Shatterday

Kansas Trip - A Walk Around Lawrence

Something I came to love about my trip to Kansas was the crumbliness of stuff. I have a soft spot for abandoned things and I covet organic deterioration. It's sad, and haunting, but the stories behind homes and buildings that lie alone and ignored are probably fascinating. These homes were all in and around a functioning, sweet, vibrant Lawrence neighborhood, not a block away from a huge, main shopping drag, which made them all the more poignant.

Lawrence is very old. The sidewalks, trees and architecture seem ancient and wise, so different from here in California.

Or maybe not so different from California, after all.

Kansas Trip - Thrift Stores

One of the things I was most excited about during our trip was scouting out little, lost thrift stores in the middle of nowhere. Becker graciously drove me around to some of the ones he remembered, and then we both happened upon a few he'd never heard of. I bought quite a bit. Nothing jaw-dropping, but a couple of dandy scores. 

I was pretty excited about the varying states of dilapidation some of these places were in--you can tell they'd been there for years and years, without any sort of repair or maintenance. I would have been bummed if I had mobility issues, though--Kansas must be way more lax with their accessibility laws than here in California. 

This particular shop has been operating every day in the same building since 1930-something. It looked like it. And when I got the clothes home, they definitely smelled like it. Hello, mildew! Even so, it was enchanting. Since 1863, this charity has donated their proceeds to give needy school children eye glasses and shoes. I got two beautiful Poppyfield bowls and lots of clothes here for $5. 

Much to my dismay, we got to this one too late. Doesn't it look promising? 

Back from Kansas

Beez and Mitt and I just got back from Kansas, where we visited family and got into trouble. Well, Cars didn't. She's a fine citizen. She would never trespass.

But it's late. We got home late this afternoon, Cars has strep, and I'm tired. I have so many pictures and so many words to share that I'll wait and do a series of posts about our days on the prairie all this week. 

We had a whole heap of fun. 

Slow and Easy

So, you know, August? This one has been pretty dreamy so far, at least in terms of weather. Hot maybe by some standards, but really remarkably cool (say, 90? At most?) for here. And the evenings! You need a little sweater. Unheard of. 

There's really nothing big happening over this way, which is likely the way every summer should unfold. Cars is giving us a taste of what we can expect in her teens--she's barely home! Friday sleepovers, Saturday pool mornings, Sunday bike excursions, dinner with friends--she seems like a ghost these days. When she is home I make her walk to work with me in the morning, which always starts out grumpy for her and then before too long we're making up songs like The Man in His Pajamas with the Avocado Stain. 5th grade starts in just a few weeks. She's with Mike again, her teacher from last year, and her class does not include her best friend, which does not seem to be upsetting Beez as much as I thought it would. Hmmm. Good enough for me, I say. 

See? Slow. Great summer treats in our farm box, back-to-school shopping, sifting and sorting closets and cupboards for the start of the academic year, taking lots of time off work, watering the plants early in the morning, washing Gailie with apricot oatmeal dog wash. Yep.

Friday Afternoon Browsing

I had two hours between leaving my office and picking Cars up at her stop action animation film class. I had one or two errands to run, which came and went easily in an hour, so...it's off to the thrift store, which by the time I got there, meant that I had maybe 20, 25 minutes.

Oh, little dishes and bowls, how I adore you. Especially when Cars is not with me, as she feels it's her (annoying) duty to remind me how much I don't need more little dishes and bowls. The dear girl has not yet figured out that aesthetic obsession is far more important than need, for goodness sakes. I really love the teeny salt and pepper set, see? 

And who in the name of all things holy could pass these ducks up? I almost fell over when I saw them, right as I was rushing to the cash register with my dishes and bowls. They are so sweet that I feel rather saintly rescuing them from their former occupation: luring live ducks to their demise (the whole heartbreaking scenario, gosh, it's its own Sue Coe painting, really). Anyway. I pictured them paddling about the gravel and indeed, there they are, assuredly much happier. 

Later Carson went to a sleepover and I made cookies to celebrate the opening of the Olympics--I am a huge fan. I have the rowing schedule clutched in my sweaty hand at all times. The first heats are on teevee today at 1:00. Whoop whoop whoop!

And, Beezy's stop action animation class. She loved it! The combination of anything done in a digital lab, drawing, sculpting and storyboarding? Match made in Carson-themed heaven. The instructor compiled a DVD with all the students' work set to funky, tooting jazz music, and it was totally cool and really, really funny. Pictured above are the relics from a few of Carson's films--one, a cat eating and two, a toasted marshmallow with a heart. He had a name but I forgot what. 

Rest-of-the-Summer Reading Queue

I made a promise to myself this summer and it is to not start another book until I finish the one I'm reading. This has proved to be kind of tricky; I am known for having up to five books going at the same time. Lately, however, I think age is beginning to affect my ability to brain-juggle like that, and so many plots/theses/dialogs/theories banging about my brain simultaneously has gotten somewhat confusing. Henceforth my pledge.  

Here's what's coming up in the hopper:

Currently: Newcomer's Handbook: Portland (just don't ask)

Next: Still Life with Chickens

Then: An American Childhood

After which: Lives of Mothers and Daughters

Moving on: Freddie and Me

Trying to Relate: Twilight

Maybe by the time school starts: Bringing Up Geeks

Gardenias

From Aurora and Lucinda's garden. They smell divine.

Treasures Part 56

I have forgotten to post any recent thrift store tom foolery, though there has certainly been quite a bit of it. Best picks for the week:

A fancy Christmas tablecloth and a half-embroidered, unsewed pillowcase. I'm happy to report that almost all the awful yellowing on the tablecloth is gone. Thank you Retroclean!

Could you shrivel up and die from the beauty of this plate? Especially when I tell you there's a pair of them and a matching platter? I am sending this set off to Rashie, who has a thingie for pine cones, but until I do, we're using them (!). Also, I am pleased to announce that the plums are not from the thrift store. 

This is a sweet viejita sweater that closes with hooks instead of buttons. Out of the handwash I noticed the hook panels were attempting to mutiny, so I tamed them with clothespins and now they are behaving in a more civilized manner. I love the icy blue-ness; it's almost the exact same color as the pine cone plates, whydontcha.

This is not a treasure but deserves mention regardless--I forgot I was running water for dishes. This sink is more than 12" deep and was about to run over when I walked into the kitchen. Oh dear! Viejita indeed! Where's my sweater?

Kitsch, Redemption, & Salt Air (Laden with Pictures)

Yesterday we went to Ventura for a poke around the mission and an afternoon at the beach. When I was in my late teens I lived in Ventura, in the days when Jaime and I were hanging out lots, drinking beer, listening to music, gossiping. It's comforting to know that not much has changed, except the fact that we don't have to panhandle for our beer anymore. 

Along and around Main Street there are heaps of great old buildings and signs. I have to make separate field trip to take more pictures.

The Mission San Buenaventura is emotional, musty and gorgeous, as all missions are. Mass was in progress so we didn't go in the sanctuary, but we lit a candle and I prayed for the spirits of the native people who built the mission and worked there--all the sorrow and heartache amidst such reverence.

Then we headed to the beach.

Note Jaime's dapper old fella ensemble. 

Late in the day we left the mostly-empty beach and drove to Jaime's mom's for a quick howdjado. It was spontaneous and sweet. We drove toward home later, listening to Harry Potter Book 1 (thanks Ame!), grateful for a really fine weekend with family, mine on Saturday, Jaime's on Sunday, each other the whole time. 

20 Questions You Should Ask Yourself Each Sunday

I saw this a few weeks ago on this thoughtful blog, and I like the idea (though this is the first Sunday I've actually put it into practice. My answers ended up being both too cryptic and too personal to post. I'm working on a few triggery/intense things right now that kept popping up as I did this); I gained a lot from just sitting down and typing it all out. 

20 Questions You Should Ask Yourself Each Sunday

1. What did I learn last week?

2. What was my greatest accomplishment over the past week? 

3. Which moment from last week was the most memorable and why? 

4. What’s the #1 thing I need to accomplish this week? 

5. What can I do right now to make the week less stressful?

6. What have I struggled with in the past that might also affect the upcoming week? 

7. What was last week’s biggest time sink? 

8. Am I carrying any excess baggage into the week that can be dropped? 

9. What have I been avoiding that needs to get done? 

10. What opportunities are still on the table?

11. Is there anyone I’ve been meaning to talk to?

12. Is there anyone that deserves a big ‘Thank You’? 

13. How can I help someone else this coming week? 

14. What are my top 3 goals for the next 3 years?

15. Have any of my recent actions moved me closer to my goals?

16. What am I looking forward to during the upcoming week? 

17. What are my fears? 

18. What am I most grateful for? 

19. If I knew I only had one week to live, who would I spend my time with? 

20. Where the hell is #20? It dropped off and I forgot what it was!

Best Corners, Early Morning

I've said two million times that the kitchen is my favorite room in the house, but I think if I had to choose a room that inspires peace and relaxation, it would be Carson's room, especially right now, early in the morning. 

I Can't Come Up With a Title

I found out some interesting things yesterday!

1. Some of our grapes were ready--

they're quite sweet with good flavor but they have a lot of pips

2. Blanched broadbeans in a salad is a fine idea

but only to me, I think; Carson avoided them, pretty much.

3. Washing your own car saves a whole bunch of time and money

but does how does it compare to the carwash in water consumption? I know our carwash uses gray water, so...? Anyone know? 

4. Carson found a pedometer so she clipped it on while we walked to work yesterday. It's 5,944 steps from our front gate to my office door. Who knew?

Busy Saturday, including seeing my oldest nephew in a play and visiting with my sisters and parents and nieces and nephews. Mexican food! Running around the park! Complaining with Jenny! Ahhhh. 

Not a Paid Endorsement

But this cereal is really damn good.

So Much Love

It's been frantic and full here, with Cars getting home from camp, Rash coming to visit and leaving again, Jaime doing the Con for several days, the earthquake, going back to work, all that. Days have been ripe with Carson's stories--happily, she's been willing and eager to talk (a lot!) about the adventures she had at camp; it's obvious she had the time of her life. She paints vivid pictures

of starry nights and evening showers and new best friends and baby goats and the mossy, chilly swimming hole. She also came home with so many, many mosquito bites I thought at first she'd gotten the chicken pox. I've given her a salt scrub and tea tree oil treatment and they're going away. Next year? Mosquito net. Big time. 

Another glorious time was that spent with my Rashie, who lives in New York now so I can't see her very often. She flew in last Friday and we ate, got shiatsus, ate, drank beer, went to the Farmer's Market, ate, hit up thrift stores, had another beer, watched a movie, took walks, drank coffee (Rash is a coffee expert), talked, sat around, ate, and cooked. 

I had such a lovely time. It was enormously fun to have Rash there, too, when Carson came home, someone to share the whole thing with. That and Cars just adores Rash. Largely. 

We ran over to Pae's house for awhile, so Rash and Pae could catch up. Cars took this picture. It's a little blurred & wonky, but it's so rare to have all of us old pals in the same room, so.

Very early Monday morning Jaime tiptoed into the house after a fine four days in San Diego. I remember hearing him come home and feeling like, OK, phew. It's all cool. My whole family's home. I slept deeply. 

Now? It's business as usual. We dropped Rash at the airport, Cars is taking knitting classes, I'm back in the office, Jaime's unloaded from the Con and starting a new comic. Cars and I are adjusting to one another again, she with my nagging about wet towels and strewn books and me with constant pre-teen negotiations. We have a few more trips coming up but then everything points toward getting ready for the new school year. 

This post is somewhat uncentered and chaotic, but I feel a bit that way myself right now, so it fits. 

She's back!

Three Reasons Why: The Best Weekend

1. Jaime lives, breathes, loves The San Diego Comic Con, and he's down there for days.

2. Rash is on a plane from New York right this second to spend the weekend with me

3. Carson gets home tomorrow night! I'm so excited! Oh my!

China Palace and My Shoes in History

I've had a festive, nomadic life and as such, I have very little ephemera from my way-past to coo over in my old age. This fact vexes me some. I think about my little gingham carrying case that held all my punk 45s, or my high school yearbooks, or all the beautiful beaded sweaters from the D.A.V. when it was on Colorado in what is now marketed as "Old Town." But I do have these shoes.

I bought them when I was 16 at a dusty old vintage clothing shop that used to be a bar called China Palace. A woman named Lila owned the place and while its real name was Lila's, everyone still called it China Palace. Lila was lovely and crusty at the same time, a chain smoker--I think she saw kindred spirits in us punk rockers but we were still teenagers and therefore kind of annoying. After awhile she got to know me better and we'd talk, not about much but maybe about Pasadena or 40s jackets or the downtown homeless folks everyone got to know: Severe, Burlap, The Spinner, Miss Shirley, Mr. Jason. One rainy day at Lila's I stumbled across these shoes. They were $6.00 ($2.00 more than I had) but I wanted them desperately--they reminded me of shoes I once saw Exene wearing, and you know. That was enough for me. I spent some time trying to talk Lila into giving me a discount but that didn't work, so I took off on my little Vespa, went home, picked a few albums out of my record collection  went to Poo-Bah, said hi to Richard, sold him the records for $2.00 (oh, another mistake--the records I sold at Poo-Bah, Lord have mercy), went back to Lila's, and bought the shoes. 

It's not a romantic story. The shoes did not go on to change my life or my luck or find me hidden glory. But they have been on my feet at least once a month for 30 years, and they've looked damn good with everything I've ever worn, and they are sensible, and comfortable, and helped me run away from many a riot cop. I also wore them to my prom

with a dress Lila helped me pick out at China Palace. It's funny I've held onto this picture, too. I show these things to Carson, halfway expecting her to be shocked and amazed, but she shrugs. I say, "Don't you think it's funny?" and she says, "No. You look the same." Not sure if that's good or bad. I'll give her my shoes when she's in high school, and I'll help her to understand how furiously it all passes by, and how people should save things, at least some things, as keepsakes of the day.

Ironing

It took the end of The Miracle Worker, all of West Side Story, and a chunk of Weekend All Things Considered. 

I've always loved the overture to West Side Story (see our teeny teevee there?). Karen and I have talked about this--overtures usually make us cry.

I took a wee break during the gym dance scene (my favorite!) to eat a seaweed salad

It's nice to be ready for the week.

Typical Saturday + A Binge

While I can't say we're exactly used to missing Cars, I can say that we can breathe a little better every day, particularly now that we have evidence of her happiness. I am not quite sure if the word happiness describes her letters--it's more like joyousness. She's digging it hard. I think it's going to be very difficult for her to leave, actually. But anyway, so Saturday dawned almost normally. 

Another kitchen still-life: plums, basil, jingle bell and i-pod

Jaime was still sleeping when I hatched a plan--a whole entire day hitting thrift stores we've never been to. You might say, "Meg, this sounds like your plan every Saturday," and I might retort, "Yep, and what's it to ya?" except that no! It's different! Here's why: First, no Carson. I love the girl. And she almost always gets the majority of scores when we thrift shop. But she's no fun after, say, a few hours. She gets that way at Amoeba, too, and I really don't get it, since she loves music and film, but whatever. We call it Amoeba Disease. It doesn't matter where we are; when she gets bored and tired and suddenly slumpy, she'll call out, "I'm coming down with Amoeba Disease!" We don't necessarily pay much attention, but it's always nice to not be around, you know? OK, so 1.) no Carson. 2) Take Abigail to doggie day care. Our mellow old gal does not like an entire day away from human company, and while she definitely can tolerate it every now and again, it makes me feel squidgy. I knew if we dropped her off to hang out with Gary et. al., she would be fine, and I wouldn't feel hurried to get back. Jaime happily agreed to the plan (even if I woke him up out of a deep sleep to tell him about it), and by 9:30, carefully researched maps in hand, we were out the door. 

First we went to our weekly thrift store haunt, which is closer to town but headed in the general direction of...get ready for it...Orange County. Yes, we did indeed voluntarily elect to head behind the orange curtain into realms unknown to most bleeding heart liberals. We go there every now and again for lunch, but yesterday we thought, OK, we'll go to lunch and then? Shop. Our stops included Costa Mesa, Tustin, Santa Ana, and Fullerton. Lots of time on the freeway! Thank you Chris Douridas and Anne Litt!

We had such fun. We ate an excellent lunch. We scored and scored and scored, and almost every thrift store was open, aside from the one which looked like it existed until you walked in and it was a halfway house for older drunk guys watching boxing on teevee. That was odd. Just smile and say hello and walk through the room like you know what you're doing. 

One of the many things I love about Jaime is that he is an ideal and jovial partner in both meandering and treasure hunting. And lunching. And driving. And most everything else. We both covet traveling down roads and towns we've never spent time in--lots of our trip today was memorable.

Santa Ana nutso house

But the deal is the loot, right? 

 

Four great Anchor Hocking storage jars (because all glass is not created equal. Jaime's mom and I agree that Anchor Hocking and Fire King = the best) and a mug from Zabar's

Fabulous fabric--the knights & castles I'm going to use to make a delicates bag for my laundry area; the motorcycle? I don't know yet--it's a stretchy jersey and there's lots of it. Any ideas? Remember I am a novice seamstress. And novice is being nice about it. 

This pillow was $2.00. Ultimately I think it will end up in Carson's room but I'm not done looking at it yet. 

And the clothes, dear Lord, the clothes! This mayhem pile was the aftermath of me standing around in

my chonchos for the better part of an hour, trying things on and modeling for Jaime, who would suggest shoes for the dresses, which then made me go get the shoes, etc. Long process; so long I felt I needed a reward, so after I started the washing machine rolling with the first of three thrift store loads, I made a blueberry buckle which turned out remarkably well, considering the fact that I was completely distracted while making it, and I screwed up a couple things, including using baking soda instead of baking powder, (because suddenly? They're selling soda in cylindrical containers that masquerade as powder, and what distracted baker needs that headache?). Also, I veganized the recipe at whim. Also, I ran out of wheat flour halfway through so I used a combination of other grain flours. Also, I used about half the sugar the recipe called for, and twice the blueberries. But, look! It's so good! 

Today is all about the house. I'm ironing, and ironing, and more ironing, during which I will need a long movie or two and some iced coffee. Watering. Slow cooking a yellow split dal and considering attempting a batch of naan. I need tampons. I need to go get bunk and counselor gifts to send up to Carson. Today is Blitzing Cars's Room Day, too. It's misty and foggy and all the outside around here smells, deliciously and improbably, like the beach. 

House Spiders

We know that black widows can be dangerous, perhaps even deadly, but we are lucky enough to have many, many of them sharing our home with us this summer. Lucky? I do mean that; if you take the time to sit down and study them, they are summarily magnificent creatures. 

Their bodies are sleek and efficient, that gorgeous, polished onyx black, the crimson hourglass, the super long legs. Their webs are virtually indestructible, impervious to water and extremely difficult to break. I find them both beautiful and miraculous. 

Also, since getting to know them, I realize--they are so shy! Unless I was deliberately going after one of them to capture or kill with my bare hands, I can't imagine that they would ever choose to come along and bite me just for the lark of it. I suppose if you're lying on one, say, camping, yeah, that might happen. But here at the house, they stay outside (we've never once had one in the house), they like their one nest, they come out only at night and if you walk by, they shimmy quickly to their hiding spot. They want nothing to do with us. 

We let them be, these stunning beauties. I try to remember to warn guests to steer clear of their homes. We always inspect the patio furniture before we have dinner outside. I like my little sentries. I like that they're safe here, and not really feared. Highly respected and afforded quite of bit of space, perhaps. But not feared. 

Thrift Store Lunch! The Systemic Destruction of a Hedgehog! Camp News!

Today my friend Pae and I met at the thrift store during lunch. The little votives were .25 each--50% off! They look like big Jolly Ranchers. The skirt was a birthday gift from Pae, and the orange shorts, well. They're short! Jaime likes 'em. 

When I came home, Gailie was battling with her now-deflated favorite toy, formerly a hedgehog. 

We got a letter from Cars!

Judging from the news, or lack thereof (!), she wrote it the day she got there. We've also heard from her counselors that she's totally settled and having a fabulous time. And, on top of spaghetti, we were able to subscribe to a site that the camp uses as kind of a daily photo journal--we found a few pictures of Carson (you should have heard me whoop in delight!)--here's one of her milking a cow. She's on the left. I knew it was her from her shirt and her braids. 

She's possibly liking the chore a bit more than the girl on the right. Ya think?

Morning Sun

Beyond the fact that my kitchen is a jim-dandy place to cook, entertain, and just hang around, it also gets streams and streams of morning sun, loads of it, from, say, 7:00 to 9:00. The light bounces off everything and creates a thousand secret worlds.

Little Things Yesterday

I took an extra long walk with Gailie yesterday morning--I needed the clear morning air and the metronomic peace that comes with walking, she needed to prance after a few days of dog day care. That was nice. 

We did a pile of yard work and watering, and that's always nice, at least when we're done. 

I poked around in my bathroom, a place I like very much. 

We strolled the Hollywood Farmer's Market--we were late getting there but there were still some excellent tomatoes (I believe heirloom tomatoes are one of the world's most infallible signs of God's existence) and a whole pile of wee, fresh, crispy little okra, which I roasted with cherry tomatoes and garlic for dinner.

This isn't roasted yet.

We took a pile of CDs and DVDs to sell at Amoeba, and made $100 store credit, which we promptly turned around and spent in its entirety, and then some. 

We wanted to get a few cards and send-y things for Carson, so we went to the bookstore. I go to this store at least once a week, usually more. I'm sure they see me walk in and roll their eyes, you know, like: that lady doesn't freakin' have a life, man. 

We came home and spent the rest of the day puttering. I read the L.A. Weekly, hoping to find some interesting live music this week or next, but no such luck. I cooked dinner and had a glass of iced tea. We put fresh linens on the bed. We ate outside. After dinner we took the Hateful Bug to the drive-through car wash by PCC, which seemed to be a very popular Sunday night destination. We stopped by Trader Joe's for oatmeal and soy milk right before closing, when they were starting to restock. We drove home on zippy New York Drive with all the windows open. We came home and watched an episode of My So-Called Life--I got the box set for Christmas and we are slowly moving through it. I am just so fond of Rayanne. 

Then I went to bed. I thought of Carson all day. I think for breakfast on Sundays they have pancakes. 

A Whole New Two Weeks

I only cried three times, and none of them in front of Carson, so I am feeling very proud of myself. As a child, I was reminded (pretty much constantly): "I'm your father, I'm not your friend." Maybe I'm not supposed to do it this way but Cars is my friend, my closest and most beloved friend, and I am missing her. I worried for her nervousness and I marveled at her stalwart crisis-prevention plans ("If nobody talks to me, I'll just read. If nobody likes me, I'll spend all my time with the animals. If I feel homesick, I will go horseback riding.") and I sit here wondering, where is she now? What is she doing? Who is she with? Because for the very first time, I have no working image of what's going on. I've never set foot on the ranch nor have I met anyone she's living with. I can't call. So different from all her other trips, which have been many, but still--to places and with people I know and love. 

We flew to Oakland on Friday, spent the night, and took Cars to the big bus early Saturday morning. We had a chat with the bus driver, who (before breakfasting on a Hostess apple pie) told us all about the dangerous, winding mountain road, hours of it, she had to navigate to get to camp. Well. Nothing makes an anxious parent more confidant than that! We met a dad whose daughter had been going to this camp for years and who was now a counselor. The dad had been to the ranch a lot and talked of its beauty and peace. We watched as Carson bravely climbed up the bus stairs and found a window seat. The bus sat there for a time, waiting for stragglers; influenced by other moms, I went up on the bus for another goodbye. 

True to form, I found Cars already looking for comfort in a book, her across-the-board survival tool for when she's mad, sad, stressed, thrilled, or pining. Also true to form, she scowled when she saw me and said, "Oh, what are you doing here?" but she still moved in for another hug and kiss. Later, when Jaime and I were at the airport, I would look at this picture and cry. her face and her body are so full of every emotion. I left the bus. Jaime went up a few minutes later and saw that an older girl had taken the seat next to her. Becker went up still a bit later and waved. Finally, when the driver finished her pie and the last camper had boarded, the bus closed its doors and rumbled off. We waved and waved through the window at a smiling, cheery-looking Carson--perhaps her new seatmate liked fantasy books, too, or comics, or Nintendo. 

Jaime and I drove posthaste to Thrift Town, before I could sink hard into wallow-ville. Gone are the days, I think, when you could walk into that place and find countless Vera dishcloths, endless old Sunset books, any number of Floraline vases. It was fun, still, and important to be there, but really picked over, even right when it opened. 

Eventually we had to head the airport to come home.

It was a quiet plane trip. I read, Jaime slept. Too quiet. We ran to Trader Joe's, picked up Abigail, came home, gave Abigail a cool bath, opened up the house, did trip laundry, and after all that is when I wallowed. Wallowed cubed. I emailed the camp to see if the bus arrived safely, and yes, they did. The reply said that they had had dinner and played get-to-know-you games and sang songs, after which they headed to their platforms to unpack a little and hit the hay. I tried to picture Carson, unrolling her sleeping bag, putting a fresh pillowcase on her pillow, looking for Bunny and secretly stashing him under her blanket, unsure if having a lovey would be considered baby-ish. I saw her shuffling to the sink with her ditty bag, remembering, at least on this first night when she is still thinking so much of me, to floss carefully. I think of her taking it all in quietly, as she does, getting into her bed, staring at the so many stars, maybe wishing, a little, that she was home, where she knew what to expect. I closed my eyes and hoped that her eyes were closing, hoping that she was totally exhausted and that sleep would come quickly. The first night is hard. 

My coping mechanism, other than the thrift store, is baking something terrible for you. So last night, while Jaime watched the Dodgers and spied on a muttering homeless drunk who had parked himself in the studio doorway, I made my favorite chocolate chip cookies--kind of salty, with less chocolate chips. Since it's only us two, I made a smaller batch. This is not to say I cut the recipe back. This is to say I made bigger cookies. 

Now it is Sunday and there's yard work, maybe the Hollywood Farmer's Market and Amoeba, maybe a movie. I'll need to iron at some point and tackle junk-sifting in Carson's room while she's not here to protest. I need to send Carson a little bottle of her favorite conditioner since I noticed she forgot it. I need to take a long walk in the evening with my husband who is a formidable source of comfort. I need to find a mind place, at least for these two weeks, to get used to the loneliness of being just me again. Every day it will be easier, but for now, I have my husband and a jar of cookies, neither of which is a bad thing at all. 

Ten

What a ten year old looks like

when the whole restaurant is singing happy birthday.

Here's to us, God bless us, who's like us? Damn few.

Happy birthday to us! The ol' Beezarooni is 10 today, and me? At the stroke of midnight I'll be well into middle age. Happy happy birthday to us, the nutso broads over here in Pasadena.

On another far more exciting and frantic note, guess where Carson's headed tomorrow? All of a sudden? Camp! Yes, indeed--they're back on the ranch and ready for campers. She'll be back at the end of the month. Here we go again! 

Happy Birthday,

Dear Katie Mei

Happy birthday to yooooooooo!

Swap Meet Sunday

We got to the swap meet at 8:30--an early record for us. We were rewarded by cooperative weather--it was actually sort of breezy and nice! In July! I didn't at all feel like taking pictures, though. Not sure why, but it wasn't compelling yesterday, so there isn't a "What We Saw" post this month. We did buy a bunch though. Little stuff--bowls, jars, old light up praying hands, a dress, sea glass, a Linus shampoo bottle.

The hands and the dress were camera shy, I guess. Jaime bought an incredible Japanese movie poster from the sixties? Late fifties? All in all, we had a good morning. 

Later Renee stopped by for dinner and a rousing game of Apples to Apples--a house favorite along with Bingo, Kings in the Corner, and Yahtzee. 

It feels like yesterday was really slow and purposeless, in a way. Today, however, launches a very busy birthday week--we're going to Jen's tomorrow to celebrate her **th birthday (today!) and Katie Mei's 4th birthday (tomorrow!). Carson's up for her 10th on the 10th (!), and I am 45 glorious, miraculous years old on the 11th. All that, a visit from Becker, and a trip to Portland this weekend. I have a lot to do, I'm realizing. 

Go, 4th

We are a collective: The People Who Kind of Poo-Poo the 4th of July. We used to be baffled by this phenomenon, but now we've developed a list of possible reasons.

1. As former and old-fogey punk rockers, it's still second nature to wince at blind patriotism. Much the same way we could never wear, say, bell bottoms or listen to disco music. So many flags all at once makes us wary and anarchistic, as anarchistic as a person can be while still, say, shopping at Target and looking forward to things like voting and jury duty.

2. We've always lived in rambunctious neighborhoods, where illegal firecrackers start up in May and reach their frustrating apex the weekend of the 4th. A few houses ago, if any of you were blogging with me then, you might remember our dunderhead neighbors and their affinity for setting off giant roman candles directly underneath their dry, brown, dying, overgrown pine tree. So, yeah. Picture whole blocks of similar situations.

3. It's emm-effing hot around these parts on the 4th of July. As in, usually around 100 degrees or more.

4. Poor, poor Abigail. Well, more appropriately, poor, poor dogs in general on this day. We feel it's our kind care-giving duty to stick around and provide company for our friend, who wanders about panting and looking worried when firecrackers are going off. 

5. We live quite close to the Rose Bowl, which has a giant fireworks spectacular. Actually, that part is good, especially if we can take a walk and see some of the show (because we do like fireworks, particularly if they're legal and controlled, which is a not so anarchistic way of thinking but it only makes sense when you live in a drought-centric, fire-happy area), but the crowds create a unbelievable amount of hot, idling, sticky traffic, which makes getting in and out of town a problem. 

So now that we've admitted to yet a few more of our family cranks and quirks, you might ask, what do you do on the 4th? Well, here's what we did yesterday.

There was a Hitchcock marathon on TCM so we watched, at various points in the day, the end of Psycho, the beginning of Vertigo, and the end of Rear Window. If any of you have kids around Carson's age, Hitchcock films are a really good bet. Cars particularly loves Rear Window and has seen it a bunch. 

We went to the car wash, which was open! And almost deserted!

We went to the bookstore and Target, which was open! And ridiculously crowded!

We picked up our farm box

We bought two new puzzles, which then became the center of attention

We made soyrizo tacos

We took a walk

We saw some fireworks

We came home, worked on the puzzles, ate ice cream, and read on the couch. 

We also had a discussion that, when all is said and done, and despite the current exceedingly pathetic and worrisome state of the U.S., we do indeed love living in our country, and we're all for celebrating the wealth of diversity, opportunity, hope, and intellectual challenge available to us, every day, as United States citizens. But Lord have mercy, I'm really glad it's over. 

Stitches

Janice and I enrolled in a six-week sewing class this summer.

This week we sat in front of machines practicing winding bobbins, threading the machine, and making straight stitches. 

Janice inherited her mother's gorgeous, lumbering Bernina

I'm on the cheapy machine I got for Carson, which the teacher was kind enough to call "iffy" right before she recommended getting another kind. 

When trying to make very uniform, soldier-like stitches, it does not help if you and your friend are making cracks and causing tomfoolery.