Consignment experiment

Well hello...

So, I have this freaky thing about trying to practice what I preach, and I preach a lot about being environmentally conscious, and yet... I LOVE to consume. I really do. I like material things. And I like to shop, and I like clothing. Also, I destroy clothing pretty quickly. I am not graceful, so if there is an oily salad dressing or a cup of coffee in the vicinity, it will pretty much get on my clothing. That means that every year as the school year begins, I do some back to school shopping.

I was gearing up for it, and I kept thinking to myself that I really need to put my money where my mouth is and stop buying shit from Old Navy and Macy's that was shipped from China by the ton. It's not good for the earth and it doesn't do a damn thing for my local merchants. Of course, my local new clothing merchants can't really help me either -- my budget is usually about $150, and that is the price of one single cotton shirt from Krazy Mary's.

So I decided to buy only pre-owned this year. It's not new or scary to me, given how much I love vintage clothing, but I knew it would be a bit of a challenge. I kind of wanted to see where it took me, though, so I started on Sunday.

I began at Article, where I quickly found three pairs of pants to suit my purpose. Article is a fairly small store, but it's laid out nicely, it is easy to find things, they're clearly sorted and labeled by size, and the store has a comfortable feel. My pants were $9, $8, and $3, so I got out for $20. I wouldn't try to sell there, though; Mom pretty much got ripped off.

I like to have some plain pants, because I have a ton of patterned skirts and tops.

Then today I went on a veritable spree. I began at Crossroads Trading Company, which, along with Buffalo Exchange, are the big name chains. I've only been there a few times, because I haven't loved it, and I didn't love it today, either. For one thing, the place is the size of an airplane hangar, yet the clothing isn't sorted by size. It appears to be sorted by color, as if shoppers come in thinking "I think I'd like something green today." Thus, the shopping experience goes something like this: You flip hanger after hanger of clothing from side to side, looking for something that catches your eye, check the size tag, find that it is a size 4, and go back to flipping. I guess the other method would be to look at the size of EVERY garment, wait until you find one in your size, and then evaluate it to see if it's cute or not. I find it infuriating. Luckily (?), I am a "plus size," and there was a separate, smaller rack for me to browse. There, I found four cute shirts. I tried them on and two fit well and looked good, which, frankly, is a pretty damn good ratio for me trying on clothes. I bought them, a pretty J. Crew top that reminded me of my bestie, and a plainish Banana Republic top for $12 and $10.


Then I went to Renaissance Fine Consignment. Did the "fine" tip you off? I didn't notice it, but I knew I was probably in trouble when I walked in. A strong smell of floral perfume. An elderly man dozing on a chaise. Loud Sinatra on. And then I got the Pretty Woman store clerk look from a platinum-bouffanted sixty-something. I don't know why I even bothered looking at that point, other than that I wanted to at least see what they had, but the entire place was Bea-Arthur-goes-to-the-Golden-Globes. If there are more tweedy jackets with hairy fringe and metallic thread in one place in this town, I'd have to guess it was in Old Sacramento at the Red Hat lady store. Also? I found one plain cotton jersey shirt I liked. It was $25. I left without making any purchases.

Many people on Yelp had raved about Crimson and Clover, a place I first noticed about a month ago when I had Z with me and she had filthy hands (yeah, we didn't go in). Now personally, I prefer my vintage clothing to be from the 50s or 60s, preferably a shirtwaist cotton day dress. I will wear a few 70s things, but it's not what I feel most comfortable in. As a young adult in the 80s and 90s, I refuse to believe that those decades' clothing could be vintage. Also, who looks good in a floral romper? Anyway, many vintage stores stock a lot of 80s and 90s stuff, and this place is no exception. But in the back room, they had a great deal more of the older stuff. I tried a few things on and ended up with only one item, a dress in just the style I like. It was a little more than I like to spend on them (almost $30, but keep in mind that I haven't bought very many in a decade, since I could pick them up regularly for $10 or $12), but I love both yellow and paisley, so I couldn't resist. It looks cute on me, too.


Intermission:

And then I was starving! I parked down at 25th and K and ate lunch at Sugar Plum Vegan, which has this phenomenal sandwich, and I overheard a passionate , late 20s, messy-haired multiply pierced guy talk to a monotone, late 20s, messy-haired multiply-tattooed girl about how they should start college sometime, but they don't want it to be "like High School Musical 3, you know?" I was feeling really judgy and eye-rolly when the girl told the guy he'd make a good English teacher or something, you know? I was like, GAWD! I've worked so hard to build this English-teachers-are-the-slightly-less-eccentric-art-teachers vibe, and now mister septum piercing is like "Yeah, yeah."

End of intermission. Part 2.

Then I walked to Prevues, which is an interesting shop. It used to be the place I'd go after I tried Cheap Thrills first, but now Cheap Thrills is gone. About four fifths of Prevues is of no interest to me -- men's, 80s clothes, used band t-shirts, expensive costumery and wigs, stripper clothing -- but there's always one rack of lovely vintage dresses. They are orderly, arranged by size, in nice condition, and unfortunately, over the last ten years or so, the owners have figured out what they're worth. I used to be able to pick up dresses there for a song, but the cheapest thing I saw today was $35. I left with nothing, but that doesn't mean I won't be back.

Next up was Thunderhorse, an L-shaped jog around the block. There wasn't anything I wanted there, really, but it was a very friendly little place, and I'll go back there, too. The one dress I liked was actually much too big for me (a serious rarity), and because I despise the teeny little size two girls who take a nice size 14 dress and chop it down so that girls like me can't have it, I couldn't do it. Somewhere is a big gal who will love that dress, and I'm going to let her have it. But the TV was playing Fawlty Towers, the stereo was playing Blondie, the girl behind the counter was a doll, and the whole place had a nice vibe.

Across the street is French Cuff. After looking around for just a minute, I thought I was going to be out of luck here, too. Many of the items were for women somewhat... jazzier than I am. You know... straps made of gold chain. Sequins. Metal brads. A lot of what the What Not to Wear people would call "zhoozh ." A little blingy, is what I'm saying. But then the nice gal working today showed me around a bit, and soon I found two tops I liked a great deal. I tried them on and one, brand new with the tags, made me feel superfantastic. The other, which I didn't have high hopes for (it had details over the boobs, which can sometimes make me look weird), actually looked nice, too. I bought both, for $23 and $15 respectively.



And now I am fairly well outfitted for work, had little environmental impact beyond the driving to get everywhere, and spent $110.

But how was it for real? A little frustrating, as it took 3 1/2 hours (I guess less if you took out lunch), whereas I could have had as many items at Macy's in less than an hour. And the pre-owned clothing was not that much cheaper, because although the individual prices are all really good, I am a clearance-shopping FOOL at someplace like Macy's or Old Navy. I might have gotten the same amount of clothing for $150 instead of $110, I guess.

Also, the selection was more limited. I might have gotten different items if I had multiple sizes of everything to choose from. On the other hand, I'd have been unlikely to try on that purple Express shirt in a traditional store, and I look really stunning in it (whatever, I'm having a good self-esteem moment). So the limited selection made me go outside my comfort zone, and that's probably good, too.

How about quality? Well, I mostly got Gap, Banana Republic, J. Crew, Express... so presumably as decent a quality as those ever are.

I guess overall, I will do my best to shop like this, although I'm making no promises that I'm going to ALL pre-owned. After all, I just found this web site (thanks Jenny!) and I'm going to need about 10% of those.

Thus ends my adventures in eco-shopping... for now! Remember, I still have about $40 left in my budget and I haven't yet checked out Freestyle Clothing Exchange or the (gasp!) Goodwill boutique.

The little sister

Zadie has been on a campaign for many months to get herself a little sister. Among the many reasons we've given her against it are that she'd have to share her room (she doesn't mind), she'd have to share our attention (totally cool by her), babies have gross poop (she'll help change diapers!), and it could be a boy (this initially threw her, but she has decided that would be an acceptable second choice). Everything we say, she has an answer for.

It's actually a little chilling how determined, single-minded, logical, and persuasive she can be to get what she wants. For example, from the morning of our camping trip until the time we got back, we were not without her imaginary little sister. Everywhere we went, something like this would go down:

Me: Okay, give me your hand so I can help you over the rocks.
Z: Okay, and I'll help my little sister with my other hand!

Literally, there was not a single thing we did, including going to the bathroom, that did not include the little sister. And no matter what, Zadie was helpful, taking most of the responsibility for tending to her, helping her do things, and making her feel better when she cried. She was indispensable in the care of this little sister. I can guarantee you, knowing my child, that this was 24 hours of "See, if you had a baby I could totally help, so it would really make it a lot easier on you. No pressure."

Anyway, the funny part was this -- even though I KNOW she was trying to convince me it would be no sweat to add another kid to our household, some of the examples she gave were utterly horrifying. To wit:

Z: Oh, I'm helping my little sister into her car seat. I have a booster seat, but she has the laying-back kind, because she's just a baby. And then a rattlesnake gets in the car and bites her and also bites me but you don't see it because you're driving.

It's like, WHAT?! Both my kids just got bitten by snakes and I'm so out of it I don't even notice? Yeah, that is a winning argument, kid.

Anyway, pray for me that she decides she wants something else, like a pony. World domination. Whatever.

Camping: we survived!

I'll try to keep it short, but... it's ME, y'all.

We took off yesterday after a nice lunch out. I had asked some friends if they wanted to go camping with us, but they were "camped out." They did, however, recommend Sly Park. I had been there as a 6th grader, just like damn near every other Sacramentan (it's a thing), and I remembered enjoying myself, although I went in early Spring and there were still patches of snow on the ground. I had even mostly forgotten there was a lake.

It was easy to get to and took just over an hour. We were greeted at the gate by a very friendly young lady who gave us our parking pass and directed us to Jenkinson campground. I had chosen that one because it was the only one with tent camping only and no RVs. No offense to RVers (hey Dad), but I thought it might be just a little quieter and less crowded. Boy howdy, was it ever! It is no exaggeration to say that we were the ONLY ones in the entire campground. In the middle of the night, I seriously considered walking to the bathroom in my t-shirt and panties (you'll be relieved to know I thought better of it). Anyway, as we started the drive around the lake, I glimpsed it and almost yelled "No shit?!" It was the most beautiful water! I seriously could have driven into a tree in my shock: it was turquoise like the water in the Bahamas.


We set up camp (okay, I set up camp and periodically Zadie helped carry something lightweight and didn't get in the way too much) without too much trouble. Unfortunately, I've been having the worst luck with air compressors, and my third one didn't work. I had to blow up the air mattress, since I hadn't brought foam pads and I HECKA don't sleep on the ground anymore. I got everything where I wanted it, then we decided to hike to the lake. On the way, we stopped to see if the camp host was in, because I didn't know whether there were raccoons or anything, but he wasn't around.


And "hike" is what I thought it would be. I packed water, sunscreen, bug repellent, towels, a life jacket, and god knows what-all else. And as it turned out, we were about a two-minute walk to the water. Zadie only wanted to get her toes wet, but it was quite warm, so I waded a bit and dunked up to my shoulders. The water was cold, but it felt good. There were just about three other groups there, mostly small ones, although one was playing decidedly redneck country music and dragging people behind their boat in an inner tube.


We hung out there for a while, then went back to camp. I started a fire (even though it was still hot, I wanted to really give Z the camping experience, so I was cooking potatoes on the fire), turned on my new camp stove ($10.99 and AWESOME), and set to work heating up cheeseburgers (veggie, of course), potatoes, and beans. Kind of starch-tastic, but I hadn't really planned that well. While we waited for dinner, we played a little Candyland.


A word on camp stoves -- I haven't had one in years, partly because all the camping I did in the last two decades involved someone ELSE who had one or a campsite that didn't allow fires, but offered the use of a really decent kitchen. Also, the first instructions I ever had for using one were about twenty steps long, involved covering a hole with your thumb, pumping, locking into place, lighting a match, and hoping to god you didn't create a fireball that destroyed your whole family. So I'm a little edgy around camp stoves. But this one is the bomb (no pun intended): You plug in the butane canister, lock it down, and turn that shit to "on." From there, it works just like a gas stove.

Almost immediately after dinner, Zadie wanted marshmallows. My gut instinct was to tell her to wait a while, but then I realized... we were camping. There's no good reason not to do whatever the hell you want. And here, my friends, here is the greatest disaster of the trip. Zadie had asked for the new "jumbo" marshmallows at the store, and I caved. I toasted one carefully, oh ever so carefully, until it was a thing of beauty: golden brown on all surfaces. I placed it between two graham crackers with 4 1/2 squares of Hershey's chocolate (because that is just the right amount), and I held it all together to give the chocolate a chance to melt. I squeezed it, and... the hard, totally uncooked middle popped out the side. Because the jumbo marshmallow is too big to get soft in the middle! What a ripoff. LAME!


Then I also made popcorn, because what the hell, and Zadie's favorite part was when I took the lid off to look and a couple kernels popped into the air.


And I washed the dishes and we looked at the fire, and then Z wanted to go in the tent and read books, so we did, and then she wanted to go to sleep, so we did. It was about 8:20.

In the night, we woke up for a while -- she wanted to be in my sleeping bag with me, and I tried but was really uncomfortable, so I finally just let her have it and covered myself with the extra cold-weather flap. We woke at 7 (my first thought: Did I leave the lantern on? No, that's the sun, doofus), and I made coffee and oatmeal, and then we wandered down to the lake at another spot. We passed a couple rangers, but no other campers at all. It was serene, and even though it was early, it was starting to get warm. We headed back to camp to clean up the breakfast dishes and hang out in the tent for a while. There were freaky-looking bees buzzing up a storm and hovering right overhead, so I was kind of glad she suggested the tent. Then we packed everything up (okay, I packed everything up) and Zadie ate four snacks (because two servings of oatmeal apparently doesn't stick to her ribs).



(Just a note: I never use photography tricks in Photoshop because A: I don't know how and B: I don't even have photoshop. This is just how the sun was shining on her.)


We decided to take the hiking trail, which carried us
along the lake again, and Zadie did some climbing over rocks. I took a ton of pictures, but none of them captured the magic of just how capable she is looking these days. And finally we walked back to camp, where all that was to be done was to hop in the car and go. I knew she was tired, because she kept stopping to sit down, but she never once complained or asked to be carried. And for the record, she fought less about bedtime and was more chipper upon waking than I think I have ever seen her. I think camping agrees with her.




I decided to stop somewhere nearby for lunch, and after just a few minutes on the road I saw a billboard for In N Out, a very rare treat. I watched her in the rear view as she closed her eyes, opened them, let her head fall, jerked it up... I kind of hoped she'd stay awake until we got there, but she didn't. I pulled in, unstrapped her, heaved her up onto my shoulder, and ordered and paid, all with her sacked out in my arms. As we waited, I softly sang "Unchained Melody" into her hair, and I almost cried at how stupidly, stupidly beautiful my life is.

In France they call it "le week-end."

We had a great weekend. On Friday we went for ramen and then ice cream (Shoki and Gunther's, for those curious Sacramentans). Saturday Z had soccer practice, her penultimate one. She wants to try ballet next, which should be interesting, now that she's a year older than she was for her disastrous class.

We did a few errands in the early afternoon, including going to Costco, where they had more samples than I'd ever seen. I usually give all the samples to Z, and I was trying hard to watch my food intake (since I wanted to pig out that evening), but even I had to try the madelines, the lemon mini-cupcakes, and the pita chips with spinach dip! I didn't even feed Zadie lunch, since I'm sure she'd had an adult portion of meat, at the very least.

Then home so we could make strawberry ice cream and caprese salad. I sometimes have too much confidence in my own cooking, but both those dishes are AMAZING and they're not really so because of any work I put in. You buy good strawberries, you grow good tomatoes, and you can't go wrong.

Then we went to poker night, where we swam a bit (though it was surprisingly cool for August), talked about gardening, ate delicious food (Phoebe's deviled eggs and Debbie's arugula and roasted potato salad are favorites here), and then settled in for some poker. I lost respectably, and enjoyed the "cake break" immensely. Our music challenge was "summer songs," and I liked the mix. It's always fun to talk about our song choices, too. As always, Debbie had new surprises in her toy chest for Zadie.

Sadly, the evening ended on a low note. Our friend Maurice's car window got smashed. Everyone helped clean it up, but that's a bummer.

This morning we made waffles, tried my pumpkin butter and Debbie's (quite different!), then got ready for yoga. Zadie and I hopped in the car, and when we pulled out, we saw that someone was parked in the driveway of the empty rental next door. I recognized her as having been parked in front of the house the other day, so I figured she had rented the place and I waved in a friendly fashion. She waved back in a "please pull over" fashion, so I did.

She asked about the owner, how long she'd been away. Well, it's a rental, and the owner lives here in town. She asked how long it had been vacant, and I said that Dawn (the renter) had just moved the last few of her things out about a week ago. "Dawn!" she said. "That's it! That's the name of the person I've been emailing! I found the place listed on Craigslist and I'm supposed to move in next week, but I haven't been able to see inside yet. I wire transferred the money to London to Dawn. Does she write in kind of broken English?" "Uhhh...." I gracefully answered. "That... doesn't sound right. Dawn's not in London, she bought a house in town. And the lady who owns this place lives around the corner. There's no one in London. And Dawn's English, as far as I can tell, is fine. That really sounds like a scam." We talked for a while longer, and I knew what was happening -- the bottom of her stomach was dropping out at the same time that she was denying it could be true. She seemed to think that the person she'd been emailing was the last renter, and that maybe she was taking over a lease while she was in London. I asked if by any chance she could stop payment, but she couldn't. She grew suspicious when she came by a few days ago and saw the property management sign, called the number, and found out that the rent was different than on the Craigslist ad she had seen. She sent more than $1000 by wire transfer to a stranger who has nothing to do with the house next door. I feel awful for her, but seriously, are there any more signs that point to a scam? I went and looked up the ad myself, and it says at the top of the page to beware of any ad that asks for wire transfer, particularly out of the country, and particularly if the owner can't meet you. I guess that's why scammers do it, though - for every 50 people who spot it as a scam, one sends you a thousand dollars. I feel sorry for the lady, though. About three times during our conversation, she'd say something like "Well, do you think the property manager put it on Craigslist?" and I'd have to say "No, I really, really think it's a scam. I think the person you've been emailing has been untruthful with you."

Anyway, we went to yoga and Z had a good time in the child care center. I never really have to worry about her watching TV, because as much as she likes certain shows and begs to watch TV here, if there are other kids around, she'd much prefer to play. But the older sister of one of the kids Z plays with was watching when I came in. I often hang around for a few minutes because Z's not ready to go, and it's no skin off my nose. So I was sitting in there when the other child care worker came in. The main one greeted her with "Oh, you're back!" The younger one quietly indicated the sisters and said "Justin says their mom is on her way." She turned off the TV. They then told her something like "We have to turn it off, because you know your mom doesn't like you watching it." I thought... pretty sneaky! They have a system in place to let the kid watch TV and then warn each other when the parents are coming. I'm not sure whether I should say something, because I actually know and like the parents (we hung out at the frozen yogurt shop one day and we take yoga together), or whether I should just let it go. I mean, the child care lady is like 70 -- can't blame her for putting the TV on to entertain a few of the kids.

Incidentally, we were doing leg lifts on our sides in yoga, and the mom whispered to me "Your lack of cellulite is AWESOME." Which is the best compliment I've had in ages!

While talking to Debbie last night, she mentioned Green Acres, a garden store out on the Jackson Highway (that makes it sound far away, but it's just a couple minutes past the Home Depot). I was like "Oh, it must be near Matsuda's." No, apparently Matsuda's closed and this took its place. Debbie raved about how great it was, so I decided to go today. Well, I know my mom loves garden stuff, so I called her a little early today and asked if she wanted to go with us. She did, and I'm so glad we went. It was AWESOME. I mean, there were acres of plants, of beautiful pottery, fountains, chimes, soil amendments, tools, structural pieces, garden decor... I decided not to buy anything today, but I'm going to make a list, go back with a plan, and come home with a CARLOAD of stuff. It was beautifully laid out, and one employee, upon finding out it was our first visit, shook our hands and introduced himself. Mom said even if you weren't going to buy anything, it was kind of a nice place to walk around, and she was right.

We had Star Ginger for dinner, which is delightful, and now I'm watering the lawn and avoiding writing (poetry) again. I'm also perusing a book of canning recipes. I have only placed ten post-its, so that's doable, right?

San Francisco and beyond...

I keep meaning to write about our mini-vacation, which ended almost a week ago! I've been a little sick, so my usual blog-writing time, after the Z-ster has fallen asleep, has been pretty well taken up by ME falling asleep.

Anyway, Sweetie had to take some vacation time, so we had last Thursday and Friday free to roam! We thought about the coast and San Francisco, and ultimately decided on the City. I called a couple hotels, and most were booked, so I tried Expedia. I used their agree-to-the-rate-before-we-tell-you-the-name-of-the-hotel deal, and I did get a good rate, but I had a reason to be apprehensive. I found out the name of the hotel (The Inn on Broadway), then went on Yelp to read reviews. 75% of them were like "It was clean, good deal for the price, and a little noisy." But 25% mentioned mold, dripping ceilings, rude staff, and spotty wi-fi. Ugh. I hoped I hadn't made a bad decision, and the fear was hanging over my head.

We set off on Thursday and stopped in Berkeley, which Sweetie and I always enjoy. We went to Dark Carnival books, the Craftsman Home store (I bought a lamp -- I'll show you pics when I get a shade for it), and a comic shop, then went to Saturn Cafe. We used to have to wait until our yearly trip to Santa Cruz to get Saturn, but now that it's in Berkeley, we stop there a couple times a year. Yay! Finally we went to one more store, then drove into San Francisco itself.

We found the hotel, which was conveniently located and had free parking. I went to check in, and the people in front of us had been told they couldn't check in because their room wasn't ready yet (it was well after the posted check-in time). We went to check in and our room wasn't ready either. We waited outside, and I heard a guy asking about the wi-fi (didn't hear clearly what his concern was), and I saw the clerk looking apologetic but unhelpful. Oh man, I thought, it IS a fleabag hotel and it's going to be an awful stay. We waited with some degree of tension next to the ice-maker, which emitted a series of tones every few minutes. Soon I decided that the tones sounded like Billy Joel's "My Life." Sweetie disagreed, frowning at me. We waited in silence, heard the tones again, and I snickered. We waited for fifteen minutes, and by the end, he was snickering too, but trying to cover it with harder frowning. I burst out laughing and accused him of totally being able to hear it. He laughed too, but instead said he was hearing the theme from "Arthur."

Finally we got our key cards, but they were for the wrong room (obviously -- it was occupied), so we got new ones, but that room apparently still needed a little cleaning, so we waited on the balcony for a few minutes. At this point, it was not looking good, right? But in fact, once we actually got in, it was perfectly clean and pleasant, with the exception of the fact that yes, it was noisy. But you know what? I didn't expect it to be quiet at Broadway and Van Ness. We brought our white noise machine.

Anyway, on to the fun stuff! We walked to Chinatown, where we mostly just walked around. We walked to the end where the gate is and took a few pictures, and then on the walk back, we got a few trinkets for Z. We had been learning a bit about China (actually, I really did a half-assed job on China considering its size and history), so we thought Chinatown was a good addition.


Then we had dinner plans with Monkeygirl, who is loving living in the city. We met her in the Mission district at a place called Chow, where we had great service, Sweetie and I had a cider, and Z made friends with a kid at the table next to us who looked EERILY like pictures of Sweetie at that age. It was nice to catch up with MG, too. My dinner was very tasty, but a little odd, too. It was described as noodles with miso-citrus-chili-sesame dressing. Sounds Asian-y, right? Also, the veggies were bell peppers and bok choy. It was tasty, but surprising in that the noodles were a very eggy rotini. I would have expected soba or something. But it was lovely anyway. Just surprising.

We pretty much turned in after that. The next morning, we decided to walk to breakfast, so I looked for some nearby restaurants. Well, I read the map wrong, so we had gone about six blocks before realizing we were almost at the marina and we were not going to run into the little cafe. We went to the cannery building instead, and there we had some pastries and coffee (and milk) from the bakery.

We then went to the Exploratorium. A side note -- I used the Google Maps app on my iPhone to figure out the bus route. I'd never done that before, and it is an AWESOME feature. You just tell the phone where you want to go (I didn't need an address, just typed "Exploratorium"), and it figures out where you are, then tells you to walk 1 block northwest, catch the #39, it costs $2, will take you 18 minutes, and you should get off at such-and-such streets. We used the same feature later and it was so convenient. Wish I'd had it in high school when I rode the bus all over town and had to pore over transit maps to do so.


The Exploratorium is always awesome. I've never had a bad time there. We just followed Zadie's lead. She took us upstairs, showed a little interest in magnets and physics-y stuff, then headed for the fish and plants stuff, which was pretty cool. Then we wandered into an exhibit on listening, which was really neat! I tested my hearing, which confirmed that I can still hear high tones, but I've lost a lot on the low end. We walked through a thing with gravel where you tried to walk quietly and could monitor your progress. We went into a room with vibraphone and xylophone and other bangy-music things and made a lot of music. We listened to a few stories about people's memories of sounds. We went into the jukebox room and listened to world music. I can't even remember it all, but honestly I think I could have spent all day in that exhibit if I was alone.

The downstairs, to the beach ball floating above the fan, the giant chair and tiny chair, the bubbles, the spinning thing, the lights, the thing you can sit in and hear people talking normally from across a huge hall, the Alice-in-Wonderland room, the colors exhibit, and so much more. MAN, I love that place. After three hours, Zadie announced that she was ready to leave, so we did, after one quick stop in the gift shop, where I bought her a "survival kit" (binoculars, a mirror, and a compass all in one).




We then took the bus (thank you, Google!) to our favorite shopping area near City Center/Union Square. The bus got really crowded, and when we finally got off it was a relief (although Zadie did make friends with a group of alterna-kids, possibly art school students).

We bought a few trinkets (I got two neat Usborne books for Z, including a lift-the-flap "How Things Work"), then walked back to the hotel. There, we decided where to get dinner. I wanted to try the Greens restaurant, but they were booked up, so we tried a place Jenny had mentioned. It was called Tajine, and was Moroccan -- rather fancier than we had anticipated. We had a mixed experience. My dinner was absolutely delicious. Zadie was, let's be charitable, a little worn out from the excitement, and she barely ate a bite of anything. Sweetie didn't care for his dinner or the appetizer (which I loved). The service was pleasant enough, though not everything we ordered came to the table, but when some friends of the waitress came in, they got excellent service, and there was a striking contrast, I'll admit (although it bothered Sweetie more than it bothered me). And Z's behavior, though probably normal 3-year-old stuff, was moderately mortifying. From inside the situation, it felt like she was jumping on the bench and yelling "anus." From the outside, other diners may have noticed a bit of wiggling, a briefly raised voice, then intense whispers from the parents. Then we were all crabby for the walk home, although a stop at Peet's made it a little better.

In the morning, we weren't sure if we were meeting MG or not, so we headed down to the Mission anyway (that's where some of our other favorite stores are). We looked around for a cafe and found one called the Blue Fig. It looked pleasant and not too crowded. We had a good breakfast (Sweetie and I both ordered blue corn waffles with bananas, syrup, and fig reduction) and the strongest coffee I've had in ages. Then, as it was only about 9 and none of the stores opened until at least ten, we walked around. And around. And around. We did a lot of window shopping and noting which places to come back to. We stopped and got water at a store and sat outside for a bit. We walked past the park and the mission. We also passed a huge brick building with no other markings than a Zoroastrian symbol way up high.

Finally we got to shop a bit, and we bought another mid-century modern chair! We barely managed to get it in the chair, but we did, and then we hit the road.

I had gotten a message from an old friend of mine (and when I say old friend, I mean he is probably the oldest friend I've stayed in touch with -- I've known him since fourth grade) that he and some friends were meeting in Berkeley for lunch on Saturday. We got to Berkeley right at 1 and decided to see if they were still there. They were, and we were right in time for cupcakes! As it turned out, another friend of mine (one I've known since 6th grade) was there, too, and there were quite a few kids for Z to play with. She has declared two of them her boyfriends.

And that was the end of our trip.

We've had some other fun, too.

Sunday, we met a new friend -- the brother of one of Sweetie's high school friends who lives here in town now. We had breakfast at Mighty Kong (it was a mixed bag -- mostly good food and coffee, but frozen potatoes and inattentive service), and he seemed like a nice guy.

Monday we went to the Effie Yeaw nature center and saw deer, turkeys, butterflies, and more. We sat by the river to have a snack, and she used her survival kit binoculars to watch a flock of geese overhead.




That evening, Sweetie and I went to a domestic partnership celebration while Z had a slumber party at Grandma and Boompah's. She watched all of Sleeping Beauty "without being scared" and ate popcorn. We mingled uncomfortably with a LOT of people we didn't know and drank Barefoot white zin (and while there are rosés that are pleasant and dry, Barefoot's is not one of them). We talked to a woman who gushed that she was so glad to have her daughter there, because she could see how all kinds of different people lived. On the way home, Sweetie and I discussed that while we agreed in principle with the idea of exposing our kid to diversity, we were hoping not to have to take her on "diversity field trips" to do so. We hope we live the kind of lives where she is exposed to diverse lifestyles and people just naturally.

Tuesday we joined her pre-school's playgroup and she had a blast playing with them.

Wednesday we went to the farmers' market to buy peaches to make peach butter, and while there, we had lunch on the grass.



Thursday she hung out with Grandma, who took her to the mall for some school clothes and Z went on some kind of bungee jumping contraption.

And here we are on Friday. We have had some freshly-baked bread with peach butter, and now it's time to clean so that we don't have to tomorrow.

Z has begun a love affair with Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood, and I feel like I am freshly in love, too. You should read this. I have to give up the computer now so that she can watch him, Mr. McFeeley, Daniel, King Friday, Lady Elaine and the rest of the residents of the land of Make Believe.

The not-broken nose and the shredder disaster.

On Monday afternoon, Z was running around the house and I was sweeping a bit in the kitchen. The phone rang, and it was Mom, freshly back from her trip to Santa Barbara. I was talking and sweeping, and suddenly I heard two thunks and then crying. I ran to Z, picked her up, got off the phone, and set to comforting her. As it turns out, thunk #1 was her running face-first into a doorway and thunk #2 was it knocking her onto her ass. When she calmed down just a little, I got a good look at her face. And HOLY GOD, her nose was fucked up!

I wasn't sure if it was broken or not, but it was super-swollen and had a distinct C-curve to it. Sweetie got home a few minutes later and he agreed. I called Mom back, knowing that she knows a lot about health issues, and she said she didn't think a kid was very likely to break their nose, since it was mostly cartilage. I called the doctor anyway, and we went in on Tuesday morning.

The swelling had gone down a bit, and now the curve wasn't so pronounced. In fact, from one angle I still thought it looked crooked, but from another I wasn't so sure. The doctor said to wait a couple days for the swelling to go down and re-evaluate. If it was deviated, they'd have to fix it.

Well, as of yesterday (she's not awake today yet), it was a pretty ugly bruise (surprisingly with no black eyes), but it looks more or less like her normal nose, just still swollen across the bridge. Oh, and dark green with bruising. But she's in great spirits. In fact, she didn't cry for long after it happened, either. When I asked her how it happened that afternoon, she answered sadly, "I was walking crazy."

New story:

Yesterday morning I was gardening, and Z was in the garage playing. At one point, I heard her say "Ooh, paper!" I saw that she was looking at the shredder, which we had moved in there at Christmas and forgotten about. I said, "Please don't make a mess with that." But then (dumb mom move of the day) I walked off to continue doing what I was doing. As you can imagine, the next time I walked by, it looked like there'd been a blizzard. I got mad, not yelling, but telling her I couldn't believe she'd done that, it was "awful, horrible!" and I didn't want to be around her for a while.

We agreed that she would clean it up with her dad later, and she apologized, though in a sing-song fashion and with dancing, and I was still a little bent out of shape, but I mainly got over it.

We went to Home Depot about an hour later. On the way home, I told her what a good companion she had been, how nice it was to be with her when I could trust that she would stay by my side, what a good helper and a good listener she had been.

Z: But I wasn't a good listener this morning with the paper.
Me: No, but we aren't all perfect all the time. You're only three, and you're still learning a lot of things. You apologized, and you're going to clean up, and then it will all be forgotten.
Z: I won't forget, because I feel bad for what I did.
Me: I don't want you to keep feeling bad. I am sorry that I got mad.
Z: But it was only because I made you mad.
Me: No, you're not responsible for my feelings. I have a choice, and I guess I chose to be mad.
Z: Well, I understand your feelings.

Damn, right? I mean, she can be such a pain (thank God Sweetie decided to sweep up the paper*, because it was a JOB), but then she shows such emotional maturity sometimes, too.

*He swept it into a pile, and then her job was to get it into the dustbin.

A thousand words instead of a picture.

We got a big chunk of the front yard landscaping done. Conclusion? Gardening is somewhat habit-forming. First we took out the lawn in the backyard to put in planter beds. Then we took out the borders around the driveway and put in strawberries, mint, a raspberry, blueberry, basil, and a kumquat. Last weekend we took out the border around the rest of the lawn. We took out the weedy grass and dirt by our neighbors' side door and put in decomposed granite. In two other sections, we dug out the grass and added new topsoil and a border of bricks. And finally, I got to put in some plants!*

I was at East Sac Hardware, which I love anyway, and they've added a huge garden section. I walked in there first because it was so visually appealing. I couldn't help looking over the coleus, a plant I wasn't familiar with. There were several varieties in different shades of red and orange, but the bright red one just killed me. The guy working back there started talking to me, and he said I had to go see "Judy" out front, one that he'd overwintered at his house. It was stunning. "Sweet Judy Blue Eyes!,"** I exclaimed. I bought one myself. I snuck it on the side by the neighbors, but it's like Lucy Ricardo trying to be sneaky -- big and red and loud.

And then I bought three lavenders, because I love lavender. I have them standing like sentinels, spaced evenly across the front.

Then I picked up an echinacea, which I'd been planning to add to the garden. Zadie grabbed my hand and I tried to put it down quickly. It fell over, breaking one of the stems. I declared that I'd buy it, and I did, plus two more! I clustered them in the corner as droopy-headed buddies.

There are two hot red peppers with round fruits. I sneaked them in between the echinacea, and I'm hoping their little red balls will liven up that corner.

Later, at Home Depot, I saw a butterfly bush. It had really pale foliage, and I remembered the advice in my gardening book to vary the color and shape of foliage. Plus, it had been bashed around a bit, and it had a sad, Charlie Brown look to it. I decided I would give it some love. It's on the side next to the coleus.

Finally, I saw a crazy ornamental pepper. It has about 100 purple peppers on it, though it's only about 8 inches in diameter. I put it way over to one side in view of the front door, because I think it's cute and I want to look at it all the time.

And that is our front yard! I'm so happy -- before, we had only a lawn***, and now we have landscaping.

*I should add that this description makes it sound like WAY less work than it actually was.
** This is a Crosby, Stills and Nash joke. I realize the real song title begins with "Suite," but it works better as an exclamation if I use "Sweet." Please feel free, as I'm sure you often do, to just ignore my weirdness.
*** This is a kindness to my yard to call it a lawn. It is a dry, uneven patch of some sort of crabgrass or nutgrass that will. not. die. even though we frequently fail to water it. Basically, every home on our street has the same stuff -- it looks green in the wet season and patchy brown in the dry season no matter what any of us do. It's a weed. Someday I'll tear it all out and either replace it with sod or create more of a cottage garden. I seriously resent the "lawn".

Radio silence

The phone rang with my mom's ring tone -- Loves Me Like a Rock, by Paul Simon -- and I answered brightly.
"Are you okay?"
I mentally checked to see if I'd had a frog in my throat. "Yeah, why, what's up?"

It turns out that I haven't blogged or put anything on Facebook for a few days, so my mom was worried. Does that mean I'm a little too connected? Who knows. Anyway, it's mainly because we've been awfully busy!

On Wednesday, we did a boatload of errands (including finally getting some art nicely framed) and got the living room painted! I have always done my own painting, but I just couldn't get myself in the right mindset to do this room, which has five doors, a fireplace, a big picture window, more windows in back, a built-in entertainment center -- it basically would have taken a whole day for me just to tape the sonofabitch. But the professional painter got the whole thing done in a day, and it looks incredible!

On Thursday, I had a dentist appointment, then Z and I went to the Mighty Kong Cafe again (and not only was it great again, we had superfantastic service and chatted with the owner, who comped Z an ice cream for being cute).

Friday, after doing just a few more last-minute things related to our refinance, we actually closed. Thank goodness that's over. I did some cleaning, then we went to Lake Natoma again for more kayaking. It was great. Sweetie got a slightly bigger boat, which accommodated Z better. There were more blackberries to be had, and we saw a ton of waterfowl, plus some big somethings-or-other in the trees. One little duck mama and baby came within arms' reach of our boats.

On Saturday, I rented a sod cutter and Sweetie took out a bunch of lawn. We've been reading a bunch of books on having less lawn and growing more food (my most recent and favorite), so we're doing it! We took one strip on the side of the house and just covered in in decomposed granite. Our neighbors walk their bikes across it frequently, as their sidewalk path to the backyard is narrow, and it was just a weedy dirt patch, so we figured why not just make it a path, you know? The neighbor valiantly helped, working alongside us for hours to do that section. My dad came by and helped, too -- I swear I wasn't trying to recruit him! -- after I asked a question about a sprinkler head I'd hacked off. We only got as far as laying down some weed fabric and putting a layer of dirt on just to weight it down. We still have to lay some pavers and add a LOT more dirt. And then plant, too, of course.

While we worked, Zadie got FILTHY. I mean... ugh. I hosed her off before I would even let her inside, and even so I think I could plant fava beans in her neck creases. I really don't mind, though -- she loves the princess stuff so much that I'm quite glad she's also into dirt and dinosaurs and ninjas.


And then we went to the neighbors' son's birthday, and then we went to dinner with Monkeygirl, and today we returned the sod cutter, checked on Mom's house, went grocery shopping, etc. So you can see why I haven't been much of an online presence lately.

~*~*~*Some other things*~*~*~

Luther Furbank had his second kitten appointment. Everyone there fusses over how cute he is, but the funniest thing is this -- the doctor just CANNOT get him to stop purring long enough to listen to his heart. He did it the first time, and she kept tapping his nose to see if she could annoy him into stopping, and it didn't work. This time, she called in the assistant to put smelly stuff by his nose. The assistant accidentally touched his nose with the stuff, and he STILL kept purring. Finally the doctor said, "Well, I'm going to assume that he has a heart and that it's beating, but I can't hear it." He's a very happy goofball.

Speaking of goofballs, I think Z's time in Eugene being the center of attention showed her that all the world's a stage... and she's the star. She cracks jokes all the time now, pulls funny faces, does weird dances, and makes up nonsense words to entertain people. Today she spent about ten minutes in an antique store trying to entertain/flirt with the young lady at the counter. She'll walk up to new people and announce, "I'm Zadie! I'm a nice girl!" Our current favorite goofy Zadie-ism is that she doesn't *really* understand the structure of jokes or what makes them funny, so she'll mix-and-match parts at will. For example, she knows the "what do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you? Nacho cheese!" joke, and the interrupting cow joke (Knock knock. Who's there? Interrupting cow. Interruptin--MOO!), but she will tell you she's "interrupting cheese." Then she doesn't know where to go from there, so you'll say "Interrupting cheese who?" and she'll stare at you expectantly, or burst out laughing herself. Actually, my very favorite was the night we were in the car, and I said something about "button mushrooms." She immediately yelled "Knock knock!" "Who's there?" we asked. "Interrupting butt mushroom!"

We went to Borders last night to cannibalize the stock. I had a gift card, too, so I need to use that up. I bought Z a fairy book she wanted (it's not awful), a Berenstain Bears book (she's in love with them right now) and "Purplicious." We had read Pinkalicious and we have Goldilicious. The first has a moral that's something like, "eat a variety of foods." The second one is something like "imagination is awesome." So I bought Purplicious without really reading it -- we were in a hurry and the other two were fine. But the message of Purplicious is something like "sometimes people will all fall in line with one idea and they will want you to conform as well and if you don't they might be hurtful, and then because you are hurt, you will take it out on others, but if you maintain your sense of self, it will all work out all right in the end." Which is, you know, exactly the kind of message I want her to hear, except that I didn't really think she'd be wanting to talk about mean girls and bitchy cliques at three. And she SO DOES. All day long, it's been "I'll be Purplicious and you be one of the girls who likes black." "Now you be Purplicious and I'll be one of the girls who likes black." So we have to role play being mean and sticking to our values a lot. I'm glad, I guess, but I am feeling like it's a little early for that. Zadie's unfazed, though. At dinner, she said that if all her friends liked one thing and she like another, she'd just change to like their thing. Naturally, that sets Sweetie and I off on a ten minute informative lecture about being yourself, complete with personal examples. At the end of which, I asked, "So Daddy and I have been talking a lot. What are you thinking about?" "Going to Ikea."

Another thing I wasn't ready for happened this afternoon. But I think it blew past her. We'll see if she brings it up more. Months ago, I asked Mom to tape an episode of Oprah for me (I know...). It was about the Freedom Riders, some non-violent protestors who did a bus tour through the deep south to challenge segregation. My friend's dad was one of them, and he was on the show, so I wanted to see it. I set Z up in another room with the movie Babe, and I settled in to watch the Oprah. She came out and sat down next to me. I tried to get her to go back, but she wouldn't. She was watching my show. And my show told of a bus that had been set on fire with Klan members holding the doors shut so the Freedom Riders couldn't get out. My show talked about a man who'd beaten another and left him for dead. My show used the N-word uncensored. (By the way, it was a very moving program, and I'd like to see the documentary that appeared on PBS as well). She didn't really seem to understand exactly what was going on, and I am pretty sure she didn't pick out the N-word, but she did look up and see me crying. I told her I was happy, just moved by the people on the show. We talk about superheroes a lot, but these were real heroes, because they risked their safety and maybe their lives to help other people. We talked a little more about that, then tonight before bed, she asked if there was a kids' book on the Freedom Riders. I don't know, honey, but I'll find out.

On that topic, somewhat, one of the things that really moved me were two fairly short pieces of music. One man was talking about being in prison, and that the guards really tried to make life hard on them. The guards hated their singing, and so they would threaten to do something awful like take away their mattress, and the guy, almost laughing, said "So we would sing, 'Oh, you can take away my mattress, you can take away my mattress...'" And the camera showed a crowd shot, and all the other surviving members of the Freedom Riders were sort of smiling and had joined in. Something similar happened when Oprah announced that there was a song that had been important to them (I don't remember, but something like "Lord, I'm a-travelin'"), and they played a few notes of a recorded version. That was all it took for the whole crowd to join in again. I cried a little more there, and Zadie asked about it. I said I thought it was beautiful, because if you can sing, it's because you have some hope. I was talking out of my ass, of course, but I do believe it -- if there's music in your heart, there's spirit in you, and the fact that 50 years later, they could all join in the singing with such joy shows how important it was to them at the time. You could see it in their faces.

By the way, sometimes I talk about how taxing Zadie has been, and sometimes I brag on something funny she's done or something cool she's learned, but I hardly ever tell you when things are just going along quietly and life is really nice and fun and easy. It has been this week. She's been more or less an angel -- with occasional crappy tones and periods of not listening (she is practically deaf to "No more dirt! Keep out of the dirt pile!") -- but you know, she's been doing the potty thing well and eating with a little less mess and helping when asked and being kind of reasonable about stuff. She's such a funny, smart, creative little bugger than when she is not also being obstinate and demanding, she's a lot of fun.

Okay, one last Z story, speaking of being reasonable. We went to the store on Monday, and down one aisle, she spotted little hand-held personal fans. One was pink. She wanted it and BADLY. We had managed to score the car-shaped cart (which I hate, but I indulge her), and she hopped out of it to get this thing off the shelf. She would not put it back no matter what. We went around the store with her trying to convince me to get it, and the conversation that ensued went something like this.
"But I'm having a hot flash!"
"No you're not."
"Yes I am! Are my cheeks red?"
"You are not old enough to have a hot flash. Mama's not old enough to have a hot flash."
"Why not?"
"Because it's for older ladies. Their hormones slow down, and then they get hot flashes."
"My hormones are slowing down! I AM having a hot flash!"

Mind you, the store is rather crowded, and I'm seeing shoppers here and there smirk and turn their heads or stifle a laugh every time she insists she's having a hot flash. Whatever. I finally told her that we weren't getting it that day, but if she really wanted it, she should put it in her wish list and maybe we could get it another time. She agreed.

Okay, now it's awfully late, so I'd better turn in. Hope all is well with everyone.

Take care,
CM