Teddy-Ricky had one very important job. For 24-hours at a time, three days a month, he sat deep below society, in a government bunker, watching an empty radar screen for incoming nuclear weapons. His desk had three things: His radar screen, a red folder of instructions for if he ever saw a blip, and a twin-tube tungsten-filament desk lamp. Most days were uneventful. But the dimmer knob sure was fun to play with.
There were a couple of clues that Hatchett was nearby. The wood looked freshly chopped, and his tractor was still warm.
Raplhie was the schoolmate who always seemed to be melting Crayola’s on the classroom radiator. He was one of the nicest kids in the class. As his evergreen and navy crayons slowly melted, the intercom kindly asked— “Ralphie, please come to the Principal’s office, and bring your things.”
Raised on a farm as the oldest of six sisters, Mae wound up with the perfect blend of roughness and warmth. And if you take the time to study her, you might begin to wonder if someone who’s been around this long has a few important things to share. She’s a relic from before our time, but she’s still at her happiest when she’s lighting up a room.
A barn in Snohomish, WA was demolished to make way for new power lines, and Big A & Big B were born.
From the same family tree as Big A & B, when these twins were born folks’ didn’t think much of ’em—just small cut-offs, probably waste. But despite being called scrappy when they were younger, for the most part those kinds of comments didn’t ever bother them. Turns out, being scrappy is still a heckuva’ lot better than the fireplace.
None of us really remember when Hank showed up, or where he came from. But he carries a fire-engine dimmer knob and fort-knox cord, so it seems to us that Hank is the real deal. With a soaring tilandsia, embedded hardware and dimmable spiral globe, this is one’s a favorite.