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Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Back to Scare Your Pants Off

Today, when I woke up, I could breathe. This was a remarkable experience after after two weeks of nearly hacking up a lung every twenty minutes (because, apparently, I can't just come down with a case of the blahs-- oh no-- I have to come down with a case of the cold from hell, too, or, shoot, maybe it was whooping cough or pneumonia something; I don't know, but the boy didn't catch it, which is good, considering that for the past several days my husband has been gone on an extended business trip! Hooray!)

Since I was feeling quasi-normal I decided that today might be a good day to FINALLY get some work done on my new herb garden. This despite the fact that after two weeks of illness I had laundry on the bedroom floor, dishes in the sink, and a Matchbox car obstacle course in my office.

You see, I've been planning to dig a plot for the garden and lay out a cement brick border for weeks; I'd already purchased a couple of plants and they have been getting quite literally sick of living in tiny plastic containers on a windowsill under crappy fluorescent lighting. If I wait much longer to plant these poor creatures, they'll croak.

Isaac was itching to get outside anyway after days of being cooped up with a loony sick woman who sounds like a broken robot when she speaks.

So, when we got a break in the rain this afternoon, I went out to dig.

After marking out two small garden beds next to my patio, I started digging up the grass. Isaac pretended to help me with his little trowel, and insisted that I rescue every worm we came across. Things were going pretty well, albeit slowly. Every ten minutes or so, I had to stop to catch my breath; my lungs were still pretty unhappy after two weeks of coughing.

I had gotten about half of one bed dug when I realized it was almost dinner time. I decided to cut a sharp edge with my trowel, lay the cement bricks in one one side of one bed, and then go back inside.

As I dug, my trowel struck something that was decidedly un-dirt-like. I pushed back the dirt with my gloved hands, and discovered a piece of coarse, dirt-encrusted fabric. I could see a seam down the middle of the exposed piece.

Could it be a bag, I wondered? A few weeks ago, while planting fruit trees, my husband had dug up an old-fashioned, dented silver serving spoon. We'd wondered whether it had been buried by a child playing with some old worn-out silverware, or an adult who had some sort of poverty paranoia who had decided to hide silver trinkets throughout the yard.

When I hit the cloth, I thought that perhaps it was a bag full of coins, or more silverware, buried by the same silver-hoarder.

I dug more carefully, with my hands, gently exposing the fabric.

It wasn't a bag.


It was a pair of jeans.


There wasn't a body inside them.


(Phew!)


I may or may not have googled, "What should I do when I find clothes buried in my backyard?" this evening . . .


(Being married to a former Catholic has its advantages. When your husband has a family roughly the size of a small town, he's bound to be related to someone in just about every profession. So I already called the police-officer-in-law tonight. His thought is that maybe the rehabber who owned the house briefly several years ago, just before the people we bought the house from moved in, may have buried a bunch of junk that had been left in the house in the yard before sodding over it, because it was easier than taking it to the dump. What's your theory?)

15 comments:

Awesome Mom said...

I think that aliens buried those pants to see what you would do with them. They are studying your mind right now! Better get a tinfoil hat on to stop the alien mind probe rays.

Lisa said...

It was murder. MURDER!

Just kidding. No I'm not.

Ok. Yes, I am.

We found all sorts of stuff in our backyard years ago when we lived in a house that's now 101 years old -- mostly bottles. But finding the stuff and trying to think of the story behind it can really get your imagination going. Kinda fun.

Reba said...

My first thought was that it was a pet wrapped in clothe and buried in the back yard. Thank goodness it wasn't.

Although maybe there was no body in them because they were the clothes the murderer wore. He buried them to hide the evidence.

Just kidding. Something like this can really make your imagination run wild.

Jaelithe said...

Reba, the whole "burying the bloody clothes" thing was totally my hypothesis. Hence the call to the police-officer-in-law.

Jaelithe said...

(Oh, and the pet thing also crossed my mind, but I had to keep digging in that area in order to get the garden plot finished, so, I figured if I accidentally disinterred poor Fido I would just move him to a more suitable location and put a little headstone on it or something).

sunita said...

i came to your blog when i googled texture aversion...though afer reading your post about your sons feeding problem i came to know it was a much older post. i am deseperate for advice on this topic. my 20 mth old is worse then what your son was as in that post. he doesnt chew his food and has hardly any favourite foods. and has never eaten or picked or shown any interset in any kind of food.we are thinkin to go for occupational therapy. if you have any success please do advice. my email is Kodak0001@gmail.com thanks in advance-
sue( a desperate mom)

Andrea said...

It's the house for a family of gnomes. They broke into the house as previous owner's slept and carted off a pair of pants in which to make their homes. They took themselves outside and buried the pants and then burrowed into the ground with their pointy hats and made themselves comfortable.

Now you've disturbed them and they'll have to steal something else from inside your house to make their living quarters. I say, after you plant your herbs you give the gnomes the little plastic trays to use for their underground caves. Otherwise, you might start to see your clothes disappear.

Andrea said...

Or worse.

Mwaahahahahahaha! Mwwaahahahahaha!

sweatpantsmom said...

Whoa - I was on the edge of my seat, thinking that the next words would be, "Then an arm..."

I go with the burying-the-junk theory.

Dana said...

Gawd, I thought you were going to say "a body!" If you find an arm or something you should so take photos.

Ruth Dynamite said...

THAT'S where my favorite jeans went!

I've been looking for them for years!

bren j. said...

Col. Mustard in the yard with the silver spoon! Only, he forgot his pants!

Thanks for the funny post. I'm sorry you were sick but I'm glad you're back!

MrsFortune said...

Oh man!!! I was so excited to find out what it was. I was betting a dead cat, but, I guess no such luck. I wouldn't have been as brave as you. I'd have called the police BEFORE digging it up.

Erin said...

I think the previous owner's wife buried them because they were hideous and she didn't want her husband to wear them anymore but they were his favorite. She tried to throw them in the trash but he found them before it was taken out and she had no other choice but to bury them! ...I think it sounds good :)

Anonymous said...

Sprayed by a skunk! Didn't want to stink up the trash cans...