Clean sweep

This morning I sent the whole gang of Treehouse loiterers packing. They're off to the craft fair at the old hotel--which may or may not be haunted. I guess those who don't find homes will come back and let me know if there's any truth to that rumor. It was a lovely drive--about 25 minutes up the road along a colorful highway with the sun shining brightly. We haven't seen the sun in a long time, and I always feel cheated when we have days and days of rain in the Fall.

So yesterday I was emailing back and forth with Tech Guy, and during the course of our online conversation I determined that perhaps he was in need of some advice. Only I never call it advice. I call it Mom wisdom--which I cleverly disguise as a story. Someday I may put all of these stories in a book. Make that a pamphlet. Here is the story. Maybe you, too, will glean some wisdom from it.

Once upon a time long ago, when we were still living in the old house, we were singled out by a late-night mailbox vandal. Apparently this is big fun for a smattering of teenagers who reject more acceptable forms of entertainment like going to the movies or the mall, or fooling around in parked cars. The next morning we discovered our mailbox in the road, broken, dented and disheveled. Mr. Gadget did his best to cobble it back together. Little did he know then what an expert he would become at cobbling in the years ahead.

Anyway, a couple of nights later, in the wee hours, I awoke to a clattering coming from outside. I got up and looked out and sure enough, there was a car stopped right by our mailbox. Without delay I called the police to report the vandals, hoping that finally these nasty hooligans would get their due. Well, come to find out, the vandal was really the friend of a neighbor, and his car muffler had fallen off right in front of our mailbox.

So, the moral of the story--and I never mention the word moral to TG because then he'd be onto me--is that sometimes something looks like a duck and sounds like a duck, but it's really a pigeon.