Waking up the flies

It's been unusually cold in Petaluma this winter. Although, technically it's still fall, with the first day of winter coming right up on Dec. 21. Still, it feels like winter. We've had weeks of frosty nights up here in the north bay. Today I had to scrape thick frost off my windshield. Brrr!

To help ease the heating bills, I followed this advice: to stick bubble wrap on all the windows. It looks a little funny, but it lets decent light through and makes the place cozier. Check out this instructional video, compliments of PovertyLabs: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqD5fdEj8t8

So the whole project took me a couple of days, and for $65 in materials, I now have double bubble over the windows and two sliding glass doors. There's only one drawback: we have flies.

It took me a while to figure out what was going on. I sprayed on the first layer of bubble wrap: bottle with soapy water and a touch of bleach. Afterwards, I noticed a dozen or so flies flailing around. They're the big ones, giant houseflies, and they're slow and stupid. After the second round of bubble wrap, we had three times as many. I was bubbling Paul's office when I saw them: black slits jammed into the frame of the wide aluminum windows we have, compliments of 1969 construction. The suckers were hibernating. And I woke them up.

I've managed to get a couple out the door. The rest are trying to wedge themselves under the bubble wrap or have succumbed to life in December. My hope is their numbers will dwindle as they find their way back to the slits in the window frames. Fingers crossed.

We're all ready for Christmas around here. Like Thanksgiving, it's going to be a quiet holiday at home. Although there is talk of Elephant Seals next weekend, and sledding in Tahoe the weekend after Christmas. My job, as I understand it, is to make cake. Chocolate. And rewrap the presents that the dog has deemed fit to denude. What a cutie.

Love and light to all. And remember, it's one less week of pre-Christmas mania this year, with a late Thanksgiving, so should be just the right amount of time with Christmas carols. Happy holidays!

Thrift Store Scores - My New Wardrobe

For me, it happens once in a blue moon. There, among the flotsam and jetsam of donated clothing items, something catches your eye. You try it on, it fits, is flattering, in decent shape and nice quality. And it's $3.99. Score!

Well, call it kharma (I must've done *something* right in a previous life), but this week, it's happening over and over. Lucky me!

Because I'm so excited that the universe is smiling on me, clothes-wise, I'm treating you to an itemized list of all my new scores. Such variety! So many cuts and colors! No longer confined to my uniform of jeans and a shirt and a vest (now fraying), I am expansive. Hell, I even bought a sparkly purse with bamboo handles to go with my angel costume for Halloween. One use, who cares? It's still cheaper than a movie. Or a large double latte.

The net net (as they say sometimes) is that I've built an entirely new wardrobe for less than $200. Half of that was my discovery of Kohl's, specifically their shirts and cotton sweaters. The other half was my local Petaluma thrift stores - Alphabet Soup, Sacks and Goodwill.

So, what was my best score?

Value-wise, it might be the Michael Kors 3/4 length raincoat, black, great condition for $10. For pure love, it has to be the Esperanto men's cashmere v-neck - roomy, soft and with only a few holes in the armpits. Don't look! I love it so much I found another one on eBay, and sent the link to Paul as a gift idea. Honey, have you bid on that yet? How about now?

Other scores: Facconable khaki pants, brand new, fit just like I like em. $4.99. Also got some new-looking Athleta wool pants with some funky zips but they're super comfy and slouchy and I have them on right now with tights because the fabric is just a little itchy. Perfect for anytime you want to feel like you're walking around in sweatpants.

Paid top dollar for a new cashmere hot water bottle cover. $15. It still have the tags on from Restoration Hardware. What woman denies herself the pleasure of a little cashmere tickling her toes and she warms her tootsies? Not me, I can tell you.

Levi's jeans, for the barn
Cashmere cardigan, blousy and a very workable tan
Skin-tight Level 99 gray jeans, bizarrely comfortable, for date night. Not jeggings. Jeggings are not allowed on women my age. No one wants to see that. Plus, if you have skinny calves like me they give the strange appearance that you're walking around on sticks and are about to topple over. Not sexy. These have a flare in the leg that look great. I might even wear them out of the house.
Two pair of blue capris for summer
Royal Robbins v-neck green marled wool blend sweater - kicky
White pants for my costume, tight and comfortable. Paul liked them.
Tiangello brown leather purse. Because I don't have a purse.
Calvin Klein black pants, rayon, probably mens. Fit low and the fabric moves beautifully.

Now I just have to figure out where to put all this stuff. Honey, you sure you want to use the extra closet for your shirts?
Love to all,
Judy

The First Day of Fall

In the North Bay, fall feels like spring. The sun is warm and golden, the birds sing and the rain -- after maybe 200 days without it -- is a blessed thing. For once I do not need to water the garden.

But there is no doubt that winter on the way. There's a tiny tree on Broadway St., two blocks from here, with leaves turning scarlet. The mornings are crisp, with a hint of cold to come. I'm starting to wonder how to best cover the fuchsia plant my mother gave me for my birthday so the frost does not do it in. Unlike San Francisco, Petaluma freezes.

This morning Paul is at the flea market, like most Sundays. Henry went to his mother's house at 8am, to spend the day with her and her new boyfriend, Whitney. They've been dating now for two weeks and yesterday, when Paul dropped Henry off, she asked him, still dressed in her pajamas, if he'd like to meet her new beau. Paul declined.

There are other milestones on the horizon. My web project for Dun and Bradstreet is wrapping up, and I'm looking forward to spending more time in the garden, clearing out the tomato plants and picking up the redwood fronds that drop in the raised beds -- and everywhere else. Paul and I have postponed our wedding, probably another year, to give us some more time to get acquainted and learn how to plan together. My next project is my health: all is well, but, as the Buddhists say, it could use some improvement. This month it's my teeth. They've moved in the past few years, and the new situation is not sustainable. SO my regime is jaw evaluation, stabilization and then braces. Nice to get that all done before I turn 50.

To celebrate fall I am cleaning out the tupperware drawer, donating old clothes and reordering my closet. It's good to un-gum the works now and them. We've gotten into camping this summer, our little family, and the equipment continues to pile up in the garage. For instance, I scored a clothes line at the Dollar Store, in case we need to dry towels after a beach day.

Soon I will walk the dog, drop off corks to the neighbor who's taken on art projects for her niece's wedding, and compost the walnuts I picked up from a neighbor's tree, only to learn that they need to be dehusked and then "cured" for two weeks. Then roasted and cracked and cleaned. Needless to say, shelled, roasted and bagged walnuts are looking like a true bargain.

Off to enjoy an episode of Foyle's War. Ta-ta.

Writing class - #1

Writing is difficult. I'm told it's more difficult for people who are good at it. In that case, I should be very, very good. :-)

Over the past 4 months, I have managed to write some story beginnings with the help of a class called Jumpstart. The teacher, Marlene Cullen (thewritespot.us), gives us prompts to get us started, then we write for 20 minutes, and read what we wrote. It's a bit like the essay section of the SAT. There's no time to procrastinate, or get distracted by the laundry or the length of the dog's toenails.

Here's what this morning brought.

Little Blue Boat 

Stanley cradles a wooden sail boat in his lap. "Phwoosh," he says to himself, tipping the deck sideways into imaginary swells. The wooden block bobs and dips, following the undulations of his hand. He carves a turn, wrist flexed, fingers clasped, until the bow faces him. He stares. The boat and he are at an impasse.

Then a huge wave comes and tumbles the boat. The stick of a mast bounces off the floor. Stanley leaves it where it falls, and rolls on his back to stare at the ceiling.

He is on his bed. There is a soft knock at the door and he does nothing. It opens. He does not look when someone sits on the bed next to him. He can feel the tug of the bedspread toward the weight, the impression of flesh pressing on springs. Stanley smells hairspray and power and still he can't look. Though he can see from the corner of his eye the pale flash of Aunt Margaret's hair. He takes a deep breath.

"Hey buddy," she says. "What are you doing up here?" "Playing with my boat," he says to the roof. "Is this it?" She picks it up off the floor. "It looks like it might have had a crash."

"Yeah," he turns over, taking the boat from her hands and dangling his arms over the side of the bed. "It sank."

Aunt Margaret frowns, then her eyebrows lift. "You know that, even when a boat sinks, they can still rescue it," she says. "It just takes someone to know where it went down, and pull it up again."

Stanley looks at her to see if she's kidding. "How do they pull it up?" he asks.

"They have a machine. It's called a winch. What they do is they take a steel cable, and they hook it to the strongest part of the boat. Then they turn a crank, and this winch it pulls the cable in, and that lifts the boat. A winch is very strong. They can use it to pick up boats or cars or even school buses."

Stanley turns the boat over in his hands, rubbing the fading Made in China sticker on the wooden keel. "I came to tell you that your grandma and grandpa are here, and they'd really like to see you. Do you want to come down, or should I send them up?"

Stanley says nothing. Downstairs there is the sound of glassware set on tables, and the clank of china plates being lifted from a stack. There is a dull hum of conversation, here muffled in quiet, sometimes a staccato spike of ebullience, a burbling laugh, almost excited, that can accompany grief.

Aunt Margaret holds out her hand. "Come down for a little while," she says. The sun's out, and we can sit in the garden. You can show grandpa your boat. Did you know he sailed in the Navy?"