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Heartprints

Wind-Up Toys

Mary Mooney

Sunday, July 13, 2014 • 2:01pm

 

My husband and I went poking around at the Bluegrass & Blueberry Festival at Peddlers Village, in Lahaska, PA and I came away with a handful of stories.  We were only there a few hours.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

 

Today I am grateful for wind-up toys.  Each time I step out of my house I meet the most interesting people, but the other day I met a doozy!  Is he a wind-up toy?  Not quite, but he should be.  What a great sense of “play” he had.

 

 

 

My husband and I went poking around at the Bluegrass & Blueberry Festival at Peddlers Village, in Lahaska, PA and I came away with a handful of stories.  We were only there a few hours.

 

 

 

You know how you’re in a store and you’ve bought something from there before that’s great, so each time you see someone looking at it you have to tell them how great it is?  Is that only me?  Maybe.  But I do it all the time.  I should be sent into stores as a plant to promote stuff except I wouldn’t do it unless I already liked it.

 

 

 

In the kitchen store at Peddlers Village, I saw people looking at a butter gizmo for corn on the cob.  We bought one year’s ago and John thought it was the best thing ever.  You put a half stick of butter in and push on a plastic thingy to push the butter out of the square tube so you can rub it over your corn.  When you’re done you put the lid on the square tube and put it back in the fridge for next time.  I was the promoter of these gizmos.  For fifteen minutes.  I think they sold about ten of them while I was there.  When I got to the check-out, an older, white-haired, gentlemanly man, was buying a bunch of them.  He turned to me, arms full, and said, “You have to have one of these because they’re great for corn on the cob!”  We laughed and I said I already had one had already pitched them in the store like a carnival barker.  “Oh, was that you I heard?  Worked for me!”  Out the door he went.

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later, because he had spent time in the kitchen store, John insisted we got to the toy store.  Life is about trade-offs and doubly for marriage.  Who do I see in the toys store?  The white-haired gentleman.  “Are you following me?”  he joked.  “No, I think you’re following me!” 

 

 

 

The toy store isn’t big and we bumped into each other a few times while poking around.  He was checking out as I passed the register, his arms were full. . .and I mean FULL of little, two-inch wind-up toys.  He must have had 30 of them.  He had to lean over the counter to dump them out of his arms or they would have scattered all over the floor.  Now I’m curious. 

 

 

 

“Grandkids?” I asked.  He chuckled and said, “No, women.”   He was with a lovely woman who I presumed was his wife, but hey, I presume a lot.  Never presume.  I raised an eyebrow and gave him a “look”.  He blushed.  Honest to God blushed!  “No.  No.  No.  When we go out with other people I always bring a little wind-up toy along for the ladies at the table to play with.  It’s my tradition.”

 

 

 

So today I’m grateful for little wind-up toys and the lovely, interesting, kind, white-haired gentlemanly man who reminded me that sometimes it doesn’t take much to make people happy.  

 

You know how you’re in a store and you’ve bought something from there before that’s great, so each time you see someone looking at it you have to tell them how great it is?  Is that only me?  Maybe.  But I do it all the time.  I should be sent into stores as a plant to promote stuff except I wouldn’t do it unless I already liked it.

In the kitchen store at Peddlers Village, I saw people looking at a butter gizmo for corn on the cob.  We bought one year’s ago and John thought it was the best thing ever.  You put a half stick of butter in and push on a plastic thingy to push the butter out of the square tube so you can rub it over your corn.  When you’re done you put the lid on the square tube and put it back in the fridge for next time.  I was the promoter of these gizmos.  For fifteen minutes.  I think they sold about ten of them while I was there.  When I got to the check-out, an older, white-haired, gentlemanly man, was buying a bunch of them.  He turned to me, arms full, and said, “You have to have one of these because they’re great for corn on the cob!”  We laughed and I said I already had one had already pitched them in the store like a carnival barker.  “Oh, was that you I heard?  Worked for me!”  Out the door he went.

Twenty minutes later, because he had spent time in the kitchen store, John insisted we got to the toy store.  Life is about trade-offs and doubly for marriage.  Who do I see in the toys store?  The white-haired gentleman.  “Are you following me?”  he joked.  “No, I think you’re following me!” 

The toy store isn’t big and we bumped into each other a few times while poking around.  He was checking out as I passed the register, his arms were full. . .and I mean FULL of little, two-inch wind-up toys.  He must have had 30 of them.  He had to lean over the counter to dump them out of his arms or they would have scattered all over the floor.  Now I’m curious. 

“Grandkids?” I asked.  He chuckled and said, “No, women.”   He was with a lovely woman who I presumed was his wife, but hey, I presume a lot.  Never presume.  I raised an eyebrow and gave him a “look”.  He blushed.  Honest to God blushed!  “No.  No.  No.  When we go out with other people I always bring a little wind-up toy along for the ladies at the table to play with.  It’s my tradition.”

So today I’m grateful for little wind-up toys and the lovely, interesting, kind, white-haired gentlemanly man who reminded me that sometimes it doesn’t take much to make people happy. 
 

Each and every day I find something to be grateful for. My gratitude's are heartfelt, personal, moving and often humorous. Facebook followers have encouraged me to branch out. I hope you will relate.

The opinions expressed herein are the writer's alone, and do not reflect the opinions of TAPinto.net or anyone who works for TAPinto.net. TAPinto.net is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the writer.

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