The Snowman's Belly Button LbNA #37409 (ARCHIVED)
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Add Location| Owner: | Adoptable |
|---|---|
| Plant date: | Jan 3, 2008 |
| Location: | |
| City: | Spokane |
| County: | Spokane |
| State: | Washington |
| Boxes: | 1 |
| Planted by: | The Fat Lady  |
|---|---|
| Found by: | Storm Crow |
| Last found: | Jan 6, 2008 |
| Status: | FFFr |
| Last edited: | Jan 3, 2008 |
THE SNOWMAN’S BELLY BUTTON
A friends-and-family letterbox
planted by The Fat Lady
I’m calling this a friends-and-family box, because it’s planted in my yard and is accessible only to, well, friends and family. The story is that my grandson, who is five, pestered us forcefully one night, saying he wanted to go letterboxing. It was dark outside, we told him, and he said he didn’t care, we’d go for what he called “a night walk” and a letterbox would turn up on the way. (Ah, the faith of youth.)
My sister promised we’d plant a box just for him, one we could find in the dark, and so it came to be. I planted it, she and his mother helped him hunt it down. In the rain. With snow on the ground. (Ah, the fortitude of youth.)
If you’re not my grandson, it might still be within your means to get this box. Some suggested strategies:
1. Finagle yourself an invitation for dinner or a nightcap—some excuse that would have you at my house in the evening. Then hint a lot about just LOVING to letterbox, especially at night, and wouldn’t it be great if we had time right after you finished cleaning the dishes, vacuuming under the table, and doing a couple of loads of my laundry.
2. Pass along my street at some point when I’m sitting on the front porch, and holler helpfully from the sidewalk, “Hey, Fat Lady! Your yard sure needs raking (or walks need shoveling, etc.). Offer to do the job, and make the work last until evening. If you can’t make it last, invent some other handy things you might do around the place: putting up storm windows, detailing my car, or what have you. When it finally is dark, say, “Oh man, I was having so much fun I forgot: I meant to go letterboxing today! You have any idea where there’s one close by?”
3. Pass along my street, but this time feign a heart attack in view of my front windows. When I rush to your side, say something like, “No ambulance. I’m a goner. I only wish that, before I check in at the pearly gates, I could collect one last stamp in my logbook.”
A friends-and-family letterbox
planted by The Fat Lady
I’m calling this a friends-and-family box, because it’s planted in my yard and is accessible only to, well, friends and family. The story is that my grandson, who is five, pestered us forcefully one night, saying he wanted to go letterboxing. It was dark outside, we told him, and he said he didn’t care, we’d go for what he called “a night walk” and a letterbox would turn up on the way. (Ah, the faith of youth.)
My sister promised we’d plant a box just for him, one we could find in the dark, and so it came to be. I planted it, she and his mother helped him hunt it down. In the rain. With snow on the ground. (Ah, the fortitude of youth.)
If you’re not my grandson, it might still be within your means to get this box. Some suggested strategies:
1. Finagle yourself an invitation for dinner or a nightcap—some excuse that would have you at my house in the evening. Then hint a lot about just LOVING to letterbox, especially at night, and wouldn’t it be great if we had time right after you finished cleaning the dishes, vacuuming under the table, and doing a couple of loads of my laundry.
2. Pass along my street at some point when I’m sitting on the front porch, and holler helpfully from the sidewalk, “Hey, Fat Lady! Your yard sure needs raking (or walks need shoveling, etc.). Offer to do the job, and make the work last until evening. If you can’t make it last, invent some other handy things you might do around the place: putting up storm windows, detailing my car, or what have you. When it finally is dark, say, “Oh man, I was having so much fun I forgot: I meant to go letterboxing today! You have any idea where there’s one close by?”
3. Pass along my street, but this time feign a heart attack in view of my front windows. When I rush to your side, say something like, “No ambulance. I’m a goner. I only wish that, before I check in at the pearly gates, I could collect one last stamp in my logbook.”