Do you hear that? I said to the CW. She said “Yes - that whine?”

Yes - more like a drone, though. Although the sound of a drone, now that I think of it, is a whine. But it’s a resonant droning sound. It’s in the wall. It’s in the pipes, the bathroom upstairs - what had been Natalie’s bathroom, and will evermore be described as such. I’d just been up there. Went back. The sound was louder up here, and there seemed to be something wrong, strangely wrong, with the pipes. They had never made this sound and they should never make this sound. It was like a bagpipe singing like a bird or a furnace making a dial tone.

I noticed that the toothpaste was vibrating. Okay this was wrong wrong wrong. I picked it up and put it on the toilet tank and went downstairs. The sound had lessened, but it seemed more resonant. I am wondering who to call: plumber or exorcist?

Went back up, saw the toothpaste stand still vibrating. Wait a minute. I realized that I’d put my pulsing toothbrush back in the slot without turning it off. That’s the source of the sound that had traveled through the pipes to downstairs, through stack. Why? Because the Junk Guys arrived early, they were at the door, I had to restrain the dog before he went mad, and I’d pressed the button and dropped it in the stand without considering whether it was off.

And so began a day that was absolutely nothing than what I had expected when I woke.

The Junk Guys made a bid to remove the TV. It also had an electronics disposal fee and tax and a trip cost. It was twice what I had been quoted by another firm, and I told them that. So, meet it or beat feet, to quote a phrase I do not like. The guy made a call to the boss, and to the surprise of NOT ME, boss said oh sure. So they took it.

Next step: continue the closet cleaning. It’s 87% gone now. A bit sad about it. A lot sad actually. A bit relieved to be shedding some items, and clearing out clutter. Behind a shelf I found a little sheaf of folded paper, clipped to a larger sheet that said DINNERTIME GRATITUDE. I gather that we had a little dinnertime ritual for a while, writing down something for which we were grateful. 2012. Very sweet. I read them to Current Wife and we had a smile over the things we recollected. But what now? Oh, I suppose I take a picture, then toss them . . .

Except a picture isn’t the same. Is there room in the one plastic box dedicated to absolute-zero cold-storage family items? I’ll bet there is.

Hello, what’s this behind the shelves?

		Completely forgot about it. My old paper-route collection bag.
		All the pockets are labeled according to denomination.
		I don’t know what this one means. Let’s ask AI!

The term "Carson Reserve 3 to 1" most commonly refers to the Dream On Me Carson Classic 3-in-1 Convertible Crib. This product is a piece of baby furniture that adapts to a child's changing needs as they grow

Oh settles that

Well no, it doesn't. Every slot is a reference to currency. Is this some obscure Tonight Show reference that made sense at the time?

Inside: old coins my father set aside. For the most part, valued at their silver content and nothing else. I mean, that’s something, but I’m not one of those people who think something old is necessarily valuable. Even if it’s literally money. An old weathered Morgan:

1888! Where has it been, how many pockets, for what was it exchanged? So much locked in these mute disks.

I’ve always loved this one, and I remember when I saw it in my dad’s collection I was delighted to hold something from the mythical 20s. There's something startled about her expression, too.

Lovely on both sides.

Pictures, of course, do not communicate the heft of these coins. A dollar felt like a dollar.

		I’m old enough to recall these in general circulation, although less so as time went on.

Well, that’s enough woolgathering. Duties: clearing ice and slush. I was outside and wearing headphones so I didn’t hear the shrieking or panic, but when I got inside I learned:

Birch had another seizure.

Damn.

It’s not uncommon. Even when everything is under control, one a month isn’t uncommon. Vet advised us to call if there was another today. So far, at press time, we’re good.

(Oh, about the Simpsons: haven’t forgotten. Just need another day. )

It’s 1927.

And by “damp” we mean “wet” and by “wet” we mean “drunk.” It's all flask-toting fun until someone makes a furtive move around Patrolman Edgett.

This is enticing. I just dropped into this page at random, and now I’m curious. Well, we’ll get to it.

Silent Cal has the lines of care engraved on his countenance. Why? Wasn’t the 20s all jazz and fun?

Harding bitched a lot, says the text:

When his predecessor felt below par he was frank to say so. The present incumbent compresses his lips into a thin line und goes grimly through with whatever he is scheduled to go through with. But whereas hitherto his day's work seemingly seldom overtaxed him, there are frequent evidences now that it costs him an effort.

		Breaking: Club Not Built Yet

They built it eventually. Dull as possible with even duller additions.

		Dude There’s a fellow with that name who died in Decatur in 1966, leaving three sons. Says he’d lived in town for 45 years. I wonder if it’s the same man. Some guys might take this as a reason to change addresses in a big way.

Don’t everyone pile in to the store at once:

The story:

Samuel Purchas (c. 1577 – 1626) was an English Anglican cleric who published several volumes of reports by travellers to foreign countries. In 1614 he published Purchas His Pilgrimage: or Relations of the World and the Religions observed in all Ages and Places discovered, from the Creation unto this Present. In this work, intended as an overview of the diversity of God's creation from an Anglican world-view, he presented several abbreviated travel stories he would later publish in full. The book achieved immediate popularity and went through four editions between 1613 and 1626, the year of Purchas's death.

Torn down in 1960.

Ella Cinders, of course, was a popular comic strip about a striving young girl in the big city. ELLA. CINDERS. Get it? GET IT?

No?

Okay she's the CINDERELLA OF THE MOVIES

Get it now? No? Criminey, ya sack of sponges

Ding weighs in with the standard generic new-year’s editorial cartoon:

		Tiny advertising cuts for the new year.
		Haven’t come across these before.
		Perhaps I just didn’t notice.

Finally, some nuptial news:

Biddle. There’s a blueblood moniker. I interviewed a Biddle once. The Mayflower Madam. They were divorced in 1938. George died young, at 49.

Oh, the "Splendid Girl"? We'll get to that.

That will do. The Decades Project begins with one of our favorite things to do: highlights of the Wish Book! It'll be running for months, as this site continues to shade towards the 70s for reasons I'm sure I'll figure out soon enough.