The Great Mysteries of Wisconsin

Yes, well, I'm sorry to keep teasing you three, but the truth is that I have succumbed to the ick. It was all I could do today to go eat pizza with T and then go dig through the Jansport factory store's t-shirts to locate the Kentucky Wildcats shirt I am currently wearing during the KY/WV game. I'm putting the wicked cool field trips off again.

But as we were driving up the highway, I saw the Big Yellow Mystery Trashcans on the side of the highway, and I asked my husband for what probably is the 97th time: "Hey, what's in those Big Yellow Mystery Trashcans?"

He doesn't know. He's never known, and yet he always tells me it's a great question.

I would have taken a picture, but at 65 miles per hour I can't really get it out of my bag fast enough.

But I see them a lot of places -- a bunch (10-12) of BYMT under an overpass, or near an exit sign. Black tops, yellow bodies. I have no idea what's in there.

It seems like everywhere I live, there are Great Mysteries. Normally they're nothing on the level of Nancy Drew -- for instance, when I lived in New York the Great Mysteries were: (1) where does our boss, Joanne, go everyday for 1.5-2 hours? and (2) Where is Mr. P, Joanne's boss, from? (Mr. P., by the way, was very cool. He wore seersucker suits and was frightfully tan and had the coolest accent, which none of us could place. Turns out he was from Argentina.) On my last day there, (I remember it like it was yesterday) someone asked Joanne if she was headed out that day, and she said, "No, I don't think I'm going to work out today." It was like the lights burned brighter. I looked across my desk at my pal George, who was looking at me across his desk, and at the same time we both mouthed, "SHE GOES TO WORK OUT!"

So I have identified the great mysteries of Wisconsin, as determined by T. and I on the way home:

1. What's in the BYMT? What are they FOR?
2. What is a supper club? They're everywhere.
3. Where does the snow go? (This is not a question a four-year-old would ask. In our first apartment, they would plow the parking lot, put all the snow in a dump truck, and drive it away. I would like to know where it goes. Nobody can tell me.)