Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

I was blessed with the opportunity to photograph a rainbow!

Day Four: Musical Rain (Tuesday, Sept. 23)

Today was raining and promised to do all day, so Dad and I had to find an indoor activity. We settled on the Porter Music Box Company and Museum in Randolph.

The first portion of the tour was a collection of sundry artifacts, accumulated by the Porter family; in particular by a cousin (or uncle?) of Dwight Porter, who founded the music box company in the 1970s.

In display cabinets around the room were such items as pipes and tobacco memorabilia, buttons made from the ivory nut, campaign buttons dating from Abraham Lincoln to Richard M. Nixon, antique toys (including a cast iron stove like one my mom has), antique Christmas ornaments, a wide array of antique fans, a souvenir handkerchief commemorating George Washington's death, souvenirs made by Native Americans for tourists, some more utilitarian Native American items, a large selection of mint condition antique post cards, the letter sent to the telegraph office to signal the surrender of Geronimo, and a medicine bag given by Sitting Bull to the wife of a general after she allowed her son to spend two days playing with Indian children.

Then we returned to the museum itself and watched a very amateurish video by the founder of the Porter Music Box Co., narrating his history in making music boxes and showing the manufacturing process. They are so exquisitely made that the company only produces about 90 a year.

The tour guide then gave us a detailed tour of the museum, stopping to demonstrate particular boxes. She wore white gloves.

Since photographs were not allowed in the museum, I bought some post cards in the gift shop.

Among the memorable artifacts were an antique music box doll which "plays" the harp as music chimes; a grandfather clock which Dwight Porter had fitted to play a song on the hour (the customer who ordered it 10 years ago has never picked it up); an animated scene with a windmill and tossing boat, which was once severely damaged by a cat knocking it off the mantelpiece but then painstaking restored; a bird in a gilded cage which makes bird noises (sadly, a real stuffed bird); a player piano, intricately crafted with inlaid wood; a hand organ; a French instrument which is cranked and then levers pulled to add different instruments; and a variety of music boxes by the Porter Music Box Co., including a three-disk cabinet, a Lucite music box (only two of which exist, the other having been custom made for Bjork), and the first music box Dwight Porter ever made.

All in all, it was a wonderful little tour. Very entertaining. In the gift store, I bought a CD of TV themes played on music boxes, as well as three hand-cranked miniature music boxes that play the "Blue Danube." One is for me, one for my sister and one for The Gryphon.

After the tour, we drove into Randolphe and ate at a place called Debbie's Corner Cafe. There, I had clam chowder (delicious) and a tuna salad plate that was so large I had to have most of it boxed up. The next day, it would serve as both breakfast and lunch.

We couldn't find much else to do in Randolph, so we drove to Montpelier and did a little shopping. I managed to find some "hippie" skirts in a consignment shop. I'd been hoping to find some skirts to replace the ones that are now too big on me and which I've recently donated to a local thrift store.

While in town we also hit a couple book stores and an antique store, where I bought a very abstract looking curtain which I intend to use for a wall hanging.

In the final book store, we found Crackpots by Sara Pritchard. She's the sister of a close friend of the family, so close that I grew up calling her Aunt Jane. My dad and I each bought copies, because we want to support her. The book store owner told us that Sara's best friend used to own Rivendell Books in Montpelier.

By then it was getting late, so we drove back to my brother's place. There was a sealed letter on the door, without a name on it. I thought, without looking at it, that it must be from the Ogre, their next door neighbor. I was afraid she might be complaining about my dog, Una, who I'm sure would have been whining loudly while we were gone all day.

A few minutes later, we discovered that one of the dogs had thrown up on the armchair. Fortunately, the white slipcover was washable, so I got the worst off, sprayed stain remover on it and threw it in the washer.

My brother and his wife stopped in the grocery store on their way home, so they didn't arrive until nearly 6. I explained why the slip cover had been removed, and we took it out of the washer. There was no trace of the stain. I exhaled.

The letter was, indeed, from the Ogre, but it wasn't about the dog. It was about an old gripe. She's been claiming my brother and his wife don't have a legal right to drive over the last couple feet of her driveway in order to pull into their own semicircular driveway. Lawyers, however, disagree. My brother and his wife believe that if it ever ends up in court, the Ogre will lose. But we all agreed it's sad she's so nasty and difficult with her neighbors over such a petty issue.

After dinner and a call from my sister, we sat down to more Spongebob Squarepants. Fun, fun, fun! I'm quickly getting addicted to this show.

My brother said that he's a lot like Spongebob and his college friend and roommate Carl was a lot like Squidwort. Having seen several episodes, I agree. My brother is very silly and smart and cheery, just like Spongebob.

This reminds me of something his wife said to me when she told me what drew her to him. She said he liked that he was funny and sometimes a bit weird (those wacky Wilsons!).

"Weird is good," she said.

I agreed.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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