by Freida Marie Crump
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Greetin’s from the Ridge.
“Herb, what in God’s name are you doin’ up there?”
“Lookin’ for priceless works of art.”
“In the attic? Herb, there is nothin’ priceless in that attic and that includes when you’re up there.
Now get down here. You’re shakin’ the ceiling fixtures.”
“What’s this in the mildewed Sears sack?”
“It’s my mildewed wedding dress. Leave it alone. Herb, have you gone nuts? No, let me ask somethin’ that ain’t so obvious. What on earth are you doin’?”
“Didn’t you read the paper?”
“The paperboy threw it up there? The little sucker usually can’t make it onto the porch!”
“Michelangelo!”
“No, his name’s Mark.”
“Not the paper boy, the artist! They found one of Michelangelo’s sketches in a New York museum.”
“That’s where they usually keep ‘em.”
“It was in the attic, Freida! The found a chalk drawing of his in one of the Smithsonian attics. It’s worth 12 million bucks!”
“We didn’t build this house Herb, but I can tell you for a fact that Michelangelo has never been up there. There used to be a hired man who lived in the corner but his name was Wilson. There is absolutely nothin’ up there of …”
“Lincoln. Lincoln might have left somethin’.”
“Herb, the house was built in the ‘30s. That’s this century. Lincoln never even came to Coonridge!”
“You know that for a fact?”
“Yes, he sent me a personal email. Now get down here!”
“It don’t hurt to look, Freida. What’s in the box marked ‘Old pictures’?”
“It’s old pictures, you old poop! Whatta ya think?”
“How about the one that says ‘Christmas Ornaments.’?”
“Canning jars. Get down here before I turn out your lights!”
“They said his drawing had been stuck up in that attic since 1942 when they paid $60 dollars for it.”
“Believe me Herb, if I’d have paid sixty bucks for an original Michelangelo in 1942, I’d still remember it. And I wouldn’t have it stuck in with the canning jars. Good grief, you mean they didn’t remember they bought it?”
“They’re busy people, Freida. Like me. Do we need these SATURDAY EVENING POST magazines?”
“Don’t touch those, Herb!”
“Freida, if you ain’t got around to readin’ by now …”
“They’re collector’s items. ..priceless works of art. Herb!”And besides, my next husband ain’t read ‘em yet. Herb, what was that noise?”
“Do we have an artificial Christmas tree that’s all flattened out on one end?”
“Of course not.”
“We do now.”
“Get down here, Herbert!”
“Lewis and Clark.”
“What?”
“Lewis and Clark might come through Coonridge and left a buffalo skull or somethin’.”
“Next person that buys this house is gonna find a skull up there all right but it ain’t gonna come off no buffalo.”
“Freida, how can you live somewhere for forty years and not be curious about what’s in the attic?”
“Herb, if I’d of known what was in your attic before I decided to make a home with you, you’d be fixin’ your own oatmeal in the mornin’. I know what’s in that attic because I put every bit of it up there! When was the last time you hauled anything up there other than your own measly tail?”
“Where’d the gold coins come from?”
“What gold coins?”
“The ones in the leather pouch in the corner.”
“Get outta the way, Herb! I’m comin’ up!”
“They’re mighty heavy, Freida!”
“Don’t touch ‘em, you clumsy old fool! You’ll drop one through the cracks. Doorknobs! Herb, those are doorknobs.”
“Sorry Freida. I just wanted to get my very own treasure up here in the attic and now you’re here.”
“I oughta club you.”
You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.