This post is basically about nothing. I tried writing and rewriting to make it about something, but I could not.
There are lots of dogs in our neighborhoods. Lots. In high rises and low rises. Around the park and on the streets. There are dogs everywhere.
Where’s a dog?
Can you see him?
Fascinated with what’s below.
And there you have it. Sunday.
Once I added thrifting for vintage Pyrex to my hobbies, I found myself wandering into the book and clothing sections of second-hand stores. And after I found a brand new pair of Banana Republic pants for $2, it was all over. I was hooked.
For me, recycling has never been so fun! Generally, every outfit I wear has at least one thrifted clothing item. More often than not, my entire outfit is from a thrift store. What’s on sale determines my style, and I’m just fine with that.
I now have my favorite stores in Denver (skip the Broadway Goodwill and hoof it out to Leetsdale for better selection and prices) as well as the mountains (do not pass up Summit Thrift and Treasure–check it: one pair of Nike running pants for $1 two years ago. I wear them for every race.)
When my brother first moved to the Bay Area, he talked about this massive Goodwill where clothing and other goods were dumped in rows in a warehouse and folks could pick through them and pay for goods by the pound. I found out places like this exist in Denver too. In fact, we have a few locations right in the metro area where items that do not sell at the retail outlets or are unsalable for some reason (grime, major wear, broken parts or items with missing pieces) come to be sold.
Goodwill Outlet World became my Friday afternoon destination last week with a girlfriend. The first thing we did was read this review. Then, I read more reviews to my momma over the phone. We laughed a LOT. Denver is host to such…descriptive writers.
We arrived around noon. The small parking lot was full and when we walked in, we were immediately overwhelmed. Though the space was probably the size of a regular Goodwill or Arc Thrift Store, there was minimal organization. Basically, five categories existed,
1. Clothes and other fabric items (men, women, children, linens, curtains, covers)
2. Shoes (pairs are zip tied together)
3. Wares (household, toys, game, appliances, tools)
4. Books (99 cents a piece – no bargains here)
5. Seasonal (in our case on Good Friday, Easter baskets, raffia, figurines, candy dishes, candles, tsotchke)
Despite there being a lot of people there, the chaos was generally under control. True to the reviews, when rolling carts are switched out for “new” items, everyone stands back. When the locks are placed on the bin castors, the attendants tell everyone it’s okay to dig and they go to town! There seemed to be quite a few families going through bins together, tossing items to one another and pushing clothing into carts. They wore masks and gloves and aprons. I wondered if they were looking for items to re-sell. There also seemed to be quite a few folks who, like me, were looking to search out a bargain.
Despite the quasi-organization, it was still overwhelming, mostly because there was just so much stuff.
Our visit really got me thinking about the kinds of things we Americans BUY and then throw out. Yikes.
But we did find some treasures, a beautiful wool Pendleton jacket for my girlfriend. Score!
And here’s what I purchased. Yes, that’s a mulberry-colored fanny pack. It’s made for distance running (which some day, I plan on doing more of–right C?) My best finds were a Columbia winter ski hat with the tags still attached, a Melanzana crew shirt (manufactured in Leadville, Colorado!) and a cotton bathroom rug.
Will I go back? Bet your bottom dollar.
We got a call from Ollie’s owner two weeks ago, desperate for a sitter for him while she was in Central America. And because I had somewhat recovered from the soiled rug incident the last time Ollie stayed with us, I told her that yes, we’d watch him for eight days.
He can be a handful, as you, faithful readers, already know.
So I’ll sum up his visit with a few new unforgettable memories of our dear neighbor doodle.
1. It’s a love thing. Ollie just loves. He can’t help it. He loves and licks and loves more. Each time Chris and I settled on the sofa to talk or watch television, Ollie came over, put his front paws on our legs or whatever other body part was available and pulled himself up to sit on us. Whenever we were in two different rooms in the apartment he worried and paced and followed and herded. He is obsessed with contact–mainly of the licking and snuggling varieties.
2. More love. I took a walk with Sarah and Belle at Wash Park on Saturday morning and let Ollie off-leash to visit with Belle, who was going bananas to say “hello” to Ollie. The two frolicked for a few minutes and then a weenie little husky mix puppy came up to join. The husky was on a leash. Ollie licked the husky and then decided that was not enough. Ollie mounted the husky. I was horrified and pulled him off by the collar. The husky owners were very polite, then grabbed their sweet, now violated puppy and bee-lined it in the opposite direction.
3. Love for nature. Sunday’s weather could not be beat. It was warm and sunny with a slight breeze. We were visiting C’s mom and her husband at their home for Easter. Their house has a big pond in the back that attracts geese and ducks. Outside on an Easter egg hunt with the kids, we again allowed Ollie off-leash (we are very, very dense when it comes to caring for this dog and making sure he follows our rules). All of a sudden, I heard a shriek. ”Ollie’s in the pond!” And I turned to see Ollie swimming happily in the pond at the back of the house and geese and ducks scattering to the sky. When he saw me take off my heels and run down the side of the house to get him, he came out of the water, shook off and rolled in the grass. On my way to grab him, I stepped on two goat head thorns.
4. Loving feelings. On our way home from Easter dinner with a then dry Ollie, we decided to spend sunset in the park. We were down to our last few hours with him and the weekend. I have to say, I was grateful to be returning Ollie home. Since the pond incident, Ollie was starting to smell a bit ripe. Of course, the last time we had him, I took pains to make sure we were returning him cleaner than he arrived. This time, I just didn’t have the patience or the energy. He’s a dog. He’s dirty. We reveled in the last few moments of sun rays before the light dipped fell over the mountains and Ollie took one last big roll in the winter grass clippings. He dogged it up.
Cheers and good wishes, dear Ollie. Until next time…
And because we’re who we are, there will be a next time.
This past week I was on the phone with Momma. I asked her what she was up to for the weekend. She said she was helping with our church’s Confirmation retreat for 40 high schoolers, getting ready to make their sacrament. She was baking the retreat treats — 100 Cookies.
The recipe for 100 Cookies came to us because my mother bought too much shredded coconut back in the early ’90s. She purchased five pounds of it through our county food co-op. When it arrived, she was shocked to see how much five un-sweetened pounds of coconut from a co-op actually is.
Momma asked our friend Connie what on earth she should make with all this coconut, and Connie gave her the recipe for 100 Cookies. We fell for them. Hard.
I bake Neiman Marcus Cookies on a very regular basis, and think they’re delish. So I imagine I haven’t baked 100 Cookies since moving to Colorado. Therefore, dear C has never had any. I baked them and brought some to an event we attended up north last weekend. 100 Cookies were a hit. C asked me why he’d never had any of these particular cookies before and requested I skip ever making Neiman Marcus Cookies again. In fact, I imagine if we weren’t married already, he would have just asked me to marry him right then and there. These cookies are that good.
Here is the totally rad recipe from the kitchen of Connie, through my Momma.
1 c. butter
1 c. light brown sugar
1 c. white sugar
1 c. vegetable oil
1 egg
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
3 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp. cream of tartar
1 c. Rice Krispies Cereal
1 c. rolled oats
1 c. coconut
1 12 oz. package semi-sweet chocolate chips
Cream butter, oil and sugars in a stand mixer or with a hand mixer in a large mixing bowl. Add egg and vanilla. Mix. Add soda, salt, flour and cream of tartar. Mix.
Stir in other ingredients by hand, one at a time. Mix well!
Scoop cookie dough to desired size. Bake at 350 for 10 – 12 minutes on a baking sheet. Ensure the bottoms of the cookies are light brown before taking them out of the oven. Cool on a baking rack. Makes 100 cookies. Or thereabout.
“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.” – Matthew 6:5
This week’s story from Auntie Grace is another story about her mother, Catherine.
When Auntie Grace and I were on the phone a few weeks back, she told me of the Rinaldi family who lived across the street from her family in Brooklyn. Mrs. Rinaldi had three girls, and had been on her own since her husband passed away. Grace was good friends with one of Mrs. Rinaldi’s young daughters, Marian. At one time during their childhood, Grace recalled that Mrs. Rinaldi lost her job and Marian expressed worry to Grace. Being so young, Grace just knew in her heart they would be okay and didn’t worry for Marian.
Years later, after Marian had moved out west and become an older lady herself, she was on the phone with Grace and began talking about how wonderful Catherine had been to their family growing up. Grace assumed that Marion meant Catherine had been a comfort and support to Mrs. Rinaldi, emotionally, as a girlfriend. What she didn’t realize, and what Marian told her, was that during that time when Marian’s mother was unemployed, Catherine paid for all the Rinaldi family groceries at their neighborhood market. Catherine had gone to the market after she heard the news of her neighbor’s unemployment and told the grocer to put all of the Rinaldi’s market items on her tab until Mrs. Rinaldi again had a job.
Grace said she was taken aback and told Marian she never knew her own mother had done that. Marian said it was like Catherine to share a quiet charity, and live out her version of the golden rule always.
With M as my guide and sidekick, just like old times, we skied Vail this past weekend.
I often give C and M a hard time about loving on Vail so much. I sometimes find it pretentious, crowded and of course, overpriced.
But then there’s a weekend like this past weekend, where the perfect storm dumps on the valley and it’s been snowing at the peaks for days on end. Weekends like this make me remember why Vail is an absolute paradise for skiers.
On Saturday we skied blues and groomers with Kay and Jessica. On Sunday, sans Kay, the three of us took on the back bowls, filled to the brim with beautiful powder. Even in the late afternoon, after getting off the t-bar at Mongolia, there was so much untapped fresh snow, we could hardly get through it. Right there, on my first descent into Bolshoi Ballroom, I caught an edge ever so slowly and tipped sideways into a soft bed of perfect powder. It was heaven.
Here are some shots of the weekend.
From Blue Sky Basin.
A beautiful, mostly soft, snow fell all day.
Waking up in Gypsum the next morning, we were greeted with a calm, early twilight and no snow! It’s amazing the landscape looks so vastly different just 40 miles west of Vail.
Yelena Bryksenkova. What a talent.
I saw some of her illustrations and went to her site and couldn’t stop scrolling through. She’s incredible. Whimsical. Sweet and charmed, I’m sure.
The colors she uses are muted and puddled and oh, so lovable.
Time for tea and reading and lovely Swedish braids.
And there’s just so much going on here. This piece is representative of a “quintessentially British expression.” Can you guess which one? Hanky Panky. I’d like to see her imagination paint Sixes and Sevens.
Wouldn’t you love to walk right into this illustration and listen? The crickets outside the windows, the purring kitty, the radiator steam.
Visit Yelena’s Etsy shop to browse. So fun! Check out her website and get lost!
I’m doing something right now I very rarely do in the mornings. I’m taking a little time to “coast.”
Last week, Annie told me she got up early, made some coffee, then went back to bed with her mug and did some reading, perused Pinterest and relaxed a little while longer before actually getting on with her morning routine before work. She said her grandfather called it “coasting,” and that’s exactly what it is. (And when you tell people about it, you need to spread your arms out like an airplane, so they understand exactly what you mean.) You could coast for 10 minutes or for a whole day. Today, I’m going to keep my coasting to maybe an hour and a half.
After a wild snowstorm hit Boston yesterday morning and M thought it best to fly out of town early, in order to guarantee she’d be able to ski Colorado by Saturday. She arrived in Mile High around 7 p.m. and I’m so glad to have her. We had a pint and pizza at our pub down the street and were tucked in by 11. Overnight, I felt very hot and opened the window in our bedroom. Though it’s VERY chilly now, it’s just right under the covers. Everything looks white from here in bed. The sky out the window and the walls. Songbirds are chirping in the early morning white and the cold air smells like snow.
This weekend, as M and I make our way to the high country, the state expects another winter storm. I welcome it.
Because I’m coasting and very relaxed, here are some photos from our weekend in the Fraser Valley a few weeks back.
Apres ski on Saturday we took a lovely drive through the valley.
We drove until the road ran out.
My Great Aunt Grace is the matriarch of my father’s family. She’s the last surviving McConnell child, the youngest of a very fun, Irish bunch. She is my grandmother Elizabeth’s sister.
Aunt Grace is full of stories. I like to chat with her about once a week to see what she’s up to and almost every time, she ends up telling me a unique piece of her history, my heritage.
Today our discussion included cleaning stuff out of our lives. She started off by telling me she’s giving many of her LP records to the library for their rummage sale. Then we both commented on how TV news stations in nearly every large city host coat drives for the needy each autumn. It seems common. Stations collect coats at local dry cleaners and the dry cleaners offer their services for free and on a particular weekend, the coats are available to anyone in need, in school gymnasiums and other gathering places.
Aunt Grace grew up in Brooklyn, the only one in her family to do so. The other, older kids, my Grandma Betty included, grew up in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. Aunt Grace was most likely a change-of-life baby…or rather, as she imagines, the one her parents got absolutely right. She stayed single, living with her mother in Bay Ridge.
As we discussed coat drives, she said, “Have I ever told you the story of my brown coat?” I said I didn’t recall, but wanted to hear it.
She started.
Aunt Grace and her mother, Catherine, had a cleaning lady named Mrs. Brown. One particularly frigid Brooklyn evening, when Aunt Grace arrived home from work, Catherine said to her, “Grace, you’re going to need to get yourself a new brown coat.”
Aunt Grace said, “Mom, I already have a brown coat.”
Catherine said, “No, dear, you don’t. I gave it to Mrs. Brown today.”
Aunt Grace said she was immediately furious. ”What! Why did you give away my coat?”
Catherine said, “Because you have a blue one, a black one, and a red one in the closet already. Besides, would you believe Mrs. Brown came here today with nothing but a light jacket over her clothes? You can get another brown coat.”
Aunt Grace continued her sour streak and snapped, “Well, if you gave her the coat I hope you gave her one of my purses to match!”
And Catherine said, “Oh yes, dear, I’m so glad you mentioned it. I did.”
I was surprised when I saw this article posted on Apartment Therapy early this week.
The post is titled Making it Work: Working From Home With Kids. Immediately, I found the headline a bit of a paradox. I think we can all agree it takes oodles of work to keep a household running while wrangling children. And because of this I think it impossible to hold a full-time 40+ hour-a-week job along with acting as primary caregiver. In fact, where I work, I have signed an agreement saying I am NOT a primary caregiver to anyone when I’m working from home. I have also agreed that my work remains seamless whether working in or out of the office.
After reading the article a few times, I came to understand the writer may imply she’s not working a traditional job that’s even close to full-time hours, but she never actually says what job she’s doing or how many hours a week she’s expected to put in or if it’s on a project-by-project basis.
To have a headline like Making it Work: Working From Home With Kids, and then follow it up with this photo gave me the willies. Look at this woman in the photo. She’s got a glass of wine and a bowl of berries in front of her. And she’s wearing a lovely afternoon cocktail dress. She’s working? It looks more like she’s pinning images onto boards called “Suzy’s 5th Birthday Party” or “Backyard Inspiration” or watching The Mindy Project on Hulu. Thank goodness Apartment Therapy explains at the end of the post that this image is actually extracted from a house tour photo session with a gal named Jamie posted a while back on their site. I feel like a more appropriate image could have been chosen.
This is also the kind of post that teeters dangerously on the edge of understanding what work from home actually looks like or is like.
Case in point, my husband was psyched when I became mobile (working away from the office, at home, generally) one day a week. He said to me, ”This is going to be great when we have kids.”
Why exactly?
“I mean, you can be at home when the baby is little and take care of her while you work.”
Oh man. I had to reel him in. I explained that when I’m working at home, I have the very same load I have at the office and while I may be dressed differently (hey, sweatpants!), I am still busy all day. I don’t have time to change a nappy or warm a bottle or entertain a toddler. I hope this made sense to him. I think it did.
Making it Work: Working From Home With Kids? I don’t think so.
Apartment Therapy received quite a few comments from other readers on the topic. Read on!