In my parents’ house is a partially-completed basement, one section meant to be a couple of bedrooms turned into a big storage area many moons ago.

This morning, my mother calmly asked me to look at the heat pump system air filters to see if they needed changing.  The one in the upstairs area was caked with dust, not changed in months.

A quick trip to Walmart later, I changed the upstairs filter. Lo and behold! we have cool air circulating throughout the upper floor of the house.

Meanwhile, in the darkest reaches of the basement is an air intake vent hidden behind piles of stuff from my old bedroom, long since converted into Dad’s office upstairs.

Mom pointed into the middle of the spider webs and said, “Son, can you reach in there and see if the air filter needs to be changed?”

My life for a clean air filter?  Mom, is that all I’m worth to you?!

As I bargained with the hungry arachnids for a few seconds to disturb their threadbare threads, I nearly stepped on a box covered with contact paper from the mid 1970s.

Could it be the lost artifacts, the treasure of my forgotten youth?

THE BOX OF COMIC BOOKS I THOUGHT MY PARENTS HAD TOSSED OR MARKED DOWN IN A GARAGE SALE?????

Yes!!!!

Ahh…I myself had bought this box of illustrated tales, both comical and horrible, at a garage sale for the terribly high price of $2 or $3 decades ago.

My parents scoffed at paying such a fortune for mere paper covered with colourful drawings and stories of questionable morals.

Yet, I persisted and they caved in.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is the second cover of one of the many dozens, including Beetle Bailey:

Meanwhile, a spider bite is itching…what evil lurks in the damaged hearts of regenerating men!