When I found the first clam shell in the mail box, I chalked it up to a fluke passerby. It was small with dirt crusted on one side, not very pretty.
A few days passed. Between birthday celebrations and work, I forgot about the mollusk remains. That is, until Saturday rolled around and sitting in front of the red Netflix envelope was a new shell, with a small shriveled flower poking through.
I stood, holding my mail, glancing up and down the street, heart starting to pound a little. Who knew clam shells could be so utterly creepy?
|It is not every day one receives a clam shell in one's mailbox. |
Was someone watching? Casing the joint? Leaving strange tokens? Did the mailman have a crush on Mr. T? Perhaps a passing serial killer stopped by? I've seen enough Criminal Minds to know only fools discount important clues like this!
A huge part of me hoped that it was a gift from the neighbor girls down the street who periodically stop by to turn us into frogs and spaghetti noodles, and dare me to eat fruit from the decorative pear trees. But they were out of town camping!
Or so I thought.
Later that evening, while mixing up a home brew of fish emulsion, Epsom salt and beer for the tomatoes, I hear a booming kid voice come up the drive way.
"DID YOU GET MY PRESENT?!!!"
It was 6-year old Savannah rolling by on her Razor, her dad trailing behind. I asked if she went to the ocean on her camping trip. She just laughed, wrapping thin arms around my waist, before scooting off down the street.
Me, I felt SO FREAKING RELIEVED!
A few minutes later, her mom popped by to exchange phone numbers so as to warn me about future gifts I might expect--rocks, bits of ribbon, etc.
She told me Savannah found the clam shell not at the ocean but near our neighborhood creek. Apparently there are all sorts of treasures--fresh water clam and mussel shells, bottles, balloons and most recently, a "bubble maker thing" aka a plastic feminine hygiene product holder tube. (Sing a chorus of YUCK with me?) By comparison, the mystery clam shell seems all right!
A grateful heart: Feeling neighborly
On being nosy, I mean neighborly
Following the white rabbit (And then catching it)
Front yard veggie gardening
Labels: clam shells, gifts, mailbox, Mr. T, neighbors, serial killers