Tinkerbell's dryer

How many of you can recall the twinkly celeste sound they used to represent the voice of Tinkerbell in the original (Mary Martin) televised version of Peter Pan?  (And if you never saw it, quit reading an old geezer’s blog and hit the virtual streets looking for a copy of it. It’s wonderful!)

Anyway, as I was sitting here writing a paper for the cursed accounting course that was the subject of an earlier and angrier missive, the dryer reached the end of its cycle and signaled completion with a chorus of Tinker’s bells, so to speak.

Don’t laugh – it really does sound like that and immediately made me recall Tink trying like mad to warn Peter of impending danger. That was one of my favorite shows of all time and I still grin when I think of it.

I know I should get up off my ample caboose and trudge in there to switch loads but I don’t want to. And not because I’m too lazy. Okay, make that, not ENTIRELY because I’m too lazy.

You see, as long as the dryer door remains unopened, Tinkerbell will sing to me again every few minutes. I just love the sound of it. I mean I’m not entirely unmindful of the underlying battle between memories of the boy who didn’t want to grow up and the grown up accounting course that’s currently making me wish I’d followed the boy’s advice.

But the real reason is that I just love the sound. When I first heard it, my parents were alive, young and healthy, I didn’t have to go to work on Monday and the biggest thing on my horizon was the next camping trip with the Boy Scouts.

I was raised in a sort of Mayberry where you could sleep with the windows open and the only thing you had to worry about was the possibility – and it seemed very real in those days and at that age – that Peter and Tink would show up in your bedroom, looking for errant shadows and new friends.

These clothes might just get wrinkly if I don’t pull them out soon. Then, of course, I’d have to run them through again. Leading to more Tinkerbell talk.

There are worse things.