograph of my friends son fell out of the lining in the back of the chair.

It wasn't just any picture. It was a classic. There was my good friend's son at about 2-years old, posing for the camera in nothing but diapers.

Right on que my friend called yesterday. I explained to him what I had found in his old chair.

"Now here's how it worked," I began to tell him. "If your son (who is now 16-years-old) pays me $100 I will give him this photo. If he doesn't, then I'll give the photo to all his friends."

He laughed heartily. He knows my sense of humor.

I first met this friend at a printer in Harrisburg where we both worked. I had just started and one warm Spring day I wore my shorts in to work. That morning, walking back into the press room all of a sudden I heard him call out from the other side of the room...

"Hey! Somebody call the Colonel. The chicken legs are out!"