Ever feel a tinge of sorrow when you pulled out a dustrag and a can of Pledge with the intention of restoring the sheen to your furniture? Ever mourn the dust that you swiped off a coffee table, a bookshelf, a window sill?
You haven’t?
Well, you’ll mourn the dispatching of this dust, as detailed by Dan Barry in the New York Times:
On Sunday morning, before the ancient doors of McSorley’s Old Ale House opened once again to spill that beer-and-sawdust aroma upon an East Village sidewalk, the owner took on a sorrowful job that in good conscience he could not leave to any of his employees. Too close to tempting the fates.
But it had to be done. The New York City health department was dropping hints as loud as the clatter of mugs on a Saturday night.
So, with heavy heart, the proprietor, Matthew Maher, 70, climbed up a small ladder. With curatorial care, he took down the two-dozen dust-cocooned wishbones dangling on an old gas lamp above the storied bar counter. He removed the clouds of gray from each bone. Then he placed every one of the bones, save for those that crumbled at his touch, back onto the gas lamp — where, in the context of this dark and wonderful establishment, they are not merely the scrap remains of poultry, but holy relics….
