Doo-doo

Where does it come from, anyway?

Our church has one of those hideous signs out front at the street.  You know, the kind that you put letters on, and it sits on some kind of a metal stand, and sometimes has yellow lights on the top in the shape of an arrow, and has been known to say mindless things like, “Eat at Joe’s” or “Garage sale this Saturday.”  That kind of sign.

The (stupid) sign arrived at the church long before I did, and it never said much of anything.  I decided, and subsequently told our pastor, that if we were going to have such an eyesore out at the street, it ought to at least say something useful.  And she invited me to make it do so.

Well. . . the letters were in a file cabinet in the copy room at the church; hundreds of them, all thrown, in no order whatsoever, into too few, poorly-labeled hanging files.  After church, I would search out some letters, walk down to the street with them, change the wording on the sign, and think I was finished, only to realize that I was somehow missing a U and two Ls.  Sigh.  Back up I would hike to try to retrieve the missing letters.

It only took me a few times of doing this to realize that that system was way too inefficient for my taste.  I asked Pastor Barb if she would mind if I took the letters home.  “Are you kidding?  I hate that (stupid) sign.  We really ought to have it hauled off, but if you’re willing to change it from time to time, you can keep the letters wherever you want!”  So I did.  I outfitted two crates in our cellar with sufficient hanging files, labeled them clearly, and organized the letters.  Half the letters were no good, but since I didn’t know if I had authorization to throw them out, I put them in a box, labeled it “Church Sign Letters” and set it aside.

Since that time, probably for the past year or so, I have changed the words on both sides of the sign every two weeks.  Each side says something different.  Now that I am helping in the office on Thursday mornings, I usually do it when I first get there, but a month or so ago, I started taking Andrew to the office with me, and now I have him change the letters.  = )  I figure out what it’s going to say and bring the stack of letters (in order, of course), and he does the grunt work.

Yesterday, it was cold and wet out at 8:00 AM, so I told him I’d help him.  Together, we got it done in about 14 minutes, a new land speed record, for sure.  The only problem was that the letters we took down and put in the bag were soaking wet on both sides.  They were really a mess.  I just dropped them in our little carrying bag and left them in the van while we did our stuff inside the church, but when we got back home, I realized that I couldn’t put those wet letters in the hanging files.  They’d all mildew, and that would be truly nasty.

But how to get some 30 wet letters dry without them blowing away?!?  In a flash of brilliance, I spread them out on the porch in the sun.

Words to the wise?

Words to the wise?

There they sat for a couple hours, and then I even had the presence of mind to remember to turn them all over, so they could get dry on the other side.  However, that action must have used up what was left of my mind.

Andrew and I left for choir (out the breezeway door) at 6:35 PM, knowing that Scott’s men’s group guys would arrive shortly before 7:00 PM.  Andrew and I returned home at 9:15 PM, and I suddenly remembered that I had left a bunch of dry letters all over the porch.  Those men must’ve had to step over them to get into the house!  How embarrassing.  Well, I would go get them right away, because I did NOT want them to stay out overnight and get wet again with dew in the morning.

So I bent down to pick up the first letter, and it was sopping wet!  On both sides!!!  I was too late.  Somehow, the dew had beaten me to the punch, and I was mad.  NOW what to do?!?  They had been totally dry at 4:00 PM, and now they were just as wet as when we had taken them off the (stupid) sign.  Ugh.

The only solution I could come up with was to cover the dining room table with beach towels and spread them out again.  Sigh.  Which I did.  And this morning, they were, yea and verily, completely dry, and I filed them before the ferocious dew could attack them again.

But the whole situation really made me wonder about dew.  I had assumed it came up from the ground. . . but the letters were laying on dry carpet.  Or, does it come down from the sky?  But the letters were on the porch, which has a lovely robin’s egg blue ceiling.  I asked Scott, “So does the dew come up from the ground or down from the sky?”and he immediately replied, “Both,” but I don’t know if that’s really true or if that’s one of those dad-like answers.  When I was a kid and asked a question – and I asked a lot of questions; hard to imagine, I know – my dad would answer immediately and authoritatively.  I thought he knew everything, but I am beginning to suspect that he was sometimes trying to fake me out; that he may not have known the answer, but figured if he responded quickly enough I would think he did.  He figured right.

So, I obviously don’t know where dew comes from, but I do know that it is strongly attracted to plastic letters on or related to stupid signs.

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