March 24, 2009
The Slush Nugget:
Treasure of the Michigan Spring
Each Spring, as Old Man Winter starts thinking about getting his frosty
white butt out of town for Spring Break, we Michigaroonies begin to
experience a phenomenon that’s unique to states where we spend four
months out of every year walking around in stupid-looking little wool
hats and wearing our socks to bed.
I’m talking about Slush Nuggets.
In
case you’ve never heard of them, Slush Nuggets are those great little
treasures that show up in your yard as the snow melts. I live on a busy
street, where the snowplows push their grimy little glaciers up into my
yard all winter long. By the time March rolls around I’ve accumulated a
pretty substantial heap of road slop, and a particularly rich haul of
Slush Nuggets.
Now I’m not really talking about the Almond Joy wrappers and peppermint
schnapps bottles that always seem to poke their way out of the drifts
after every gala Saturday night. These would fall more into the category
of “Trash.” And, of course there are the occasional zoological
discoveries, which I probably should technically refer to as “Roadkill.”
No, I’m talking about the riches that transform the chore of cleaning up
the lawn every Spring into a mini-adventure in social anthropology.
Bear in mind that when I say “riches,” it’s the cultural, not the
monetary value of Slush Nuggets that is significant. Oh sure, there was
the rear-view mirror from that 1997 Hyundai that turned out to be worth
more than the replacement value of the entire car, but that’s a pretty
rare find. Normally, what makes a Slush Nugget special is the implied
story. Each artifact represents a tiny vignette of someone’s life.
For instance, there was the paper plate with the name “Candy” and a
phone number written on it in lipstick. Instantly, the name “Candy”
conjures images of big hair, lots of eye makeup and possibly a couple of
surgically enhanced body parts. Gazing at this artifact, you can
actually visualize a young couple meeting across a smoky pool table –
their eyes meet; she scrawls her phone number on the paper plate the
very second someone polishes off the last mozzarella stick; he takes it
from her greasy hand and presses it to his heart.
The phone number turned out to be (honest Honey, I just called it as
research for the column) the number of a pizza delivery store. Maybe, I
thought, Candy just wanted to make sure that her new friend had a handy
way to deal with any sort of “hunger” situation he might encounter.
The fact that the plate ended up in my yard suggests that pizza wasn’t
really what he had in mind.
Of
course some of the stories behind my Slush Nuggets are a bit more
puzzling. For instance how, when the wind chill is 15 degrees below
zero, would someone not notice losing a shoe? Or a pair of boxer shorts?
Or their bra? You would think that cold toes would be a dead give away.
Or the draft.
The Slush Nuggets I’m currently trying to interpret include a box of
crayons with all the tips bitten off, an unopened jar of anchovies, a
toupee (very nearly mis-categorized as “Roadkill” since it was pretty
much the same color and texture as a squashed muskrat), an eyeglass case
containing a pair of cardboard 3-D glasses and an inexpensive picture
frame with a photograph of someone’s belly button mounted in it. (Ihe
belly button was an “innie”).
Who says winters in Michigan aren’t entertaining?
Copyright ©2009
Michael Ball. Distributed exclusively by North Star Writers Group.
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