My kingdom for an s-hook

So, the s-hook from which the bouy bell depended rusted through and dumped the bell into what we fondly call “the garden” (and which had, up until this year, actually been a garden, but — this year we had to let a lot of B-list stuff go entirely, not to mention letting some A-list stuff slide shamefully), but is now actually a dandelion patch. I can see that the dragonflower is coming up and I have hopes for the keys of heaven and the asters. The butterfly bush died long ago, and the replacement butterfly bush, too — I think we may not have the right feng shui for a butterfly bush. In any case, whatever comes up among the weeds will pretty much be on its own. I’m going with “wildlife habitat.” That’s my story and, by gum, I’m sticking to it.

But the bell — about 15 inches of toned (that’s rusty, to you) steel, that was one of the first three things we bought when we moved to this house — the bell’s OK, but right now it’s sitting on the deck, its voice silenced, all for the want of an s-hook. You would think that even we would have an s-hook on hand, but — hopelessly disorganized. We don’t call this place the Confusion Factory for nothing, you know.

Well. Something for the shopping list, tomorrow.

In the meantime, here’s what our bell would sound like right now, if we’d had a s-hook.

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