Why I Love Milk Crates

I stood in my basement and realized I had an empty milk crate.  Oh the possibilities!  Of course it can only hold large items with such holes all over it. 

I was taken back to my college days.  How many dorm rooms used them as impromptu bookshelves?  When I started college my mom purchased two yellow crates for me.  They were a tad larger than ones smuggled from behind the grocery and the walls much thinner.  Since they were new and properly purchased, they also did not stink of sour milk (a scent hard to shake from the ill-gotten ones).  Their larger size allowed to be a proper laundry basket.  Once it was full it was ready for a trip to the laundromat!

The red, illegal ones provided good storage and sturdy transport.  Did you know the ones nabbed from the dark alleys behind dairies are contraband?  I mean besides the theft of lifting something that doesn't belong to you?  They state quite clearly on the side there is a sizable fee for illegal possession.

Despite such dire warnings, they have been lifted by resourceful students across the country.  There were girls in my dorm who became even more resourceful by grabbing several carloads of crates and began distributing them to their neighbors.  Three or four towers of red, yellow, and green crates stood ceiling high in their tiny room.  Oh and the stench!  Showers lit up that night as girls across the dorm scrubbed their new storage devices.

But what am I supposed to DO about possessing a milk crates graciously given to me?  I do not know of a milk crate contraband buy-back program.  And I certainly don't want to toss a perfectly useful item in the trash.  They have stayed with me through the years providing various services.  Currently one holds unpacked treasure from my old house and another sits empty in my pantry awaiting its next assignment.

New Quarters

We've been collecting the new quarters as they're released.  It's not like I'm a professional collector and know when or even what the next one is.  They pop up as pleasant little surprises.  It's kinda fun that way.  Anna, the mal-treated coworker, always brings me new ones.  Last night, however, my son brought a quarter for my inspection.

It was fantastic, filled with all sorts of patriotic designs.

And it was OLD.

He was so proud.  This one must be worth something.

Right?

"Ian, it's a Bicentennial Quarter."
"What's it worth?"
"Twenty five cents."
"What?  Why?"
"Because it's still in circulation and everyone has at least one in their wallet."

Poor dejected child.  He has a collectible quarter worth a whopping 25¢