Right Up My Alley

But leaving that buzz-kill aside for a moment, let me assure you, I still love our alleys. They lead to our garages or parking pads, and you can walk your dogs there at night without fear of being run over by the ever-increasing torrent of traffic that’s wreaking havoc on our hood. If you need to move a piano or replace your leaky fridge, and don’t want to lug it up two flights of stairs, you can drive down the alley, through the gate and right up to your house.

In the spring and fall when you prune your trees and collect a bagillion leaves from your yard, you can haul them out to the alley and presto-changeo, all of it magically disappears. (Actually, there’s nothing magic about it. Public Works, paid for by your tax dollars, manages this sleight of hand; but it’s magic to me because I don’t have to deal with it.) It’s the same with dead appliances, the sofa your cat destroyed in a single afternoon, and the patio set that’s seen one too many summers; just set those out and the city will disappear them.

But hands down, my favorite part of living on an alley is that it’s a great place to go scavenging. Like dumpster diving without the dumpster, thrifting without the surcharge, I find all kinds of random stuff, nearly every day, that I never knew I needed; like the small wooden dresser with canvas drawers, I now can’t live without. The large, solid wood, sage green, cross-back chairs that grace my kitchen table were a great alley find, as were the wrought iron and Adirondack chairs I repurposed. Scores of mismatched flowerpots, now bursting with winter pansies, line my front porch like long-lost cousins, and I was super excited the evening I dragged a practically new smoker to my house all by myself. (My dog, Nancy Drew, who was in tow, was absolutely no help at all.)

I’m not new to the world of scavenging. In fact, I’m still the proud owner of a small table with turned legs and caning on the sides that I dragged 30 blocks, and up four flights of stairs to my New York City apartment several decades ago. In the intervening years, I’ve learned a thing or two about this avocation like don’t trust chair cushions, curtains, rugs, or clothing of any kind, because they’re magnets for dog pee. And once one dog has peed on something, dozens are sure to follow, giving these items a hefty scent you absolutely don’t want to live with.

Items that have been left out in the rain are also a no-no; we’re talking big time mold incubators here. But perhaps the most important thing of all, is that the minute you see something good, you have to drop whatever the hell you’re doing and grab it, even if that means cutting your dog’s walk short. (Sorry, Nancy Drew!) If you don’t, there’s a good chance some other scavenger will grab it, and by the time you return, it will be gone. There are lots of scavengers out there who could beat you to the punch. And this can result in a sense of loss and maybe even a few angry tears, especially if your find was a great little desk or a brand new, never-used set of Le Creuset cookware.

A few weeks ago, I found a tall dark metal stool with a wooden seat, next to a dumpster. (This was not technically dumpster diving since the stool was only dumpster adjacent.) It had probably been part of a set at one time, and it looked a little tragic sitting there all alone. Unfortunately, when I got it home I discovered it was too tall for my kitchen island, but it was perfect for my boyfriend’s. Proudly pointing to the lone stool I’d rescued from a few blocks away, I grinned like I’d just won the Designer’s Choice Award. “You know how I’m always finding great stuff in the alley? Look what I found for you!”

“Nice,” he grinned back. “But it isn’t the best thing you’ve ever found.”

“Really?” I cocked my head.

“Yeah! You found a man in the alley.” He bent down for a kiss.

“You’re right!” I laughed.

I know this sounds strange, but it’s true. One morning, out of nowhere, he joined the crew that had started construction on a cottage behind my house. And although all the guys parked their trucks in the alley, none of them had caught my eye. But as I watched him unfold his lanky 6’3” frame from the seat of his white Ford pickup and step onto the uneven pavement in the morning light, I actually felt a little faint.

And in the weeks that followed, I timed my walks with Miss Drew to correspond with his arrival. I’d round the corner, and there he’d be, wearing his trademark grin, offering the promise of a hug.

A couple of years have passed since then, and we’re still going strong. I have to say that, of all the treasures I’ve discovered in my neighborhood, he’s my favorite thing. And it still amazes me how easy it was to find what I’d long been wishing for – a man who was right up my alley.