chock-a-blog

Two weeks ago my friend Ana and I spent the weekend in Bisbee at the Shady Dell (trailer park). This, of course, was a joy in itself. But also joyful was a funny little packed-to-the-rooftop musty-smelling thrift store out on Bisbee Road on the way to the Farmer's Market. I rejoiced in finding Jack a pair of OshKosh jeans for twenty-five cents. A quarter for a pair of jeans! Also found this cool ceramic skull ($1.00) just in time for Halloween.

I'm thinking of sticking it in a planter and growing a vine out of it after the holidays are over. Reminds me of Mandy's Darth Maul mug with the cactus growing out of it.

Though I had a great time in Bisbee with Ana, I was a bit disappointed to have missed our church's third annual rummage sale. I previewed some of the goodies and lamented the fact that I couldn't go to the sale. But I did go to church the Sunday after the sale. The youth group leader---who organized the sale---told us they'd raised more money in this one sale alone than they did in all their fundraising efforts last year. There were still a few items left: things that didn't sell at the sale proper, and things that didn't fit in the Salvation Army truck that came to haul away the leftovers. She invited parishioners to take what they wanted and leave a donation if they wished.

SCORE

big time

first I picked up this hippy ergonomic desk chair. I've always wanted one. I plan to strip this, paint it, and recover it, possibly in Dia de los Muertos fabric, if I can find it. If I ever actually do this, I'll post results.

Then I pondered this purchase. I already have a bike. I bought it full price 15 years ago. It's a Bianchi hybrid, and it served me well. But as I've matured, I've always wanted the classic 3-speed. This fit the bill. Would DH kill me if I brought home another bike? Would I ever ride it? Would it languish on the back patio with the family's other bikes?

who cares?

so I gave a $20 donation and came home with this 3-speed. That delightful Cirque de Soleil dragon was already in the basket.

Never heard of Skeppshult? Neither had I. I looked it up on the Internet: Skeppshult. See? That's me some day. Funky urban dweller coasting a cobblestone path to my little apartment above a corner flowershop, where I write critically-acclaimed short stories, drink endless espressi, and cook exquisite meals for my husband and son. See how happy I am?

Maybe 20 bucks can't buy happiness, but it can buy you a $1595 Skeppshult bike. And a dream.

in which I get knocked down

Sickness saps my energy, both physical and mental. It's surprising, really, how seldom I get sick, since I work in a petri dish. When I do get sick it lays me low and happenings that I might normally take in stride just completely knock me down. Last week I was diagnosed with an embarrassing viral infection, the symptoms of which on their own couldn't possibly have dragged me this deep down: sores in my mouth and throat that blistered and peeled and made every mouthful feel and taste like shredded pennies; an itchy rash around my mouth and nose and on my chest. Compounding that: knees that felt packed in hot wax, the backs of my eyeballs aflame. No fever, so no H1N1. Negative strep. Malaise. But I soldiered (martyred?) through most of the week at work, because I could, and some of the other teachers had to stay at home with their diverticulitis and kidney stones. On Thursday night my laptop died. On Friday night I felt I could deal with my weekend obligations. DH went out of t