Oh my cod, hello nostalgia! So while enacting Operation Sanity (aka preparing some bloggy stuff for baby kick off time and gathering material for the second issue of Click Clack Gorilla: The Zine) I reread everything I’ve written since the beginning of 2009. And 2009 just happens to be the year that I got trash house aka my very own Wagen/trailer. Pre-trash house the Beard and I had been sharing one trailer, the red Wagen that you’ve probably heard me refer to as “the sleeping Wagen.” Re-reading my post from post-first-trash-house-viewing and pre-trash-house pick up was so much fun, that I decided I really needed to drag you all down memory lane with me. Wow. I had no idea how much work I was in for.
wagon wheel, june 2009
I imagine that it went something like this.
I was sitting in the red Wagen, thinking about how I was freakin’ never going to get the money together to buy my own wagon (a room of her own, blah blah blah, etc etc). “Maybe I should just give up beer for a while, put a euro in a jar every time I want a beer. It worked for Sleeveless.”
Zoom up into the clouds were a gaggle of white-toggaed, beer-toting, white-haired old men are looking down from the heavens on me. “Another one’s talking about giving up drinking,” one says. They looked at each other, worried. “We can’t let another one go. They’re dropping like flies. Somebody go talk to the Dumpster God.”
The next day I got a call from Workshop. There was a wagon in Rüsselsheim, and the owners were giving it away. I did a cartwheel, walked to the trash, and found a carton with six unopened bottles of wine.
The wagon owners are giving away their cute little wagon because the gardens are being “evicted” so that the city can build something else there. They’re a little older, and, 20 years ago, had the great idea that they would bury most of the wheels. Why, I’ll have to ask them when I meet them. I like to imagine it was a zanny solution to not wanting to build an extra step to get in the front door.
I have yet to go inside, but have been assured that it’s “tip top” in there. The only flaws on the outside are a missing window, two or three rotten boards, and two missing bolts on the towing bar. I’m pee-my-pants excited and at the same time, don’t believe it, won’t believe it until we’ve managed to get the thing home.
The foggy plan so far is to try to dig out part of the wheels, left the fucker up with a jack, fill in the holes/put boards in the once-wheels holes, and then come back with a truck to pull the thing home. If the wheels still work. I imagine that beneath the wheel top you can see above the ground there is nothing left, that the wheels are just phantoms of what they buried 20 years ago. Cross your fingers for me.
Aaaah, what a feeling of gratification to know that we got her home alright, that I fixed her up myself, and that she looks so damn pretty today. See what I mean? Ah. Today the high fives are for me, for actually following through on a huge long-term project. (Unlike my follow through on many larger writing projects. Ehem.) This is one of those moments when I really wished that I liked champagne.