Ideas for next year...

Yes, I've fallen off the wagon (again) - I purchased new stuff at Target for the needy. I figured they had already checked out the stuff at Salvation Army and still had needs... So sue me.

I've mostly been too overwhelmed with personal trauma/drama to even write about stuff, but for the most part I am not compulsively shopping new or used stuff at present. I'm not eating or sleeping much, either. That's a whole 'nother blog. I'm trying to settle on a title that isn't hugely offensive. Perhaps I should wait until the bitterness wears off before setting out into the blogosphere? Yeah, there's an app for that.

Anyhoo-

Would I do this again? How about less as an experiment then just a new mindfulness habit when it comes to consumption? It's like the temporary diet fix vs. lasting lifestyle change. We'll see.

Scrounging around for blog ideas, I look to you, Gentle Reader(s?):

Ali is bravely suggesting not shopping - not setting foot in a store - for 2010. Does this mean her husband has to do all the shopping? Necessitate Simon Delivers or some other on-line grocery service? Wouldn't you need a maintenance dose of Target, like methadone for heroin addicts???

Bob suggests buying NOTHING from China - is that even possible? Everything from apple juice to tooth brushes to cordless phones is from China. Alternately, everything ever made probably contains Chinese ingredients - so where do you draw the line?

Molly Ellen brings up the valid point that homemade treats and other feats of domestic industry become an entitlement, and get devalued accordingly. Really - those Target cookies I bought for the kids for classroom snacks weren't a total ripoff if I factor in my time beyond slave wages? Sweet justification, that.

I'm trying to get my time valued, by the way. Two job interviews this week. Wish me luck.

Your thoughts?

Black Friday

... so named because for many retailers, it became the shopping day that would determine if they turned their year's figures to profit, a.k.a. "in the black". I think of it more as a "wear black armbands and be desolate" opportunity. A tad dramatic, I know.

For the last 5 years or so, we've embraced the Friday after Thanksgiving as "Buy Nothing Day" which is basically a counterculture response to the mall mania that marks the beginning orgy of holiday shopping. According to my in depth research (Wikipedia) Buy Nothing Day was started by Vancouver artist Ted Dave in 1992 and is now celebrated in 65 countries as a day to protest mass overconsumption.

I know there are fabulous deals, at least 3 items of each advertised low low price, in big box stores across the continent - for those willing to shake off the turkey coma and stand in line at midnite. It's a toaster people; not U2 tickets. And folks being trampled! Seems like some sort of shopping mania crossed with "wilding" mob behavior. Perhaps if they had Valium salt licks at "Guest" Services... but no, thank you.

The only time I'm a little tempted on Buy Nothing Day is for things like movies, meals out, bowling - activities, mostly. Or if I'm in serious need of a decent latte. It's interesting how much consuming is so ingrained it literally brings me up short when I can't. Try picking up the kids from school/activities without your wallet sometime; same sort of eye-opening experience. Especially when you get rear-ended by some guy and have no documentation, just a cell phone, and a bunch of people who aren't answering theirs... but that is a tale for another day.

Back from the brink,

... only to find yet another yawning chasm opening up at my feet.

There really is way too much going on in my life right now, and this project hasn't even made the top 10 in weeks, although I am still back on the wagon. (Ordering photocards from Snapfish doesn't count, does it?) As much as I'd like to dish on the Nicholas Sparks novel that has apparently taken over the plot points from my previous life, I'm thinking that's a whole 'nother blog. Perhaps one named something catchy like "Token Economy for the Emotionally Retarded"
Sigh. Don't ask. Or do; just don't expect a coherent response.

This week my friend Tracey proudly pointed out that in the 9 years I've known her, I am now seeing her debt free for the first time ever. Awesome accomplishment, that. She says that buying second hand and being much more careful about what she purchases has been a huge help. That, and her ever-loving husband Greg did some generous debt amnesty. Yay team!

Meanwhile - I applied for a job at hospice, well-recommended, perfectly qualified, and I rocked the interview. And found out Thursday I didn't get it, as they went for "a current Fairview employee." How does one ever get a foot in that particular door? Gotta say the door in the face program doesn't exactly encourage unbridled optimism. So now, I'm applying for anything and everything in the hopes that I may land a job that will eventually be full time, permanent, and with benefits. It's like the Holy Grail, methinks. And the other pisser? I'll be lucky to be hired at the wages I was making when I quit FT employment 5 years ago. And the inflation in these past 5 years means it doesn't exactly go as far... I'm pretty discouraged. I know, I know - I was lucky to stay home and raise my kids for these 5 years. I just didn't realize that I'd constantly be hamstrung by those missing years. Latest stats: 10% loss of lifetime wages for each two years at home. That would give me 20-25% less earnings over the span of my career. AAaaargh.

Anyhow - I've been a little scant on columns, but mostly absent is my enthusiasm. Here's what Ali has to say about it.


Ali - October 21 at 7:58pm
okI think yr going lukewarm on yr blog b/c yr not getting enough feedbk from yr readersyou are inspiring us along with generally edifying & entertaining toorefocus & keep it upcall me 4 coffee if u need sum new material love, al

So, Gentle (somewhat addled) Readers - whaddya say? How have you tried to change your consumption patterns and why? What have you noticed is easy to let go of? What changes are you resisting and why?

Do give me a few examples, and I'll try to pull together a coherent summary.

I do have a few old & moldy columns to lay out there. Please save us all from that particular fate and drop a line or two, with feedback or suggestions.

Thanks heaps.

Guest column from Molly Ellen

Rather than flail at the keyboard and try unsuccessfully to marshal my thoughts into a semblance of an entry, we'll hear from my friend Molly Ellen:




Subject: Tea Party and thinking about your blog...

A few weeks ago, I held a tea party for my daughter's fifth birthday. She and 11 of her closest friends had a fantastic time. Planning the party really got me thinking about second hand 'stuff.'

We know I'm not following the buying only used items as you are, but I generally try to spend wisely and not get sucked in to over-the-top trends. I did buy a few pink plastic tablecloths, craft supplies for the young ladies to each make their own crown, and best of all feather boas for each guest (found online at http://www.facebook.com/l/f7cec;halohaven.com). But since it was a tea party, I really felt we needed cups and saucers. Having been raised as a tea drinker at a very young age by my dear Irish Grandmother, these were a necessity. Gram would sooner drink her tea out of her shoe than a paper cup.

I have a collection of tea cups & saucers that was left to me by Gram and quite a few that I've added on my own. Selfishly, I wasn't sure I wanted 12 five-year-olds sharing this collection just yet. I thought of purchasing a new cup & saucer for each guest, but it was cost prohibitive. Then came the AHA moment - I could buy them used. And I did. For several weeks before the party I searched thrift shops for these cups & saucers and was pleasantly surprised at my finds.

At first I felt a little odd about giving our guests a favor that had been previously enjoyed. But as I got to thinking about it, every time we leave our homes we are using "used stuff." Chances are we are not the first ones to sit at a table at a restaurant or eat of off the plates. We are not the first to push a shopping cart or play on the playground. We are not the first to sleep in the hotel bed, sit in the movie theater or ride a ride at an amusement park. You can see where this is going...

Somehow as a nation, we value new and not used. But I'm thinking that depending on the item, used can be a whole lot better. Perhaps we need to think of things as 'classic,' 'antique,' or 'vintage.'

To borrow from the Mastercard commercials from a few years back:
- paper cups left at the store -$8.00
- quality china cups and saucers for 12 - $6.00
- teaching my daughter the value of good friends, good times and a good cuppa tea - priceless.
--------------------

Values added

Gracing our living room for the last 12 years has been a piano we were storing for our friend Lisa, who left to pursue her music career in NYC. It's a little spinnet, one dead key, which we dutifully get tuned each year - but nothing fancy.

Last week Bob got a call from Lisa's brother - still in town - who was hoping the piano could grace his art gallery, now that he and his daughter are taking lessons. Last night we told L that the piano was going away, and initially she was a bit sad but seemed to take the news okay. A few minutes later, I heard sobbing from the pillow fort. She crumpled into my arms, tearfully lamenting it's her piano - it's always been here, where it belongs - and it's just not FAIR. She huddled underneath the keyboard, wrapped her arms around a leg, and cried her little heart out at the injustice of loss. It took her about an hour to calm down, but she was quiet and thoughtful all evening. At one point her tears were so pitiful Bob considered calling the guy and offering him money for us to keep the piano. I counselled against that, primarily because there will be plenty of losses in her future that we can't control or even mitigate, and that she was working through her process and it was best to wait and see.

This morning, thanks to Daylight Savings Time, the kids were up and ready for school in plenty o' time. So L had the time for a farewell concert. She managed to make "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" sound like a funeral dirge, complete with broken-hearted expression. She seemed to be more at peace with the idea we'd eventually get another piano.

At the appointed time, Lisa's brothers arrived with dolly and trailer in tow. I moved furniture out of the way, to ease the passage. I called Bob home from work to come help. And in between phone calls, I noticed some urgent conferencing going on between the brothers. Apparently, the piano was more careworn than he realized, and it wouldn't match the aesthetic of the art gallery. And would we mind keeping it?

No problem whatsoever.

Picking up the kids from school, I didn't mention anything. When L walked in to the dining room, I pointed to the piano - as she turned toward the spot, I could see her ready herself for the blow of disappointment. But there it was!

Being my daughter and full of faith in her abilities, she immediately took credit for the piano's reprieve - saying she prayed that she could keep it! I'll deal with that thorny theological issue later...

I explained to her that Lisa's brothers did come by, but it wasn't quite what they were hoping for, being a tad worn and well-loved. Much like L's all-time favorite buddy, Bear-Bear. And that to us it was a fine piano that sounds good and adds to the richness of our lives, even if it wasn't perfect. Almost having lost it, it is now all the more precious.

Time for some joyful noise.

Emotional Eating

My dad was out for a visit, in part to celebrate his 80th birthday. My sister joined us, and it was the first time we were all together for that much time in well, I don't know how long.

Emotional language in any family is unique and unfathomable, even for those of us who grew up and became fluent but somehow moved away and lost our proficiency. Our family has always expressed caring in terms of things and events. Dad worked hard, wasn't home much, but took us on our fabled cross-country roadtrips so we'd be exposed to lots of different experiences. Prior to us kids, my parents raced cars, had a sailboat, went hiking and skiing and golfing, (oh my!) I remember skiing and backpacking in the Adirondacks and working on the sailboat but not actually sailing it... I hear this is how boat ownership usually goes. Anyhow, the sportscars and sailboats eventually gave way to parochial school tuition, horseback riding lessons, and family vacations.

Part of the travel experience was trying different foods, and loving it. Honestly, it never would have occurred to me to refuse to try frog legs, shark fin soup, spicy curries etc. It probably helped that we'd drive to Toronto and have a late dinner, so it didn't matter if it was Indonesian shrimp cakes, we were hungry and rather, um, receptive. The guilt trips helped, I'm sure.

Over the years I have developed quite a few favorite foods that have become ritualized in the family dialect of Food = Love. So when my dad schedules a trip to drive out to see us, it usually starts with a shopping list. From Buffalo, the famed Fowler's sponge candy, Downey's honey butter, and Anchor Bar wing sauce. From Toronto's Finnish bakery: pirraka and loaves and loaves of pulla (cardamon egg bread dusted with almonds and sugars; known in the Barnesyard as "Grandpa toast"). From Shissler's Cheese Haus and Kennedy's BBQ in Ohio, unbelievable swiss, bacon, ham and relish. And from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, pasties.

When my Dad pulls up, there is a great production of unloading the car and all the treats. It is his offering, overspilling the freezer. He seems to enjoy the gathering of foodstuffs, the journey, almost more than the visit itself. And despite his age and his frailty, he insists on driving so he can provide the feast, made more valuable by the miles traveled. Part pilgrimage, part picnic.

Dad's hearing is poor even with the much-resisted hearing aid, and he is rather unsteady on his feet. Even though I saw him in August, I noticed how much weight he's lost and how the years seem to have caught up with him. Other than enjoying the grandkids and telling stories, our main activity during his visits is - surprise! - eating. Most of the fabulous ethnic restaurants I've tried here in the Twin Cities were suggested by Dad, as he researches the "Chowhounds" website with a vengeance. {These deserve their own entry, but for now I'll name three you must try: Bangkok Thai Deli, Gandhi Mahal, and Harry Singh's.}

The much-appreciated Minnesota Zoo gift membership was up for renewal, Dad's traditional Christmas gift to the family. In the midst of filling out the online form this morning shortly before he was leaving, my Dad announces that being 80 must be getting to him. I turned to him and was surprised to see him crying, for only the second time in our 40 years together. He said that he's always sad when it comes time to be leaving, but is much more aware that he doesn't know if he'll see any of us again. I awkwardly gave him a hug, patted his arm, offered reassurances meant to be soothing. Inwardly, I berated myself for moments of frustration I'd had with him over the week's visit. He just seemed so vulnerable and frail, walking slowly out to his car - cane in hand, new walker already stowed in the trunk, pride visibly diminished.

His parting shot? "I know you worry about me driving and wish I'd fly, but how could I bring you all the things you enjoy???"

How indeed? Happy trails, Dad.

Food for thought

Okay, I must admit Halloween was a tad more stressful than usual around here.

I had continued to come up empty on the skeleton costume until just this week, but a friend found an awesome jumpsuit with front and back glow-in-the-dark bones, shoe covers, gloves, and a mask that X probably won't wear. (I may just stuff it, drape gummy worms out of the eye sockets, and put it over a winter hat as hey, it's going to be 40 degrees.) Thanks Pam!

Technically, I didn't buy it until all other options were exhausted. Although I could have sewn it, I was exhausted.

I'm helping with L's 2nd grade Halloween party this afternoon. Props for awesome party planning by Karen (check out her store at www.motherearthgardens.com ) but she is deathly ill so I'm pinch hitting.

I was on for making cupcakes, frosted a la zombie, which is all the rage. I used cream cheese frosting, a tad of red, yellow, green food coloring, and a piping bag. Mind you, I dreamed about how I was going to do these last night - including a confectionary catastrophe that involved a last minute trip to Michael's for supplies. So when I woke to find I really did not have the right piping tip for the frosting, it was a tad eerie. I had one of the flower ones, too ridgy for brains. I was inspired to make one out of plastic, but then just took some pliers and bent back the points on the flower tip, so it gave undulating irregularities. Creepy enough for you?

Some of you more anatomically-aware types may notice the prefrontal cortex is a tad underdeveloped. Well, it's the seat of judgement and isn't fully mature til your mid-20's, so there.

These will be served along with string cheese with carrot fingernails, and swamp juice (food coloring + juice + gummi worms).

Happy Halloween, everybuggy!

Ghost of a chance...

For some reason, I am out of steam with this project. Not the actual practice of buying second-hand, just the writing about it. I really thought I could make the year, and initially had little "aha!" moments daily that I would get inspired to blog* about. Not so much now. It seems like the same cycle of perceived need, attempt to rein in baser buying instincts, moderate compliance and occasional acting out. So consumer patterns are like any other human behavior, somewhat variable but always operating within individual parameters we're not aware of until we bump up against them...

* not an actual verb

I still struggle with the social pressures of consuming - and these most often come from social obligations and cultural traditions (eek! Halloween and Christmas). Hence, the birthday party gifts that I need to be more creative and proactive in obtaining through second-hand shops. That, in and of itself, hasn't been a challenge; thrift stores are treasure hunts for me. What I am having a hard time doing is letting go of the critical voice that reminds me how much better and more thoughtful a _____________ would be for darling _________.


Last weekend was a very cool birthday party at the U of MN Raptor Center, for X-man's buddy Will. Thumbs up on the emphasis on experience and education, not to mention supporting this really neat community resource! I planned to respond in kind, with giving Will a "coupon" good for an outing: lunch and shopping at the Mall of America. Not just any shop, but the hallowed halls of the Lego store, where you can buy wheels and windows in bulk!!! And like any 5 year old boy with a younger sibling prone to put small, chokey-type things in his mouth, Legos are the preferred medium for hours of creative enjoyment. Maybe it's the age, but I am acutely aware of how easily kids are disappointed - and opening a gift certificate pales in comparison to an actual rip-open-the-paper gift. Between that and a bit of a time crunch, I lost faith. My default setting - a quick trip to the Salvation Army.

For a measly $10, I found a brand-new-in-(somewhat crumpled)-box amphibious remote control vehicle. The exact one that the boys were fixated on LAST fall, in the deluge of Christmas catalogs. What are the chances? Quite the find, so I snapped it up. But my dilemma
wasn't over, as this would have been a great Christmas present for X. And to be brutally honest, I really wanted to play with it. After bitch-slapping my inner toddler, I resolved to make sure it found a home at Will's, and to include batteries. (Oops.)

They had a last-minute cancellation and were kind enough to invite L, so the kids proudly wrapped the present themselves. For some reason it also required a gift bag, so of course the one they picked out had a cartoon figure defecating with the word "Poo!" in cheery letters. Pretty darned appropriate for a 5 year old boy... sigh. It wasn't until after the party that X said how much he wanted to keep the toy himself. He didn't dwell on it, though, just consoled himself with the (errant) knowledge Mom could find another one by Christmas.

They really do believe we have superpowers. Humbling, isn't it?

But now I have a more pressing feat of derring-do - finding a skeleton costume. I KNOW I COULD MAKE ONE. Strangely, I'd rather take a nap. In desperation, I put out my plea as my Facebook status today: "Karen Mae Barnes is seeking a skeleton costume, size 6ish. Will see your skeleton and raise you a Supergirl, Batman, Jasmine, knight, fairy or Nascar driver."

So far I've struck out at Unique, Salvation Army, Savers and Craigslist. And I believe the time crunch puts Ebay out of reach. And yes, I will feel lame grabbing whatever I can find at Target. I guess that puts me in need of a black sweatsuit and some glow-in-the-dark paint. And some sort of amphetamine.

Gone crazy, back later.

Type A Minus

After 18 years of living in Minnesota, you'd think I'd learn.

Each and every year I fail to get the garden put to bed BEFORE it's covered in snow. Granted, this is pretty damn early, and hopefully it will at least stop snowing, and maybe even start melting sometime this week. Meanwhile, my garden looks quite festive, bedecked in snow balls.

Since we did invest a lot in the garden this year, I was hoping to mulch everything well and have lots of bagged leaves for next spring, especially the natives which don't do as well with bark mulch. Slight problem: leaves are still on the trees, only now they too are covered in snow.

I had also planned to bring the lavander indoors, to brighten up a gloomy winter - once I was done drying the blossoms and buds for potpourri. And a pot of mint for the kitchen - do you know what the street value of that stuff is in, say, February? There were green tomatoes to spare, and for my dad's birthday it's his favorite pie. Also basil for pesto. And more peppers than I know what to do with, so why not dry them and make ristras?

Who the hell am I kidding?

These are the projects that go through my mind, in no particular order, when I should be sleeping. And not getting to them in time is both a curse and a blessing. I'll never be out of ideas, but without the motivation to actually start any projects, I won't run myself ragged.

Yay me!

I was going to put photos in albums today and then design the custom photo calendars for Christmas. I think I'll just sit quietly until the urge passes, while watching the snow come down.

Emotional Accounting

Heck, October already???

I realize this looks bad. Me falling off the wagon with my Dana Buchman shopping spree and then the posts just... stop. I had expected someone to step forward with an intervention or at least a pleading missive to mend my ways. Apparently I overestimated my readership. Ah, well.

Was I consumed by guilt? Did I throw in the towel on this project, three-quarters of the year complete? Too ashamed to continue?

Actually, we went to DC for a week. And the kids got to spend time with a myriad of indulgent aunts/uncles/grandparents while Bob and I had an unprecedented 4 days together, child-free.
So you can imagine how disorienting all that was... plus the kids were just plain gorked, way off their schedules, and unbelievably whiny. This week I have accomplished very little, and it is enough that the urge to scream obscenities, put lambs blood on the doorway and run screaming down the street has abated, somewhat.

Excuses, excuses.

I am pleased to report I haven't purchased anything - new or used- in the last couple of weeks. Oh, wait, except for uniform shirts and socks for the kids. I have perused a few estate sales, because I am constitutionally ill-suited to walk on by. It's the voyeur in me, enjoying trying to piece together lifestories from so much stuff that's left behind. Then I look around our home - what is truly mine? What is of me enough that I'd want it forever?

As it turns out, not much. Nothing tangible, anyways.

Attempts at atonement

But first, more confessions...

In addition to my clothes shopping spree yesterday, I indulged the children as well. When I picked them up at school, we had an impromptu playdate which morphed into a visit to the ice cream parlor. And if you're at the ice cream parlor (www.Izzysicecream.com) , you are only a few storefronts away from the best train store ever, Choo Choo Bob's (www.choochoobobs.com) . Lately, I've been keeping the kids outside the store, watching the awesome model railroad sets run. And if you go into the train store, chances are you'll spend lots of time at the 6 back tables set up with all things Thomas, Brio, etc. An hour later as the kids are playing, you've had a nice chance to catch up with another grownup, and you're getting ready to leave but feel like you should buy something. (For some reason I put it in the same category as the imagined obligation to buy something or other when you use the rest room at a gas station.)

I've talked to the guys that run the place, and they admit that 80% of their actual sales aren't to parents that bring their kids to play, it's to the grandparents of said children. So I rationalized a small toy for each of them. L picked out a miniature set of Lincoln logs that fits in a small can - perfect for tucking away in my purse and whipping out when we need a small activity (restaurants, mostly). And X is all about the Legos: a little ATV kit with a figure. We're talking about $11 total, but we know it's not about the money, right? I guess I felt a tad guilty after buying unwarranted stuff for myself, so why not compound the error?

I know, I know. It's not exactly logical thinking on my part. But honestly - the hour or so of kids engrossed in their new toys pales pretty quickly in the face of the less-than-thrilled spouse. Bob reminded me that if I'm indulging them too much, he doesn't get to do it at all. Sigh.

Insult to injury? The hours that X spends with the Lego catalog saying "I want this set and that set and that set." And today, both kids sulked because I wouldn't take them to ice cream or Choo Choo Bob's. Indulging them leaves them feeling more entitled, whereas sticking to the deprivation approach means they eventually stop whining. One slip, I've wiped out my gains. And intermittent reinforcement is stronger.

My penance today: an entire trunkload to Goodwill, loads of recycling, and a giant bag of stuff in the trash. The alleviation of guilt should occur any moment now...

Thud.

Did anyone notice an atmospheric disturbance today? Sort of a sonic boom?? Yeah, that was me. Falling off the wagon.

Just to show you how disorienting back-to-school is, I was facing an ENTIRE DAY from 8 to 2:30 - with nothing scheduled. Adding to my novel freedom - the house was clean. Minimal laundry remained. Way too many projects but not much motivation to even choose one, much less complete it. What to do?

My dear friend Nina was up for 'lunch & whatever' but just had to make a trip to Kohl's to see if there were any must-have's. She had a coupon. There were sales. I didn't need anything in particular, so I thought I'd just be the helpful friend / comic relief.

(This is where I was going to write an amusing anecdote about Nina's shopping history. She begged me not to.)

The first thing I put in the cart I didn't intend to buy, really, but it was such a nice shirt for Bob, and I didn't get him anything for our anniversary and obviously had some unresolved guilt issues. I thought I'd just wander around with it for a while, before I wisely reconsidered. Bob is one of those people who really doesn't get excited about "gifts & crap" - he's equally noncommittal if I spend a bunch of time/money on the perfect whatchamacallit or just find something interesting at a yard sale. But some of his shirts could stand to be retired... So the justifications went.

Nina loves a bargain more than I do. She cruised the clearance racks - 60 to 80% off, plus she had a coupon for an additional 30% off. My math skills are kinda rusty, but doesn't that mean they owe you??? Lots of great deals, happy colors, but I resisted. For the first couple of hours.

We all have our limits. Not only did I meet mine, I invited it in for a nice long chat of mostly justifications. My tipping point? Dana Buchman.

Now I haven't shopped higher end stores for a while - or strayed from under my rock - so she was new to me. And I simply wasn't aware that she was designing exclusively for me. Seriously - colors, cut, fabric - I squealed. Repeatedly. And once that first dress was off the clearance rack and in the cart, others followed. Just like going off a diet and figuring after the first feedbag of cookies (hands free!), what's another 2 or 3? One sweater. Three tops. A glorious dress. All unbelievably cheap.

I EVEN FOUND A PAIR OF JEANS. This was a miraculous happening indeed.

I was heady with the hypomanic high of misbehavior. We had a heap at the checkout. And, surprisingly enough, I had little remorse. I joked about at least I'd have something to blog about...

Sound too good to be true? Yup - coupon wasn't good til tomorrow. They've got my things on hold; giving me nearly a full day to reconsider. Or re-justify.

So... Gentle Reader, should I walk away? What is this project worth? The jury is still out on this one. Operators are standing by.

And, oh yeah, they open at 8.

Unhinged

Apparently all the heady freedom of back to school week has warped my perspective. After my brief appearance at work today I stopped by my favorite thrift store. I found a belt for X, one of those ubiquitous braided leather ones that has no actual holes so that will make things easier for him. Hadn't really considered the differences in belt technology before... I found a great pair of shoes for X - barely worn ankle boots. And for L I grabbed the Phillip Pullman trilogy for a whopping $5.40. I love reading novels to the kids. We'll be taking a break from Harry Potter.

It's kind of amusing to look back a year or two, and I remember being at a bookstore and dithering over whether-or-not to purchase those very books. I was so proud of myself for the restraint, at the time. Now I almost feel guilty for purchasing them second-hand, because they aren't exactly necessary. (But awesome! Still trying to decide if I should see The Golden Compass film...)

My honey-do list today included getting replacement hinges for the bathroom cabinets. At Ikea.

Ikea is new to our part of the world, but mythological proportions in the collective consciousness of 30-somethings from back East who thrive on cheap furnishings. When it opened here, it was mobbed for months. I'm not much of a crowd person, so I avoided it for quite some time. Today, it was almost pleasant, meandering and looking at all the cool designs and vivid colors.

Other than the hinges, I was charged with getting a garlic press for my friend Nina. But I didn't make it out of housewares unscathed... I have been missing my kitchen shears for some time, and the empty hole in the knife block mocks me as I still reach for them almost daily. At $1.99, I doubt these will do much more than fill the void. But I bought them anyways. So there.

I wandered through the children's section and picked out a couple of small stuffed mice (one white, one grey) , $1.49 each. For absolutely no good reason. The kids loved them and treated us to a puppet show this evening. X named his Ruffles and L has yet to decide. Stay tuned.

After wandering the huge expanse of Ikea in my dress-up heels, I had some wicked blisters. By the time I made it to Returns, I was no longer in a great, expansive shopping mood. The line was long and my blood sugar low. Not a good combination.

The earnest "co-worker" in the unfortunate yellow polo was very sweet - looked at the hinge, vanished briefly, and returned with two replacement ones free of charge. Huh. Didn't see that coming. But it's Ikea, which is the Swedish version of Walmart, and it's easy to overindulge.

I limited myself to one cinnamon roll for the drive home. Mission accomplished.

School daze

We've made it to Day 2 of school. X is fairly excited about Kindergarten, while L is already whiny about homework that hasn't yet been assigned... Stay tuned.

Part of the fun this first week is that I usually miss (when I'm up north volunteering at Camp Knutson with a group of mentally ill individuals from our county) - all the First Week of School potlucks, picnics and playdates. So I'm amazed at how much socializing is built right in, for students and their families. And perhaps I'm figuring out how everyone else seemed so much closer and on the ball.... all along I thought I was either not fitting in, or just wasn't getting it. Behold, the power of paranoia.

The morning of Day 1 was touch-and-go for a bit though - entirely my fault for not actually trying on X's new shorts or seeing exactly what size logo shirts we had. One shirt worked, but the shorts fell down with the least wiggle, which X of course found hilarious. (his comedic repetoire is primarily pratfalls and goofy voices, but pants-falling-down-while running/jumping is a close third) Saved by the belt, which was an off-hand purchase at a garage sale this summer. Not auspicious timing to introduce X to important technology such as belts (which may make the difference between successful toileting and a lifelong supply of playground taunts) , but no pressure, as he's excited about everything right now so to him, it's all good. L had a "newish" jumper with a hemming job that would be kindly described as "incomplete" but was really my half-assed incomplete effort, which featured a needle still in the hem, which L pointed out, with a rather dramatic sigh. Aaaargh.

I stopped by the "Boo Hoo Breakfast" for tepid church-basement coffee and my semi-annual donut. I was focused on trying to get all those names and faces out of mothballs, so I can at least appear socially skilled, which really takes quite a bit of energy. I was contemplating what to do with the (tick tick tick) 3 hours of "free time" before I needed to pick up the kids at 11:30 and head off to a picnic playdate.

Still a tad shaken by our wardrobe malfunctions of the morning, I stopped off at the Uniform Closet where I scored a pair of pants and shorts for X, and another jumper for L. (it's a great resource to check first, before you trot out to purchase new) Since we were in serious need of groceries, my friend Tracey and I decided on a run to SuperTarget. This is the default plan of busy moms everywhere - try to have a visit while doing a necessary errand. Normally, I revert right into girlfriend shopping behavior, but Tracey has tried to do the voluntary simplicity thing too, so it's not exactly as fun as when we'd enable each other. Like two Mormons at Happy Hour - glad to be there, but... something missing in the mix, ya know?

I was sorely tempted to spring for a new wallet (as mine no longer shuts due to its unfortunate trip along River Road - see July's last entry) and a lovely pair of maroon suede Converse, but I backed away slowly while practicing my breathing. I'd like to say that worked, but in the end I was placated by the vicarious pleasure of Tracey buying herself a pair instead. (True confessions: I felt a tad superior, as I walked out with no "no-no's" whereas she opted for a couple that were a little questionable on the simplicity scale. And then those gorgeous sheet sets she wanted at the stunning price of $56 for 450 thread count cotton - I just had to admit I purchased two brand new sets at the Salvation Army for $15 each. That would be the 'skinflint slap', in case we are keeping score. Which we're not. This is not a competition - but having peers to keep you accountable and talk thru the thought processes behind purchasing decisions - truly priceless)

I did wind up having to purchase new school shoes for both kids, but the backpacks and lunchbags are reused, as is the majority of their uniform stuff. I need to come up with Navy blue bike shorts to be worn under the jumper, as L is a bit active and in danger of showing her undies. But I may just cut down some of her blue pants and call it good enough. (might even hem them all the way around. Madness, really.)

So if necessity is the mother of invention, and necessity is manipulated by the marketing whizzes, we moms are left with lots of leeway to figure it all out. And using all the skills and resources available while trying to outfit your kids but teaching them about the actual value of stuff - that one's a real mother.

Curse you, Qubo!

I have fallen prey to the late summer malady of letting the kids watch way too much television. And since the digital revolution, the kids have wandered far from their PBS Kids home. Enter: Qubo. Exit: my sanity.

Blame the digital revolution; we now get more than 3 channels.

Ironic, isn't it? I thought I was investing in my mental health by keeping the kids occupied so I could actually start and complete a project. Now I have a host of new theme songs and crappy tidbits of animation in my head.

But wait, there's more!

Qubo doesn't do your usual commercial breaks. It rotates mini-infomercials every 25 minutes or so. I didn't pay much attention to it, at first.

One day, we're driving somewhere (en route to a thoroughly enriching and developmentally-appropriate children's activity, I'm sure...) and Lily pipes up with the following:

"Mom, do you worry you can't make the mortgage payment???" WTF; she's 7.

That was the beginning. Now I have kids that insist they'd eat more veggies if we just had a Veggie-Bot set that lets you make all these sculptures out of carrots and such. And the
Brownie Magic pan? Apparently a must-have for the grammar school set. What was most disturbing is when they both tried earnestly to make their case why a wall-mounted tooth paste dispenser would help them with their early dental habits... and they'd need two, of course, because L has a preference for cinnamon paste whereas X's palate is more discriminating, calling out for unspecified-fruit-flavor provided it has a SpongeBob on the packaging somewhere.

So, by eschewing commercial tv for their tender years, I have created fertile fields for infomercials. Which they actually watch. And quote, verbatim. For the novelty? Or the simple pleasure of pushing me over the edge?

(Admit it, you're still wondering who actually uses the verb eschew...)

My kids have yet to understand when I say we don't have the money for something, that we can't actually go to the bank and make money appear. But they know how to turn any leftover gold and silver jewelry into cold hard cash.

Sigh.

The Great Minnesota Get-Together

Yesterday was our annual pilgrimage to the Minnesota State Fair. Props to the Rev. Kath, for aiding our spiritual journey and being a fun playmate for the kids and necessary emotional support for yours truly.

Growing up in the suburbs of Western New York, I had heard of the county fair, knew people who went, but just never made it there myself. When I moved to MN in the summer of '91, I actually considered renting an apartment next to the Fairgrounds in St. Paul. It sounded festive... if only for late August thru Labor Day.

We chose a different apartment (a hovel, really) but in a great neighborhood. And that was my first year of going to the fair. I think I've only missed one year since.

The Twin Cities are pretty darned metropolitan (so keep your snide comments about 'flyover country' to yerselves) but never too far from agrarian roots. The U of M was a land grant college that still has a significant agriculture component, boasting an impressive farm and arboretum (home of the HoneyCrisp apple, doncha know). Nowhere is this more evident when city meets country during the Fair.

Best part, hands down, is the people watching. And watching people enjoying people watching, not even being subtle about it. FYI - Minnesota Polite is reserved for the spoken word, only. I love wandering through the cattle barn, with cute 4-H'ers resting nonchalantly on their cows like flatulent ottomans - flirting with other cute 4H'ers - while the city folk parade on past. In between looking at livestock and fighting crowds, the biggest challenge at the fair is what to settle on to eat. It's all fried and fabulously bad for you. Breakfast was a corndog and mini-donuts. It went downhill from there... Hours later I'm crunching Tums and wondering who ate the last cookie from Sweet Marthas.

As the kids have gotten older, they are more adventuresome and a bit easier to handle in crowds. What that translates to, in Fair speak, is the Mighty Mighty Midway - rides and games. Here is a perfect example how you are lulled into complacency while being fleeced. First, the rides all take tickets. But today, they all have signs up saying it's a Family Friendly kind of day, so it's 4 tickets instead of 5 for the fun house. Dutifully, I line up to purchase tickets - half-noticing they cost 75 cents EACH but if you buy a sheet for $30 you somehow save $7.50 which when you figure out it's a mere 10 tickets doesn't seem so swell. But by then you've handed over your charge card to the Lions Club volunteer in the hermetically-sealed booth. And then it's time to try to make a decision on which rides/games - taking in the various factors such as height, attention span, bravery, chiropractic availability and gastrointestinal fortitude - while simultaneously following screaming, sugar-addled kids in a zillion different directions. So handing over the money is actually painless, in comparison. Whack-a-Mole is, however, a pretty satisfying outlet for frustration. As long as you don't do the math and realize you just paid $9 for a goofy plush toy.

For the record, toys won at games of chance are not purchased items per se, and when they say "made of all new materials" I think that's a euphemism they use in the sweatshop where they inexpertly stitch all that crappy styrofoam together. Technically, not a cheat in the voluntary simplicity category. And after about $110, not cheap either. But it's once a year, and never dull.

To quote my friend Nina's paving brick somewhere on the Fair grounds:
"I SO love the State Fair! "

The Unbearable Stuffness of Being

I resisted the siren song of the garage sale epidemic this weekend. Seriously? Entire blocks! I like the cooperative nature of the multi-family & neighborhood sales. And of course, it encourages recycling. But not reducing... it takes more willpower than I currently have to walk away from bargains and neat finds, even when it doesn't pass the "necessary" test. I still, however, am haunted by the finds that I walked away from. Even if they weren't for me, I usually had a pretty good idea of the perfect home for that .... whatever. Too many items to list here.

Buyer's remorse? More like restraint remorse... But once I've had something around long enough, it doesn't matter where it came from, eventually I get so tired of looking at it/dusting it/giving it space - I want it gone.

Remember all those Bible passages that talk about the necessity of casting off all those possessions and being free to pursue all things spiritual? On my good days I really get it.

Imagine the disastrous event that takes your whole house but you have a moment to grab one item... Of course the people and pets are safe, but what would you absolutely have to keep? I think I'd need the photo albums - although I have the memories and more importantly the experiences. Everything else is just stuff.

Back to School Uniformality...

I used to love back to school shopping, even when I was no longer in school myself. I still really love picking out cool notebooks, etc. and I'm quite particular about pens - even now when most of my writing is done at the keyboard.

This year hasn't been quite so much fun.

I have been able to squirrel away scissors, pencils, backpacks, lunch boxes from the Salvation Army. Thanks to my fabulous friend Tracey, I even got X's supply of logo shirts for his school uniform. (The uniform store has them on backorder...) I was only able to scare up one pair of pants from many garage sales. And I'm just trusting the fates that L's skirts from last year fit, because I can't entertain another option at present...

But, alas, list in hand, I took the kids to Target. What was I thinking?

I soon discovered that I had waited way too long to score the 8 (count 'em, 8) sets of Crayola markers that are required. Not a single box left in the store, especially not at their traditional loss-leader price of a buck a box. And no, Rose Art aren't good enough for K or 2nd grade, thank you very much.

There were exactly 3 kinds of folders left. All inexplicably festooned with pink flowers AND skulls. Is this the new gender neutral? Huh.

X got the last pair of uniform shorts. Hope they fit, because I forgot to pick up a belt for him.

Then again, my kids don't start school until the 8th. That means one more additional week, to hit the State Fair, the last days at the waterparks, the amusement parks.

Perhaps Target will restock before school starts. And me? I'm planning on recharging shortly thereafter.

Guest column from Molly Ellen

One of the best things about this blog - or the whole endeavor of limiting myself to purchasing only used items - has been the conversations it has started. In very disparate settings, really amazing, thoughtful discussions have emerged. And my high school friend Molly Ellen is just such an example. She is very supportive of stay at home parents and all the efforts we make to live well and perhaps smaller. I was lucky to get a short visit in with her and her family during my last Buffalo tour. It's so nice, having a mental image of hearth & home, that gives more dimension to mere Facebook updates.

So here's what Molly Ellen wrote in a recent note, posted here with her permission:


"Took the kids and the husband on a trip to Vidler's on a recent rainy Sunday. If you've never been to this WNY 5 & 10 Emporium, it's worth a stop on your next tour.

Since Vidler's contains literally thousands, in not millions of items, many of which are toys, I thought it might be a good idea to give the kids a lesson in finance while we were there. Instead of the usual begging on their part, weighing options on my part and crying on everyone's part, I decided to give them each $5.00 and let them choose something for themselves. It could be anything, as long as it was not dangerous and came in at $5.00 or less, including tax.

Here's what I learned:
-when it's 'their' money, my kids are much more careful decision makers than when it is 'my' money
-Connor is much more skilled at math than he lets on - I saw lots 'o calculations to add prices and allow for tax
-Erin is already angry about paying taxes. I see activism in her future

Both kids were immediately enamored with a display that allowed you to choose your own beads for bracelets, etc. one at a time. They declared that this was much better than the craft store where you can buy a bag of letters and still not have as many Ns as they really need. They were sucked in and each bought about $1.50 worth of beads. This, of course, impacted the remainder of their shopping. Connor was witnessed hand slapping forehead saying "why oh why did I buy those beads" in front of a display of small metal airplanes that were out of his budget by about $.50. Erin's quote of the day was, "Mom, it's just too much to look at in here."

Here's what I'm taking away in terms of consumption...My kids (and I) need to remember that it is easy to accumulate stuff, but the stuff can be disappointing and burdensome in the long run. Like any other rush, the thrill of shopping and buying is often short-lived. Also, as much as Vidler's is marketing their store as being a thing of the past, I think they're on to something with selling the smallest possible portion instead of the largest. The alphabet beads really got me thinking. Each bead was five cents. Sure I might be able to buy 1000 beads at the craft store for five dollars (making each bead a half a cent), but with my name, I still may not have what I need - 26 letters in my name 17 are Ls, Ns, or Es. Plus, I'm sure I'd get a lot of what I didn't need. Paying slightly more to be guaranteed what I need with nothing left to spare is a bargain in my mind."


Molly Ellen brings up some excellent points to ponder. I think I'll try the experiment with a bit of birthday money (this year we've been trying to use it on purchasing experiences rather than things) but giving them the option to choose.

I'm also thinking it may be time to institute an allowance, as a way to encourage them to learn to budget, and perhaps a way to encourage them to take ownership of various helpful projects around the house. My personal hot button issue: asking for help cleaning up toys and getting major attitude about (sigh) "you make me do EVERYTHING around here!"

This is when I have to struggle to keep control. Including not letting the Snakes of Rage spring from my forehead, with my hounds-o-hell voice saying all sorts of ridiculous things attempting to set the record straight. As my friend's sainted mother points out, "There's nothing personal about housework. It just IS."

Zen and the Art of Housekeeping. Coming soon, to a blog post near you.

Dog Days o' Summer

I'm continually grateful for the resources of a major metro area. Really, what are the chances I could complete this project in an area without a thriving second-hand business? And there is only so much that can be accomplished on Craig's List and EBay. As much as I hate Walmart and haven't shopped there in over a decade, what would I do if I lived out in the sticks and that was the only store around? (The answer: it's a moot point. I would go stark raving nuts long before we ran out of sundries...)

Today's free, low environmental impact, non-consumption activity? I biked over to my friend Pam's, and we took her dog Boo (terrier-something) to the Dog Park. I've heard of these places, occasionally aware of the public debate, have friends that frequent them daily and develop their social lives around them - but had never actually set foot in one. Quite the education.

I love dogs. I do. I happen to be allergic but I'm still a fan of the canine, in all it's crazy shapes, colors, and personalities. So it was like people watching, but for a cuter, furry crowd.

I know people that call their dogs their "children" and that's fine with me. I'm more offended if you refer to my children as dogs, although the Xman does, in fact, fetch quite nicely.

More than anything else, the dog park is like a giant playdate and a singles' bar, rolled into one. This particular park goes down to the Mississippi so there were legions of retrievers um... retrieving, very impressive dog paddles, and the distinct aroma of wet dog. It was controlled chaos - most guests and their people were exceptionally well-behaved. The usual protocol of wagging tails and sniffing butts prevailed. There were even a few spirited games of tag. Considering how many people/pet combos there were, it was amazing how ... civilized...it all was.

So it seems there is this parallel society, which I was fortunate enough to visit today. Very sociable, for humans and dogs alike. Endlessly entertaining, and refreshing. Especially later when we retired to a shady porch with a good local brew.

These dog days of summer aren't so bad after all.

Staycation

Mom and Uncle Dad are visiting us from NY, so we've been bopping around doing all sorts of outings. Saturday at the Minnesota History Center, today at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, tomorrow the Minnesota Zoo. These are places we love to visit anyways, but having guests is added motivation.

I need to confess the hardest thing about these visits has been the damn gift shops, with their siren song. I caved yesterday and let the kids pick out little baggies of polished rocks. It was awfully easy to just say "sure!" and hand the nice lady a ten-spot. And when we went to lunch, the kids spent much of their time sorting and naming their rocks. This had the added bonus of allowing the grownups to have a conversation or two and eat our Mock Duck Vermicelli Salads in peace. (Mai Village, Frogtown, St. Paul is fabulous.)

Today the X man didn't last long at the MIA - even with my increasing inventive/desperate games of I-Spy, he was done in a hurry. In the last few years they added a great family room and stocked it with lots of toys so he was happily playing there for a good hour, leaving L and the grandparents a more leisurely approach to the art. They dropped off L, and hit the gift shop, for a full 30 minutes. It was fine - the kids happily occupied, me doing some quilting, Mom scoring a neat pair of crystal and gold earrings. But I remember feeling strangely vindicated...

Shopping is in my blood. Even when I'm studiously NOT shopping, I'm well aware of the possibilities. It's like when you are told to NOT think about a purple spotted elephant, and have to continually rethink it in order to not think about it...

Right now, though? I'm more in the mood to divest... of all sorts of things. I feel the need for a major purge of toys, clothes and tsotchkes. L did bust me with a bag of stuffed animals I was trying to sneak into the Goodwill pile. She promptly dressed me down for my efforts, and announced that those animals (which she hadn't seen in over two months) were, in fact, her FAVORITES. Sigh.

I am holding on until back to school - on multiple levels - and amuse myself with all the projects I'll take on - and the stuff I'll get rid of - without my trusty supervisors, aged 5 and 7. It's good to have a dream or two.

Back from the brink

It's been way too long, but it turns out I didn't have much computer access while on our road trip. Or, when I did have a monitor and a moment, I had little energy or inspiration.

This was year 5 of the summer odyssey in which I pack up the kids and drive East, staying with family and friends along the way. It can be a lot of fun - open to the experience of new places, warped schedules. And it can be utter hell. I have been known to take a "mommy time out" on the side of a country road in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan because I am exhausted and can't stand the whining, and the car stereo only goes so loud, ya know?

It was an abbreviated trip this year - 2 weeks, 2900 miles - because I had to get back for work. We managed to get in quite a few good visits nonetheless. Some highlights: reconnecting with old friends, sailing and swimming on the St. Lawrence River, time with my favorite cousins. Awesome museum experiences in Naperville, Illinois; North Tonawanda's Carousel Museum, and Science North in Sudbury, Ontario.

I know it sounds insane, but the longest day we did was 720 miles. We left the Twin Cities at 4am, breakfasted somewhere halfway thru Wisconsin. Then a picnic lunch and incredible time at the DuPage Children's Museum in Naperville, Illinois. It was busy, crazy day of exploring and we were all pretty exhausted after 3 hours. We piled back in the car, and finally stopped at 10:30 somewhere in Ohio. (Quite the storm and light show, when there was any visibility whatsoever. And what's with the menage-a-trucks? Aren't double trailers scary enough? Yeesh.) I was crispy-fried but the kids were wiggly from too much time sitting still.

The only near-emergency on the road trip this year was when the DVD player spluttered and died. Luckily I had the Chronicles of Narnia on CD, along with Beginning Italian which was surprisingly helpful in keeping me awake. L had her I-pod, X was happy talking to himself or his bear, and I listened to the same Brazilian CD about a (bra)zillion times.

The added bonus this year? A firmly set precedent that we don't buy crap or souvenirs at each and every stop. I must admit to a bit of temptation at the duty free (sweatshirts! purses! various maple-based foodstuffs!) but I think that was just the fatigue talking. Other than food, gas, 3 nites in a hotel, the only thing we purchased was gin and saltwater taffy.

So, instead of back home and broke - we're just back. A good time was had by all/most. And yes, I'd do it again in a heartbeat - only for a longer stint.

I have always relied on the kindness of strangers.

Holee CRAP!

Trying to breathe, here. It's been a crazy batshiat sort of day, running last minute errands, packing up, cleaning the house, leaving honey-do lists, fielding a zillion phone calls at the exact same moment as trying to negotiate the peace between feuding little peoples...

I had two fabulous babysitters (twins) and after having a little incredibly decadent me-time, came back somewhat refreshed and optimistic, and drove them home. Emma and Sarah are gorgeous gazelles of girls, and it was a tight squeeze in the Matrix. I'm aware I'm doing the nervous-talking-thing and would mandate at least a hypomanic label. Perhaps a poster child for the Monkey Mind, but get them home without incident.

Or so I thought.

Within two seconds of coming into the house, the phone is ringing. A woman tells me she is sitting outside my house, after just having found my wallet and contents strewn all over the road.

Yep, left it on the roof of the car while buckling X in, had a brief thought of "That's kinda dumb." It stayed on out of the driveway, down the hill, until I took a left onto the River Road. This beautiful woman, Carol, saw something flying, thought to herself "That's not right..." and pulled over, stopping traffic while picking up my vacation money, assorted receipts, ID, credit cards etc.

She is my personal Jesus. I tried to give her my emergency $50 bill but she declined repeatedly. She did, however, let me give her a hug and accepted my profound thanks. I cried.

As she was leaving, she let me know that there was also a message on my cell phone.

OH ... yeah. Huh? Not quite sinking in, until: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!

It takes about a minute before the panic comes back, full force. The cell phone was on top of the wallet, on top of the car. I called it - no answer and it went to VM soon enough to make me think it was no longer operational. Good news/ bad news, right? I'm furiously searching up and down the block, asking passersby. I come back to the house, have a voice mail on the home phone. I'm doing the default Catholic chant of "Tony, Tony - look around. Something's lost that can't be found." as I'm going through my options for a cross country road trip without a cell phone... The voice mail is from my husband, no dice. So I call it again - and a woman answers. She was en route to our local neighborhood restaurant, found the phone in three pieces, and was just going through the phone book - determined to find me. She asks for my address, refuses my offer to buy her dinner, and will drop it off on her way home. My other Good Samaritan: Sarah.

Did I mention we're leaving on a road trip? Me and the kids? Half way cross the continent? In less than 12 hours?

The near-catastrophe has me laughing and crying simultaneously. On an adrenaline high that makes me think I could stroke out any minute. I may be losing it shortly... so I thought I would put this all down immediately as my last will and testament to the kindness of strangers.

God bless you, Carol and Sarah. Literally, you have been my personal saviors on a hellish journey of mommy-mind. I am truly humbled by the above-and-beyond, and heretofore promise to Pay It Forward.

Signs of the Times

Is it just in the Midwest where garage sales are everywhere? Definitely more so this year - I think people are trying to get cash and attracting lots of folks looking for bargains. More than a few of them are perhaps on the voluntary simplicity kick.

Driving back from the office yesterday, I was on the lookout for garage sales. (My rule: I can't go off of my route in search of a sale - it has to be advertised and visible from the usual commute. Extra points if I'm biking; you really have a whole new concept of necessary if you are trying to tote it home on the bicycle.) Scored a pair of adjustable roller blades for L, $5 brand new. Of course, the ER copay is going to be way more than that - we live on a hill. I'll worry about that one another day...

I was wishing I would have bought the 1910 solid oak round table with 2 leaves, 5 chairs for $250 that I saw at the estate sale that is now conveniently located each Saturday at my office building (as if the bakery and bar aren't enough temptation).

I was contemplating the pros and cons of asking permission vs. begging forgiveness - the age old dilemma of couples everywhere. I wanted that table not just because it was beautiful and a great fit in our 1917 bungalow - I wanted it because it was such a great deal it felt criminal to let it go at that price. I even thought about buying it and storing it until I found a good home... Madness, I know.

There was an emotional appeal present in that gorgeous wood. Something about an old piece of furniture - especially a table - that makes me wonder about the lives that were lived, the family dinners, the deep and unknowable history. I was imagining gatherings with loved ones for years to come, creating our own traditions.

Then I saw another hastily scrawled sign, pointing up the alley. And I didn't even think of stopping. This one said "Foreclosure Sale". I struggle with feeling like a vulture at estate sales, picking at the bones of the dead. But a foreclosure? That's more like vivisection. I just didn't have the stomach for it.

The tools of the trades

This week was camp at our church. Not only were the kids thrilled to be immersed in activities, but I got 3 1/2 hours off each morning. It has been so long that it was almost disorienting - so many things I could do that I often squandered time just trying to decide. On Monday morning I tempted the fates and called my salon. I must have sounded desperate - they said they could take me right away.

Two hours I emerged with highlights and a haircut. Nothing too drastic; I asked for natural and low-maintenance. I tried to not choke as I signed the receipt ($120) but I felt good and it's been well over a year. And it's a local business in the neighborhood. Etc. etc. Add your favorite rationalization here. I walked out, feeling pampered and sassy. And waited for everyone to admire my new-found fabulousness. And... waited.

I have now ascertained that the placebo effect is at its most potent in the health and beauty industry. My proof: no one noticed my hair.

Okay, not quite no one. My extremely gifted massage therapist who I haven't seen in months complimented me - but that's mostly because my hair was notably longer since my last visit.

The other entity that took heed of my time at the salon: Mint.com.

In case you haven't heard the buzz (nice write-up in the NYTimes) Mint.com is a website that you enable to keep tabs on all sorts of financial happenings in your world - at no charge. You link it to your investments, banking, credit cards, mortgage debt etc. and it allows you to set budgets and track spending. The e-mail message I received said "You have exceeded your budget in personal care." Aw, thanks for noticing.

The e-mails sent out don't have too much detail, and refer you back to the secure website where you log in and check your accounts. Last week we got one that said "We noticed you had a service charge. We hate those. You might want to check it out."

It's a good, accessible way of doing some personal accounting that keeps it in the forefront of your mind (and in-box) and we find it a useful tool. it's a little weird to see your personal wealth arrayed all in one place. In general I'm not very concerned about security in the virtual world - but I do know that they are growing criminals much smarter these days.

So, you might want to check it out.

In full swing

... with all the fabulousness of summer in Minnesota. We do an awful lot of compensating for long harsh winters by living outside as much as possible during summer. And we're manic gardeners.

Last week was unseasonably cold, so the promised trip to the waterpark never did arrive. But we did several playdates, flew kites, took long bike rides, and generally ran ourselves ragged. The highlight of the week: our annual pilgrimmage to pick blueberries at Rush River Produce, in Maiden Rock, Wisconsin. We wouldn't miss it for the world; sometimes we even go twice.

A little backstory:

The best part about my job in hospice was meeting patients and families and being entrusted with their stories. People generally die as they lived, so for some it is a very gracious and social time - and relationships are uniquely intense and very honest, in the shadow of limited time together. This whole dynamic was thrown off by my pregnancy and impending maternity leave; patients would joke about outlasting me just so they'd find out if their predictions were right... There is something especially compelling about pregnancy - the beginning - in the face of hospice dynamics. Patients and caregivers alike welcomed the distraction. Boundaries be damned; my belly got patted an awful lot.

We don't have favorite patients - or at least we're not supposed to. But I do have a top 10.

Frances was always the hostess with the mostess - from working at Bridgeman's for 30+ years, raising two wonderful daughters and most of their friends, zipping around in her flashy convertible, and being the heart and soul of her South Minneapolis neighborhood, on Minnehaha Parkway. This was attested to by the constant stream of visitors who came to pay respects to this remarkable woman but always left with the impression that they'd received so much more comfort in return than they'd been able to offer. My daughter was born a month before Frances' birthday - which pleased her immensely. I was invited to her birthday party, and her home was packed with folks to celebrate her. She still took time out to gurgle and coo at the baby - at one point getting down on the floor to be on eye level with the baby carrier. Not bad for 90.

Her decline started quickly after that, and one of my coworkers let me know that Frances had been sent to residential hospice because her time was near. I went to go see her, to say goodbye. She was a bit confused, and it felt like she had already started her journey away from us. She died a few days later.

In her sunny, welcoming kitchen there was a large picture of her daughter Terry in a glorious flower garden on her farm. Frances beamed when she talked about helping them during berry season, and her pride and joy in her grandsons. I worked pretty closely with Frances and her family; the whole team did. The first July after Frances' death, the chaplain Kath and nurse Lisa and I made our first pilgrimmage to the farm, with a 5 month old squalling Lily.

We drove along lovely Lake Pepin and up into the hills, where Rush River Produce sits at the end of the road. A lovely farmhouse, unbelievable gardens, and rolling hills of blueberries, currants, and raspberries made it a heaven on earth. Walking up to the fruit stand, daughter Terry sees us and comes running - hugs and tears all around. The connection with Frances' spirit was palpable through this vivacious, fabulous couple and their own bountiful Eden. And it remains so to this day, seven glorious summers later.

Do check them out at www.rushriverproduce.com; it's about an hour and a half drive from the Twin Cities. It takes a couple of hours to pick (and eat) so bring a picnic and bask in the gardens and the hospitality of the Cuddys. It's a family tradition.

Bag Ladies, unite!

I must admit that any actual optimism I still contain is often diluted with equal parts delusion.

Even though I've been hyper-aware of .... well... hype as it relates to imagined needs and manufactured wants, I still fall for it. Marketing is brilliant in its strategic appeals - and there's plenty of psychology behind their strategy. Adding your own neuroses is encouraged but not mandatory.

The implicit promise of a coveted object is that by having one of your own, your life will be improved in some way. Perhaps others will covet that same object, and your social capital will rise. Maybe having the newest version of the hottest brand will help to broadcast your hipness and serve as a natural deterrent to the decidedly unhip. Or even this whopper: buying this possession will improve my relationship with things I already have.

My number one vice falls squarely in this third category: purses, handbags, satchels, clutches, shoulder bags etc. It being 2 am and I don't want to wake the household, but I am sorely tempted to trot out the whole sordid collection, photograph it in its shameful entirety, and give a detailed explanation of exactly what I was thinking would change in my world if I used this container to organize the detritus of my daily life.

There's the Healthy Back Bag, which I bought 10 years ago prior to our honeymoon as a carry-on and all-purpose adventure bag for wandering from Rome to Istanbul. It promised ergonomic design, adjustability, and a clever array of pockets arranged to make your load lighter. So of course I order the biggest one, overstuff it, and never quite love rooting around in the bottom of it, where all things eventually migrate and hide. Gravity occurs, even in the highly engineered land o' luggage.

While in Istanbul I purchased a number of purses and satchels, ostensibly for gifts. Also, because in the Grand Bazaar these darling merchants stalk you as you're looking at their wares, readily flicking their lighters to the various straps and such, to prove they are "real leather". This lost its appeal as I got lost and couldn't find Bob and was cornered by many enthusiastic shopkeepers and started buying purses in self-defense. The kilim bag I bought for my mom was fabulous, a great find for her, and I really wanted one for myself although it seemed like too much of a splurge. But instead, I bought several cheap knockoffs that together added up to nearly the amount of the One I Really Wanted, which has now assumed mythic proportions. The bags for gifts didn't look good enough to give, by the time I got them home. Not all of them are, in fact, leather. And I can't tell you the last time I used one. They sit in the corner of my closet, silently mocking me.

Then there are the purses ethnic and/or artsy. Mostly admired for their lovely and unusual design. Never intended to be everyday objects of usefulness, they get trotted out once a year or so - for some reason I have a 1950's vestigal sense of fashion that compels me to attempt to match my handbag when I'm "all dressed up." Which occurs slightly more often than the JCPenney White Sale, but not by much. I have used a few of the bags as catch-alls, but they rapidly get scuffed/unraveled/de-strapped, at which point they migrate towards my moldering pile of Stuff That Needs a Quick Sewing Repair.

The Vera Bradley phase was next, and represents a period I'm not particularly proud of... Her fabrics are lovely and the designs well done, but the durability just isn't there. Although there are a zillion equally non-lasting matching accessories which make the purse more valuable than any of the stuff secreted in all that quilted goodness. Other major turn off: sporting your hip new seasonal bag and seeing the same one on the arm of octagenarians en route to the Early Bird at Denny's. (In marketing lingo, it appeals "across demographics.")

My recent acquisitions are Tumi (is there a plural I should be using here?) One is a lovely, sturdy, reasonably-sized messenger bag, with all sorts of neat nooks and crannies for everything. Too many choices! I could never consistently put things in the correctly proportioned pockets for maximum utility and security. Generally this resulted in my leaving the grocery store with my credit card in full view, a gaping maw of cash I didn't have time to store, keys too securely fastened to get to in a reasonable time frame while standing in the rain with grocery bags melting, and several pairs of lost sunglasses. The other Tumi is a tote bag with similar features, but also the mandatory water bottle holder and the slightly less useful audio port for the IPod Shuffle that I can't find because I stuffed too much crap in the bag, all those necessities getting heavy enough that I began to have the alarming habit of putting it down and just walking away - dizzy with the sudden weightlessness.

Then there are the purses bought a vacation souvenirs (my own and others') that I just can't seem to part with, even though they haven't been vaguely useful or in style for some time.

Right now I have no less than 3 purses and a briefcase in circulation, and am constantly switching back and forth because the one that's ready to go is somehow unequal to the present task. No wonder I can't find my keys.

This rant serves to get me fired up to clean out the collection and give a pile of useless bags away. Really! If it's not beautiful or useful...

Although, I might find one of those cleverly constructed purse organization inserts quite handy...

Into the belly of the Beast

We're back from a visit to the Temple of Consumption, a.k.a. Mall of America. I usually just call it the Sprawl of America, as it is only fitting. It is beyond huge.

It was a rainy, cool day and the plans to visit the waterpark got cancelled. Lily has been asking daily to go to the mall and I'm not really sure why. And lately, she puts on her most piteous expression and recounts the cumulative "no's" for the last week or so, like an indictment of the Mother of all Wet Blankets. I've got a lot on my mind and am an easier mark than usual. Kids are pack animals; they can smell fear. So I gave up and gave in.

The best time to get to the MOA is early - as in AARP/Mallwalkers early. It's enjoyable to window shop (which is still an allowable though tempting offense) without the crowds. I used an 80 point pass for the amusement park I had purchased in March 2008 - before the rates went up from high to astronomical. ($3 for a carousel ride? Seriously?) So we felt well-provisioned and the kids got to do lots of rides, but the actual money was spent so long ago it no longer stung. After that, we wandered up to the food court for McD's. It's an increasingly rare indulgence - and I haven't been correcting them when they refer to fast food restaurants as "fat food."

And then - we left. Without incident or whining, or purchasing anything besides lunch. In the hallowed halls of the MOA, this is sacrilege. I was a bit tempted - most stores had huge sales of 50% off, and I do love a bargain. There were several shops going out of business, with lots of grumpy-looking people shopping thru half-empty stores reminded me of scavengers, which is just another form of consumption, when you think of it...

But walking around with two kids is a shopping deterrent in and of itself. Maybe I'll rent them out as part of aversion therapy. Or perhaps they can help increase the aerobic activity of the mallwalkers.

I may have a touch of sancti-mommy, but it's all for the greater good.

Bump a dee dah, bump a dee dah...

Yes, the wagon has wi-fi.

Mandragora has a tour this week: Madison, Milwaukee, Chicago. So we tacked a mini-vacation on to the endeavor. We're at Smokey Hollow, in Lodi, Wisconsin. It was about 3 1/2 hours from the Twin Cities and we arrived last night. For $45 we got bunks in a Conestoga wagon. Finally, I can explain to the kids what "riding shotgun" actually means...

Today the band joins us, so we moved into a spacious yurt, right on the sandy shores of the swimming pond - which is crowded with all sorts of trampolines, slides, floats, and hamster wheels for kids to play in the water.

This is kid-central - and they are loving it. We've been incredibly active - climbing, paddling, pedalling, jumping - just trying to keep up. For the most part, we're having fun too. I'm getting a kick out of the smug and sure knowledge that this is something neither us would have done on family vacations growing up. It's too... hokey, artificial; like a playdate on steroids. But, this is a few days off and doesn't involve airfare or rental cars. And even though they nickle and dime you a bit here and there - in order to use the rental equipment you need a wristband for an additional fee, along with parking an extra car & / or person at the yurt - it's a pretty good value.

The band is out at their gig, the kids have made friends with the neighbors, and I am blogging in my yurt whilst enjoying a cold beer, locally brewed. Not a bad vacation so far.

Happy Trails indeed.

Post Post-Mortem

Well, I had my interview bright and early at the UMMC for a social work position on their Bone Marrow Transplant service. Couldn't sleep last nite but kept the coffee to a minimum this morning, fearing that nervous fluttery talking thing I do...

It was with 2 social workers and a manager (of...?) who seemed quite nice. They are pretty hard core about the interview process - allowing lots of time, 20 multi-part questions about background/ clinical challenges/ strengths/ resources etc., and just when you think that part is over, you take a deep breath, and then they hand you a sheet full of clinical vignettes and ask where you would start and why. Brutal. That's just the first interview. It was an hour and twenty minutes and I had a couple of word-finding difficulty moments, and then a few things I said probably sounded a bit too flippant or glib. These are the soundbytes that I replay over and over, with more intense facial reactions each time, and I wince. I try to remind myself that only about 15% of spoken conversation gets in & encoded, and a few less than elegant turns of phrase over a 80 minute time period, perhaps they didn't even take it in... Plus I talk fast and it was an 8 am mtg. And yes, I'm grasping at straws here. I just need to be okay with the way it was played. I was honest, pretty sincere, warts/worries & all.

They will still be doing more initial interviews next week. And then they start doing second interviews. This might take a while... And meanwhile, I'm left hanging. Yes, I'd be good at the job and my skillset and experience are a pretty good match. And it seems interesting and intense enough I'd like to be able to see myself happily in the same setting for 10 years. Now that I've talked myself into seriously wanting the job, I'm afraid I won't. And if I do get the job, there's another whole host of problems lurking nearby... last-minute childcare worries, after school care, dear God when will I fit the rest of my life in, nothing that working mom's don't do battle with on a daily basis. It's all too much for me to contemplate, much less accomplish.

It's official - I need a stay at home wife.

If I could talk Bob into a polygamy situation, it'd be a win-win. Childcare taken care of, housekeeping and all that fun stuff shared. Oh, and no need to be fashionable or bother with makeup or clothes that aren't made from flour sacks.

These musings are probably only coherent to me, as it's 3 am and I haven't slept in a couple of nights. But, I'm trying to balance my usual crappy point of view with some cognitive restructuring.

Time will tell. My time tells me it's 3 am and the obsessing-over-everything is long past and better spent elsewhere. Like in bed.

The power of Eco-Branding (tm) compels you!!!

I am unsure as to which is the shortest these days: my patience or attention span. Motivation and energy are also in short supply. And inspiration for writing? Nope. Nada. Nil.

Buying second-hand items for a year - who knows? maybe indefinitely? - has been surprisingly easy for me. We live in a metro area where there are many alternatives to the big-box homogenous super-sized life. I have enjoyed the challenge. The true test for me has been continuing my writing about it. I used to think I'd be posting daily and now I'm lucky if I get in a weekly entry that is moderately well-thought out. If I have writer's block, does that mean I'm a writer now? Always wanted to be one...

I have been pleasantly surprised when folks comment about the blog, especially if it's people besides my 10 "followers" which sounds a tad sinister, in a stalker kind of way. And now even Bob admits to reading this... I need to have him install the Google stats thingy. Maybe I'll have more motivation to write; or stage-fright. Either way, I am committed. Or should be.

There is no substitute for conversation to get me going! I'm thankful to all the friends and acquaintances who have been willing to talk about their relationship to stuff and the idea that less is more.

The other evening I got to catch up with my friend Shelley - it's been too long! - and we had one of those far-ranging chats that touched on just about anything and reminded me that the most valuable part of my life is my depth and breadth of friendships. Everyone has a story, a unique perspective, inspiration to share; richness beyond measure. And ... material!!!

(Wander over to YouTube, look up the South Park episode about hybrids. It's hilarious, and we really need to keep things in perspective. Go on, get! This blog isn't going anywhere. Obviously...)

The sustaining part of this project has actually come from the conversations it has started. And being community-minded helps to remind me that the consumption decisions I make impact more than just my family and wallet. In a way, I am harnessing the power of social pressure to support less consumption, instead of more. Conspicuous non-consumption? At least in our part of Minneapolis, it can be a status symbol to drive a lovely hybrid, shop at the co-op, organically garden, belong to a CSA, have your own solar panels, offset your carbon footprint, and find the best things at the thrift stores. ("Like it? Two dollars!!!") For the most part, living with those sensibilities requires more money and time. Imagine doing all your shopping at Whole Foods and you understand why we call it Whole Paycheck.

Instead of nouveau riche, we now have nouveau eco. Yes, we may lack the credibility of folks who have had composting toilets and rainbarrels since the 70's, but we're catching up with a vengeance. And using our resources of time and money to consume less natural resources, even if it doesn't always give a sufficient return on the investment. Think of the Slow Food movement, buying local foods in season, learning to knit - this increased interest in simplicity not because it makes financial sense, but because it raises the quality of daily life. And if we have the relative luxury to spend more time and money living as nouveau eco, don't we have the mandate to do so? i.e. there's no way a family struggling to meet their mortgage is going to be able to pay more for electricity from wind power, so isn't it incumbent upon those who can afford it to do so - as a way of subsidizing the technology so eventually it is more fiscally advantageous? There is always an increased cost to the "early adopters" of any new technology; the next best thing requires a subsidy of sorts, long after the R&D budget is tapped out.

Case in point:

At Macalester College they have a recently installed wind turbine - not a huge one, maybe 30ft. across - that Xcel Energy donated. The plaque says it cost $35,ooo in materials and another $16,000 to install, plus yearly maintenance. I sincerely doubt it will pay for itself, but it's a whirring reminder of the abundant renewable energy that can be harnessed, rather than the coal-fired electricity plants we presently use. The true savings aren't economic, and it's a long-term investment we'll never see pay off.

So if I win the lottery, I'm going to get solar panels installed. And a geo-thermal heat exchange system. Neither of which will ever "pay for itself" in energy savings - why should it? It's not like the luxury SUV's ever gave a good return on investment, over a more economical and efficient car. Folks wanted to drive bigger and better and damn the costs. Why do we invoke the criteria of fiscal soundness only when it's conveniently in line with what we want? Isn't it the American brand of true decadence to indulge in things that don't make financial sense? How can we harness the unbelievable power of the status symbol for good, not evil?

But the status symbol of the tiny carbon footprint; that's priceless. Less smog; more smug.

Thrifting pays

I really meant to go look at borrowing interview clothes from a friend, but stumbled upon some great stuff at Unique. Liz Claiborne, top & skirt, tags still on - $19.95. Another dressy combo, $9.95. Scored two summer p.j. sets for X, $3 each. Feeling celebratory, I find myself picking up other non-necessary crap: two Lego guys for a buck, a bag of awesome vintage buttons for $4, a hello Kitty playset for $3 (cheap plastic crap, but pink and cute nonetheless) and a bag of silk flowers for $.80. Once I got it all home, it seemed terribly extravagant - didn't need a damn thing, other than the clothes.

Turns out the bag of silk flowers were actually leis, which the kids found festive and apparently inspirational - they actually prompted them to busily clean and decorate the back porch. Later, Lily brings me the pendant I've been meaning to string for her and says she found a chain for it, tangled in one of the leis. On closer look, it's a thin but pretty 16 inch white gold chain. With a 1/3 karat diamond pendant on it, and a sparkly one at that.

Not bad for 80 cents.

Of course Lily is pissed I won't let her have it back, invoking the "finders / keepers" clause. And yes, I'm well aware that my gain is at the expense of someone else who probably got a tad foopled at a Hawaiian party and didn't notice 'til later - and then had to explain why she wasn't wearing her starter diamond to her boyfriend/husband/children. It's probably a $100 item, max. And yes, I will give it back to Lily. Before I die. Pinky swear? Cool.

Meanwhile... I'll just take it as karmic retribution for our burglary last year. Can't wait to see what I score next.

Stuff... part MMMCXXVIII

If you have a few minutes and Fark.com hasn't updated recently and you just can't face another game of FreeCell, check out www.storyofstuff.com. We watched it with the kids the other night. It's never too soon to start brainwashing the next generation. If only I would have used that extra-utero-Ipod more selectively...not that classical music is ever a bad thing.

The short video calls into question the amount of stuff we decide to bring into our homes, how we make purchasing decisions, and what we keep. It's mostly well done, in that you wish to not even take in the overwhelming information but keep watching anyways. Some of the statistics provoked a couple of "huh?" reactions, and if the only thing I remember from grad school is how incredibly easy it is to manipulate stats, I will be less resentful about student loans. (admittedly, not a catchy mantra...) The essential point remains - consumer decisions have been shamelessly manipulated to increase consumption since post WWII. And we're playing along, without any evident qualms.

Case in point: the motto of a local car dealer: "Buy happy." I'm sure if it was a commentary on the actual purchasing of said vehicle, it would of course opt for the grammatically correct "Buy happily." but no, I think they're implying that you can purchase happiness. I think I'm somewhere between charmed at the blatant nature, and mortified that I need to follow cars with license plates with that - well - platitude.

Lest I become a SanctiMommy - I was happy to be roused from an afternoon torpor by the FedEx guy to receive a box from Yardiac.com. Full disclosure: I just logged on, whipped out the credit card, and bought a circle hoe. A must have, for any gardener. The ingenious design allows you to take out weeds with minimal soil disruption, even up close to the plants you actually want to keep. Despite our 95 degrees, I was perfectly happy to dig right in.

No, I didn't look for this wonder gadget at the thrift stores. It's plenty obscure, even on-line. And, of course, I can't even find my old one in my own backyard. Darn kids.

In case you're wondering what the cake looked like...

Be careful what you wish for...

Things are feeling a bit shaky at Bob's work again. Just out of curiosity I was perusing social work jobs - and the next thing I know I've up and applied for a position on the bone marrow transplant team at Fairview University. I feel like a Luddite; but applying on-line is kinda slick. It was painless. As soon as I hit "submit" though, I began to feel sick to my stomach. It was some gut reaction to even the possibility of change.

First, I was stuck on what if I'm not qualified and didn't get the job... then, the dawning horror of Dear God what if I DO get the job??? I'm ahead of myself. Why put off 'til tomorrow what you can neurotically obsess about right now?

Obviously, we'd feel more secure with 2 incomes. And I'd really like to be in a position to help out more. I just don't know if it will ever feel good to go back to work, even in the ideal job, because of the guilt that time away from the kids will produce. I don't feel I'm juggling my existing duties particularly well. A "fast-paced, challenging job in a collaborative healthcare environment "for another 4o hours a week might just put me over the edge.

I tell people I'd like to go back to work just so I get to go to the bathroom by myself again.
Sigh.

I got the e-mail yesterday. I'm scheduled for a 4-person panel interview on July 1st. Yikes. That sounds serious.

Next challenge: getting a decent interview outfit. And trying not to lose my lunch.