Peanut butter

Peanut butter

Tuesdays were the best day of the week as far as Mac was concerned. It was garbage day in his neighbourhood. Every other day consisted of the same routine. Garbage days were like magic, you never knew what to expect.

He was born on a winter day in November of 1945, named Thomas MacCoombs Alpin. Although people called him Mac, it was short and simple. Short and simple described Mac in every way, looks and lifestyle.

Mac lived in an out building on the south end of Mrs. Porter's property. The building was very large and square. He divided the space in half. One half was a workshop, the other very modest living quarters.

The workshop was cleverly laid out. Each tool hung meticulously on the wall, unnecessarily labeled. The workbench was hand crafted to be just the right height for the shorter than average Mac.

The long shelf on the farthest wall had dozens of bins, jars, and containers on it. Each filled with screws, nails, wires or anything else that might come in useful one day. On the top shelf, smack dab in the middle was a jar labeled "Peanut butter". Oddly enough the strange peanut butter jar blended in with the rest of the containers on the shelf.

To the left was a cabinet filled with "to do" projects. There was a lamp, a toaster, an easy bake oven just to name a few. These items and the hundreds before them would be lovingly restored to their original working state by the talented hands of Mac Alpin. From there to Percy's pawn shop they would go.

The other side of Mrs. Porter's former 4 car garage resembled the inside of a small apartment. There was a worn, oval shaped rug underneath a large brown recliner. The chair was positioned to face an old television set. On top of the TV set there was an analog clock and a landline rotary telephone.

Mac saw no need to own a cellphone. Who would call him? His only friend was his landlord Mrs. Porter. She came by every few days with a homemade pie or a dozen baked cookies. Although he never did figure out if she was being kind or nosy.

In any event she had his telephone number and as far back as he could remember she never called. He supposed his niece had his phone number as well. He had not spoken to her in eight years or more. She was very busy being an interior decorator, wife and mother. It didn't bother Mac that neither called. Honestly, he enjoyed the solitude.

Behind the recliner was a nondescript twin sized bed, perfectly made. Then a kitchen table, and 4 chairs. Against the wall by the door Mac constructed a makeshift kitchen for himself. There was a refurbished hutch, a lime green fridge and a standard sized bookshelf painted green to match.

Mac retired from his job fifteen years earlier. He had spent his working days as a custodian at the local high school. He worked the 3pm to 11pm shift for forty years. A shift not conducive to socializing.

On his last day of work in June of '06 Mr. Warren, the school principal, called Mac to his office. Once there he gave Mac a firm handshake, thanked him for a job well done and handed him a plaque with his name on it.

Mac thought the plaque was kind, but unnecessary. So was the fruit basket left for him by the secretaries. He was downright taken aback by the gift from Mrs. Conway. When he entered classroom 303 that evening he was expecting to clean it as usual. Then he went behind the soft spoken English teachers desk to empty the trash and noticed a package with his name on it.

His hands were slightly trembling as he picked up the gift. Peeling back the kraft paper wrap Mac revealed the most elegant black notebook. When he opened the black book he immediately noticed the gently rounded corners, the elastic closure and matching bookmark. As he flipped through the pages a handwritten note fell out of the book and onto the floor.

Mac picked up the note and read the message. In the most beautiful cursive writing Ms. Conway had written

Dearest Mr. Alpin,

Use this book to write the second chapter of your life. Enjoy retirement!

Sincerely, Anne Conway

After reading the note twice Mac put the note back inside the black book. For the rest of his shift Mac's thoughts kept returning to the note and the unexpected gift. Actually, little did he know he would spend a great deal of time thinking about, and writing in the notebook for years to come.

Mac had always walked to and from work. It was only three kilometers each way and he enjoyed the fresh air. On his second day of retirement Mack decided he would start a new routine of getting up early every morning and walking to the school and back home. This way he would get some exercise and the day would go by faster.

The next day his alarm sounded at 5:45am and Mac woke up feeling quite good about being retired and about this new routine. Other than the nagging feeling that he was supposed to be writing in his new notebook he was quite pleased with himself. He decided he would think about the second chapter of his life while walking and felt sure something worthwhile would happen.

This particular Tuesday the weather was crisp and clear. Mac gulped down a coffee and gobbled a freshly baked blueberry muffin straight from Mrs. Porter's kitchen. She had stopped by with three of them just yesterday. Then he began the six kilometer trek noticing several people putting out their trash cans before heading out to work.

Mack was almost home when spotted a broken bicycle leaned against a large green garbage can. He immediately felt the need to rescue the brown and gold Gresham flyer. The moment he put his hands on the handle bars he felt a surge of excitement throughout his body. He had always been a handy type of person and this was so exciting. He quite literally could visualize how he could restore this discarded beauty.

Inside the workshop Mac laboured over his new project. It wasn't long before he fell into his recliner tired but satisfied. He worked all day on the bike and was very happy with the results. As soon as he sat in his chair his eyes rested upon the black notebook. He immediately picked it up, took a pen out of the jar beside him and made an entry in the book.

2006 - JUNE. BICYCLE.

And there it was, the beginning of Mac's new hobby, addiction, purpose. From then on Tuesday mornings Mac set about snooping through the neighbour's trash looking for things he could restore. No one ever bothered him or paid him any attention.

Over the next year Mac came across some interesting things. All of them documented in his notebook. He had found lanterns, sewing machines, record players. One time he had even found a mule deer taxidermy.

He laboured over all of these treasures with love until they were restored to sellable condition. Percy was always amazed and a little intrigued with the latest thing Mac brought into the pawn shop. He always paid a fair price for Mac's goods and looked forward to seeing what Mac would bring next.

In September of '07 a burst water main and street construction caused Mac to walk in the opposite direction. He was about two blocks into his jaunt when he came upon the rubble of a four story apartment building that had been demolished a few days earlier.

Mac was pleased to see this. He didn't expect to find anything that he could fix or pawn but thought it might be an opportunity to collect some supplies for the workshop. There didn't seem to be any workers around and Mac didn't see any harm in checking out the site.

He ducked under the rope that surrounded the block and cautiously entered the demolition site. There definitely were a few things worth taking back to the shop. So far he had found some great pieces of naturally distressed wood. Then Mac began to collect some nails and screws. When he spotted a jar a few yards away he thought it would be perfect to carry the nails in.

Mac picked up the discarded peanut butter jar and realized there was something inside. When he unscrewed the lid, he could not believe his eyes. It took Mac a moment to register what he was looking at. The jar was stuffed with one hundred dollar bills. He immediately felt butterflies in his stomach. He took one bill out of the jar and examined it, it looked real but how could he be sure?

Two days later a young bank teller named Rachel confirmed that one of the notes was real. Back at home Mac counted the hundred dollar bills for the hundredth time. There were exactly two hundred of them. Meaning Mac had randomly found twenty thousand dollars hiding in a discarded peanut butter jar. It seemed so hard to believe but it was so real.

Mac entered the find into the notebook as he had for all his great finds since he had begun. This was surely the most exciting and unexpected thing that had ever happened to him.

2007-SEPTEMBER. PEANUT BUTTER JAR. AKA $20,000

Next Mac had to decide what to do with the money. He didn't need it. Everything he thought of buying seemed frivolous, he was not interested in traveling. Mrs. Porter didn't need it, in fact he really didn't know anyone who did need it. But, neither could he leave it lying around. He decided he would hide the money until he could decide what to do with it.

Mac labeled the jar "peanut butter " mostly because "twenty large" seemed too obvious and placed the jar in his workshop beside the other jars. The jar sat there for the next fifteen years.

Year after year passed and Mac never found anything as exciting as the peanut butter jar, nor did he ever decide what to do with the money inside. The closest he came to a decision was when he willed the jar to his niece.

Mr. McCready had the unpleasant task of calling Olivia Alpin Smythe and telling her that her Uncle Mac had passed and bequeathed her a peanut butter jar. Olivia couldn't decide if she was more angry that the call had interrupted an important meeting or that her crazy uncle had left her something so utterly stupid. She promptly told Mr. McCready where to shove the jar and slammed the phone down.

Mrs. Porter had found Mac deceased in his chair three days earlier, clutching a black notebook. According to Mr. McCready, Mac wanted the contents of his rented home to go to Mrs. Porter. Well, that was a shock. She didn't expect that, nor did she want the burden of cleaning up his room.

Mrs. Porter knew of a young lady at church who was down on her luck and was looking for a place to live. She offered up three months free rent to the girl if she agreed to pack up Mac's belongings and take them to goodwill. She readily agreed. Finding a place that she could afford had been so challenging. It seemed like this just the break she needed.

For the next few days the girl cleaned and sorted. She had made quite a few trips to goodwill but they were on hold because the gas light in her car had come on and payday wasn't until Friday. All of a sudden she spotted the jar. I wonder what that is, she thought as she wrapped her hands around the peanut butter jar.