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Show il ! VV, Vtp! by Teri Gomes One man's garbage is another woman's column Saturday was the day: pick up, pick on, pig out. Who could ask for anything more? The Chamber Bureau and the Board of Realtors sponsored a town clean-up day last Saturday. The town was divided (if only for a few hours) into seven geographical sections of trash tracks. Our small but eager team was assigned Thaynes Canyon. And while we had hoped to find a discarded Mercedes or abandoned quarter-acre parcel, we had to be content to look for well-placed hot pink tokens, redeemable redeem-able later at City Park for prizes. They say (who, who is They?) that . you can know a culture by its trash. Hemingway was right; the rich are different from you and me. (Well, they're different from me, at least.) Thaynes trash was classy trash intermingled with some just garden-variety trash. There were whole single angora mittens, shredded undis (no label left to signal the designer's name) and pulled-apart panty hose. I say, they do have fun up there. I There were minibottles of every conceivable grain liquor and a wine bottle with a French label. Being from an Ernest and Julio neighborhood I find this is quite impressive. And these people travel. There were baggage tags from all comers of the globe, faded from a winter of snows. There were even old ticket envelopes. I didn't spot any bus transfers, though. There was evidence that this is a sporting neighborhood (I mean apart from the shredded undies). Tennis balls and golf balls turned up next to manicured yards in vacant lots. Ski passes from Park City and Deer Valley were in gay profusion. There were no discarded bowling balls here, however. And car parts! It was nearly enough to piece together one of my own. Windshield wipers, hubcaps, and lots of gas caps lay in cul-de-sacs and along split rail fences. We found four out of the five tokens hidden in the section. Collectively, we got dinner for two at the Yarrow, dinner for two at El Papagayo, two free ice creams from Alfredo's and one dozen golf balls from Wolfe's. I didn't win either of the dinners. Or the ice cream cones. I, I who love sports of all kinds, I who couldn't tell a golf club from a cue stick, I won the golf balls. But at City Park the festivities were true Park City. Free dogs, free beer, Mrs. Fields and her cookies. Not-ready-for-prime-time flesh (my own included) exposed itself for the first seasonal sunbum. Dirt on the shirt (and jeans) proved to be a badge of distinction. Dogs and kids ran around and climbed trees and generally found the whole thing to be a bit of a picnic. And you know, it was. What struck a vein with me was the old-fashioned willingness, good-deed-doerness and spirit of cooperation that prevailed. It was one of those times I was reminded why Park City is unique, and it is that sense of community that can work so well here. Now, at least, home is where the garbage isn't. |