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The loud argumentative voices were just around the corner. Trees and shrubs on either side of the path blocked my view of who it was that was having the argument, but from the sound and tone ringing out in the otherwise peaceful environment of the park, it was two women having quite the disagreement.
As I made my way around the bend I could see one of the women involved in the rather heated discussion, and she was holding a dog leash that was taut, and in a few more steps I saw the reason the rope was so as her dog, a mid-sized retriever, was jumping excitedly towards another two dogs, one that was on a leash that was similarly taut, and one that was unleashed.
Both of those dogs appeared to belong to a second woman, who was holding the leash of the second dog I had seen, a small Australian Shepherd, with her left hand and in her right she held one of those flexible plastic ball flinging sticks that allows people to toss tennis balls twenty yards or so without much effort.
As I closed the gap between myself and the two quarrelling women I began to make out what was being shouted by both of the shouters.
The woman with the ball flinging stick was repeatedly yelling at the woman with the mid-sized retriever to leave her alone, to mind her own business and that she wasn't harming anyone.
The woman with the mid-sized retriever was yelling right back at her that the park had signs posted everywhere that stated all dogs must be leashed at all times while in the park, and that ball flinging stick lady should take her dogs down to a park a few miles down the road that allowed dogs off leash if she wanted to play fetch with them.
Ball flinging stick lady seemed to increase the aggressiveness with which she repeatedly shouted that what she did in the park with her dogs was her business, and that the other woman should take her dog to another park if she didn't like it.
At this point I began to slow down my strident pace a little, because one, I didn't know if I should sidestep the arguing women by darting around them through a clearing that I was approaching on my left and two, I was caught up in the action of the argument and had half a mind to pull out my phone and start filming.
Then the mid-sized retriever lady yelled something that pretty much won the argument for her, at least to me she did.
She yelled, "Stop telling me it isn't my business that you have your dog off leash and are playing fetch in this park. It is my business. There is a small lake right over there and a lot of migrating birds are in this park. The reason those signs stating that all dogs must be leashed in the park is because unleashed dogs have attacked and killed quite a few of those birds - if people don't keep their dogs leashed and more birds get killed, they'll ban dogs from the park altogether and I like to walk my dog in this park! If you want me to call an animal control officer to explain that to you and write you a ticket, I'll do that now (the mid-sized retriever lady was pulling out her phone with her left hand as she yelled that) or you could just be a responsible adult dog owner and take your dogs down to the park that allows them off leash - there's no lake or birds there!"
The ball flinging stick lady then caught sight of me coming up the path and looked at the other woman with an expression of pained embarrassment. The mid-sized retriever lady turned and looked at me approaching as well. Both of the women took steps off the path as I grew closer, and ball flinging stick lady called her other dog, the one off leash, to come to her.
I walked between them with as casual and disinterested an air as I could muster. I weighed whether or not I should pipe up with "She's right, you need to take those dogs to the off leash park to play fetch." as I passed, but being as how ball flinging stick lady was putting her unleashed dog back on the leash, it clearly would have been unnecessary for me to do so.
It was another thirty or so steps before I was once again beyond hearing if anything more was said between the two women, no matter how hard I strained my ears.
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My affection for vintage magazine advertisements knows no bounds - so much so that whenever I have the opportunity to purchase old magazines or newspapers cheap, I jump on it. The other day I picked up a few copies of The Country Gentleman that were published in 1924 & 1925 (billed at the time as The Oldest Agricultural Journal In The World).
I found this gem of an advertisement in the March 14 1925 issue (at the time it was five cents the copy, or one dollar for the year).
$580.00 for a complete four room home with bath and a front porch. Delivered to any location east of the Mississippi river and north of the Mason-Dixon line. Includes all lumber, millwork, roofing, lath, hardware, & nails.
Foundation and windows must have been extra.
Still, quite the bargain.
After they moved in together, it seemed that they started arguing about everything.
Though not about what most people would consider issues that were worth fighting over, like budgeting or household cleaning responsibilities - they readily agreed on adhering strictly to a budget, and the division of chores was solved when they agreed to just do everything that needs to be done as a team.
No, their arguments weren't caused by what most couples considered the big issues. They argued over small things, genuinely insignificant matters - a disinterested observer might get the impression that both of them appeared to actually look for small issues to fight about, and the smaller the better.
Just about anything seemed to be fair game, from how to make the bed to what side of the sink the dishes should be washed or rinsed in.
One would assume the sink dish washing issue would have ended once they bought a dishwasher, but the new dishwasher just led to a rather heated (and loud, much to the upstairs neighbors duress) argument about how to properly load the dishwasher.
The thing was, none of the arguments seemed to have any effect on their ardour for one another. Quite the contrary, after an hour or so of small arguments, they both would invariably (and suddenly) just shut down for a few minutes and take a few quiet, deep breaths, then impetuously (and with a vehement mutual passion) throw themselves at each other until they were disturbing the upstairs neighbors with noises of an entirely different nature.
It all began on Christmas Eve.
Generally speaking I make shopping for Christmas presents a year-long affair. Whenever I'm out and about and come across something that I think a member of my gift exchange circle of family and friends would like, I buy it and take it home for storage until Christmas rolls around.
Incidentally, not all of my family and friends exchange gifts, but those that do, well, we are all part of a gift exchange circle. Everyone else gets a Holiday greeting card.
Back to Christmas Eve. I had a few friends and associates that I did not manage to procure a gift for during the course of the year, so I had to pay a visit to that vast palace of last resort gifts known as Costco.
If anything, Costco has it's finger on the pulse of what people need or want or at least could use that would make for a nice gift.
So there I was on the afternoon of the 24th, shopping away. A couple of bottles of fine wine (Costco has a great selection of fine wines - try the Caymus 50th Anniversary Cab, it's like drinking silk), a few small household items, two bouquets of flowers (for two separate get-togethers that night) and of course, the penultimate in last-minute Christmas gifts, gift cards (for oil changes, dining, and movie theaters).
The checkout line was long but the wait allowed for a visual inspection of what other last-minute gifts were being bought - a lot of large screen televisions were going out the doors that day.
An hour later I was at home and wrapping the last minute gifts. I had plenty of large boxes for the gift cards, and a few large scraps of 2 X 6 lumber and packing peanuts to add to the boxes for additional heft - and yeah, I'm the kind of guy that does that sort of thing.
After getting everything wrapped I sorted the gifts - there was a small pile of gifts that were to be delivered, and a larger pile of gifts that would be opened at my house.
It was then when I realised I was missing a gift, or rather, a gift card. I pulled the receipt out of my wallet (yeah, I'm a receipt keeper - how the heck else can one reconcile budget with expenses without keeping receipts?) and carefully went over the items...the purchase of the gift card was listed, so I figured I must have left it in the car, easy enough to do with such a small item.
Back out to the car for a quick look-see. Huh. Cursory examination of the cargo area and rear seats revealed...nada. A more thorough search (under the drivers and front passenger seats, in the little side pockets of the doors, between the seats, in the crevice between the seats and seat backs, the glove compartment, the little secondary glove compartment below the main glove compartment, the center consoles, in the magazine-sized pockets attached to the rear of the drivers and front passenger seats (airplane style)...and still nothing.
Carefully I retraced my steps for every trip I made from the car to the house to the area I wrapped all the gifts in, and to the areas/cabinets in the kitchen that I put items I purchased for household use/consumption in or on...still nothing.
Being as I had to get going to a couple of Christmas Eve gatherings, I decided to forestall any further searching until the next day. I felt confident that the missing gift card was somewhere in the house, probably in the guest bedroom that is used as gift wrapping central.
Christmas morning being what it is meant that I was not able to resume the search until later in the afternoon. I searched everywhere in the guest bedroom, and even the car again, for good measure.
Without finding the dang gift card. I know I made the purchase, heck, I had the receipt. It had to be somewhere.
The intended recipient of the gift came over to the house as I was quietly fuming. After initial Christmas greetings and exchanging of gifts (her husband's and son's gifts) I had to sheepishly confess that I had bought her a gift but I had misplaced it somewhere, and I promised I would get it to her as soon as I could.
She was her usual wonderfully gracious self and told me it was not a big deal, no worries, whenever it pops up will be fine, don't go out of your way or fret over it...yeah, I felt like an idjit.
A few days pass and I decide to search the car again. The rear seats pitch forward to allow for more cargo space, so maybe the gift card managed to fall behind one on the seats and into the little tub underneath the cargo cover where the spare tire is stored.
Nope. Not there either.
The next day (New Years Eve) I decide to search the gift wrapping area again. I literally remove everything but the guest bed itself from the room and find...nothing, except a biography of James Madison I'd been meaning to read that I thought I'd left in Fort Dodge last summer.