The sundial & the plant stand, or turning lemons into lemonade
Tuesday, 5:42 A.M. The non-sundial in its new home on Maple Avenue.
On Lowell Avenue, there was a sundial -- the sundial that Marash Girl had gifted her father, Peter, and Uncle Paul 20 years ago, the sundial that her dad mounted on the garden gate, so firmly, that it could never be removed, until after the land was sold, and the demolition trucks came - - yes, it took demolitions trucks to destroy what Marash Girl's father had built. . . Getting back to the sundial, because Marash Girl never could remove the sundial off the garden gate, when she found a sundial at a yard sale this past Saturday, on the northern end of Lowell Avenue, no less, she had to buy it, despite the price tag. Except what about the rust? Is that cleanable? Rust, must. She should have wiggled the dial itself, for if she had, she would have learned, before it was too late, that the sundial was a broken sundial! But who wiggle sundials? She soon learned that she should have, but only after she was back on Maple Avenue in Newton Corner, opening the trunk of her Volvo. Broken? A broken sundial on a stand for $15, albeit solid iron. . . Hmmm. She needed a plant stand anyway, didn't she? The no-longer sundial would look beautiful in the front yard with the basil sitting atop it. And it won't even look like lemonade! Her house is on the north side and never gets that much sun anyway. . . so plant stand you become, once mighty sundial!