So, something strange happened at the cabbage.
We were cleaning up the other day, and I found a lift ticket to our local skiing area. This in itself is strange, because none of us ski. But the strangest thing is that this lift ticket was dated February 11, 1996.
How did the ticket appear in the midst of our newly-constructed cabbage? The cabbage was built in July 2015 and nearly everything in it was purchased shortly thereafter.
In 1996, I was a junior in high school, in Lake Stevens. Mindy was a freshman. She lived here, but she didn’t ski. Neither did her sisters, parents, or anyone else she knows.
Maybe it fell out of one of Steve’s toolboxes? Unlikely, because Steve doesn’t ski either.
Research shows that February 11, 1996 was a Sunday. The Spokane River had been at flood stage for several days but was receding. The East-West NBA All-Star Game was played in San Antonio, with the East beating the West, 129-118. The number one song in America was “One Sweet Day” by Mariah Carey.
So how could a lift ticket, which was likely not in the possession of anyone who would be at the cabbage, mysteriously disappear for 18 years, only to reappear in a construction zone?
The best answer, I think, is a rift in space and time. Obviously, when we began construction on the cabbage, we somehow tore through the fabric of space-time, and now we are selectively receiving rubbish from a parallel 1996, one in which Mindy skis. Or someone else in the house. Probably not me. I’d break my neck.
And in that parallel 1996, they are probably receiving bits and pieces of present day 2015, because I can’t find the switchplates that I’ve purchased. But unfortunately, those aren’t as exciting to find in 1996 as a unfathomable lift ticket in 2015 is.
That’s my best guess, at least. How do you think the lift ticket got there?