Spring is manifest in Batavia,

Rising earlier than usual, I assisted to prepare for the yard sale.  The town sponsors a weekend yard sale to fund the 4th of July fireworks display.

I do not know what “middle class” means nowadays since so many are under-employed, underpaid relative to the time and effort a “job” demands in comparison to living expenses.  Many of us appear to live comfortably, when that is by no means fact.  In any case it is the nature of things, that we accumulate excess possessions.

The children outgrow clothes and shoes, and I have books that I know I’ll not get around to reading, tools that we discovered do not quite fit our purpose, a futon lightly soiled by a grandchild’s project, and many more objects with a story, — that we hope will be granted another life and more stories in someone else’s home.

I guess that the yard sale is a quintessential small town experience.  It is something that we do for ourselves, that has a social dimension, as strangers become acquaintances after saying “good morning.”  There is no middleman, and nothing need be contracted out.  Without doubt, what-you-see-is-what-you-get.   Oh that book of poetry?  That is one dollar.

After placing items for display, I noticed the bird calls, the buds on the flowering trees, and the lawn shimmering green at the peak of it’s growth.  Another sign of spring quickened my pulse.  On the roadway in front of our house a white Shelby Cobra appeared. The slow slung oval intake and the traditional wide double blue racing stripes made the roadster unmistakable.  The powerful Ford 427 engine emitted a guttural note, a nostalgic reminder of a time past when American auto industry was in its heyday.

Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.

…Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.

excerpt Burnt Norton Stanza 5, by  T. S. Eliot

---

This tune is apt for today.  My Little Town by Simon and Garfunkel composed by Paul Simon in 1975.  I like the somber back beat laid down by the piano…  The lyrics are as contemporary as the evening news.

My Little Town

By Simon and Garfunkel

In my little town
I grew up believing
God keeps his eye on us all
And He used to lean upon me
As I pledged allegiance to the wall
Lord, I recall
My little town
Coming home after school
Flying my bike past the gates
Of the factories
My mom doing the laundry
Hanging our shirts
In the dirty breeze

And after it rains
There’s a rainbow
And all of the colors are black
It’s not that the colors aren’t there
It’s just imagination they lack
Everything’s the same
Back in my little town

Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town

In my little town
I never meant nothin’
I was just my father’s son
Saving my money
Dreaming of glory
Twitching like a finger
On the trigger of a gun
Leaving nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town

Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying
Back in my little town

Lyrics by Paul Simon