I hadn't thought of it in a long time. I was passing the post office on Katonah Avenue the other evening, and I suddenly remembered my Sandy Andy.
It might not in fact have actually been called “Sandy Andy”, but that’s what my mother referred to it as.
For those who never had the great pleasure of owning and operating one, I’ll try to describe it. The one pictured here (I’m not sure how long the link will remain active)
http://www.ebay.ca/itm/VINTAGE-SAND-BOX-TOY-TIN-SAND-LOADER-/261264789183?pt=Vintage_Antique_Toys_US&hash=item3cd4984ebf
is similar, but in my memory at least mine was
taller. There was a lower hopper which you would fill with sand. Turning
a crank would cause a series of buckets on a chain to dip into the lower hopper,
fill with sand, and convey it to the upper hopper. From the upper hopper
the sand fell through a chute into a waiting car on rails.
The rails were on a hinged beam; when the car was full, the weight caused the beam to slant down; the car would run down the beam, and at the bottom it would tilt and dump the sand back into the lower hopper. A clever arrangement prevented sand from falling out of the upper hopper -- the buckets kept filling it as long as the crank was turned -- until the now lighter car rode the rails on the beam back to under the chute.
And except for the energy provided by turning the crank, it was all done by gravity and clever engineering.
As I child I found the action fascinating. There was the growing “suspense” as the car filled; which bucket load would be the one to make it heavy enough to start the tilt/run downhill/dump/return sequence?
As an adult I find the construction fascinating. And, I suspect, if I could only have it again, I’d find the action fascinating too. The growing suspense ....
I mentioned Sandy Andies to Julie. She had never had the great pleasure of owning and operating one; she didn’t know what they were. I described the wonderful device and its amazing operation.
The rails were on a hinged beam; when the car was full, the weight caused the beam to slant down; the car would run down the beam, and at the bottom it would tilt and dump the sand back into the lower hopper. A clever arrangement prevented sand from falling out of the upper hopper -- the buckets kept filling it as long as the crank was turned -- until the now lighter car rode the rails on the beam back to under the chute.
And except for the energy provided by turning the crank, it was all done by gravity and clever engineering.
As I child I found the action fascinating. There was the growing “suspense” as the car filled; which bucket load would be the one to make it heavy enough to start the tilt/run downhill/dump/return sequence?
As an adult I find the construction fascinating. And, I suspect, if I could only have it again, I’d find the action fascinating too. The growing suspense ....
I mentioned Sandy Andies to Julie. She had never had the great pleasure of owning and operating one; she didn’t know what they were. I described the wonderful device and its amazing operation.
There was more than a double take; she
actually bounced in the chair. “You poor child! What were your
parents trying to do to you? Introduce you to a life of meaningless,
repetitive labor? Show you that the universe has no meaning?”
I was dismayed. Not only did she not love my Sandy Andy, she misunderstood, disdained, and abused its memory.
I was dismayed. Not only did she not love my Sandy Andy, she misunderstood, disdained, and abused its memory.
I probably should have known better, but some time later I tried to tell her about another wonderful toy I had. It took some searching, but I’ve been able to find it online. The Magnetic Sneaky Snake Game.
In case that link no longer works, picture a plastic base, about eight inches or a foot long. In the center, a bowl-like depression, representing ... how can I do it justice? ... a snake nest. On either end, a coiled spring, standing upright from the base but curving towards the center. The free end of each spring had a plastic shake head, with a magnet in it. The two “snakes” had magnets of opposite polarity, so they’d repel each other and move in what I assume was at least a vaguely snakelike way.
In the depressed “nest” were two or three steel “eggs” about half an inch in length. The final piece of equipment was a wand, with a magnet on the end. The object of the game was to use the magnetic wand to pick up the eggs, one by one, and get then out of the nest, without being struck by the shakes, which of course would be attracted by the magnet.
I had a lot of fun with it.
Julie didn't so much jump in her chair as catapult out of it. She was lucky she didn't land on the floor. I don’t know, maybe she had had dolls or toy cookware or boring stuff like that.
Anyway, I was passing the post office recently. A mail carrier got out of a mail truck, carrying one of those plastic bins full of envelopes. She went over to the mailbox in front of the post office, and started putting the mail into the box.
I had an image of the buckets on a chain, endlessly recycling the same sand, and the two hoppers being endlessly refilled. A metaphor of meaninglessness? The universe cycling forever from big bang to big crunch? Julie bouncing endlessly in the chair, reacting in horror to meaninglessness?
Whatever. I saw that, and I wanted my Sandy Andy .
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