Paradigm Thrift

Repurposing with good will, Goodwill, and Mondo.

2012-02-09T18:14:00.000-08:00

Last night I had the pleasure of attending the second annual Goodwill Good Exchange for Change Fashion Show and Clothing Swap. I went to last year's event as well, which was a complete blast.

And this year's night of repurposed glitz and glamour didn't disappoint.

Here's how the Good Exchange works. Buy a ticket, bring 10 items you no longer want, enjoy food, beverages, music and swag during the cocktail hour, watch a fabulous fashion show featuring creations by up-and-comers who design new looks from Goodwill finds, then go shopping in the boutique that's been created with everybody's stuff. Bring 10 items, take 10 items. Everybody wins.

As for the particulars of last night, my experience was a series of lovely, providential moments.

Because of this crazy-fabulous thrifty-bloggy world I've created, as well as the good will from Goodwill's media relations manager Vanessa, I got a press pass for last night's event.

Serendipitously, I found a spot next to lovely Renee, who was there to cover the event for her magazine.

She knew that there was some Mondo Guerra face time planned, so when the time was right, I tagged along.

I had a few minutes with Mondo, during which I snapped this picture. I asked him about the future of thrifting, based on the overwhelming interest in the evening's event. He mentioned that "repurposing is the future. Taking something and making something new, giving it new life, seeing things creatively, is what going green is all about."

Bravo, Mondo.

I got caught up on Project Runway All Stars today, and I thought it was fitting that Mondo won last week's challenge. The designers had to find a fashion muse in Union Square Park in New York and convince them to give them the clothes off their back. Then the designers used those garments to create new fashion.

During that episode, Mondo explained that thrifting is "how I started designing and learning how to make patterns. I would go to thrift stores and buy a bunch of crap and take it home and rip it apart and see how it was constructed, and I'd turn it into something new for myself."

That is, at its essence, what repurposing (aka thrifting) is all about.

If you widen the net, it's what life is all about. Seeing the possibility in the ordinary.

But I digress.

Long and short, in addition to Mondo, I met a whole bunch of other people last night, all of whom were just as jazzed about the lovely, creative, generous, repurposeful world that thrifting creates.

Everyone has a story.

Camille is a business person, and seemed somewhat offput at first when I asked her what brought her to last night's event. Then her thrifting stories started flowing. She explained how she'd found a Chanel bag at a thrift store for a few bucks. She shared why she'd shed her emotional baggage last night by donating 10 items that were steeped in bad mojo.

There was Sarah, the personal organizer. She helps people get rid of their stuff, and Goodwill is her drop-off destination.

There were men and women, young and old, fashionistas and folks like me in attendance last night.

And I think everyone had a wonderful time.

So much good, so much good will, so much repurposing on so many levels.

According to Vanessa, 700 people attended last year's event, and it was sold out. This year, 900 people were in attendance, and last night's event was also sold out.

I was chatting with some folks who mentioned they thought the event could sell out the Convention Center.

That's how much people love to repurpose.

I completely concur about the Convention Center idea. And it makes my heart happy to know that so many people are repurposeful.

Being thrifty, being repurposeful, is a singular focus until that focus is broadened. And last night definitely broadened the focus.

The case for the verb of thrifting as a lifestyle, not an addiction.

2012-02-08T08:35:00.000-08:00

Life presents so many addictive carrots. Caffeine. Meth. Cigarettes. Shopping. Gambling. Alcohol. Sex. Food. Thrifting.

What the what? Thrifting?

I heard a recent discussion in the media that offered up thrifting as a potential addiction.

Unlike the shame and chaos a meth habit can generate, people who are addicted to thrift are usually proud to announce their proclivity openly and proudly.

It's a fairly new, novel addition to the addiction list, primarily because thrifting has only recently become fashionable. The noun of thrift has become a verb. Anyone who's tried to find a parking space at a Goodwill on half-price day can verify that thrifting has become a cultural phenomenon.

And thrifting as a verb has only recently been woven into our cultural lexicon. Wiki says that "It's interesting that thrift, with roots as a noun, formally remains a noun by today's English standards. Though it is not a proper verb, thrifting or to thrift has found place in modern American language out of necessity."

Although I've not been able to find any verifiable evidence on my magical computer box that thrifting has been identified as a potential addiction, shopaholics walk among us.

A-forever-recovery.org explains that "compulsive shoppers use their money, their family's money and credit cards in order to feed their addiction. Shopping addicts are two sorts of people: people who spend way beyond their funds and people who constantly think about making purchases and window shop daily."

Definitely not a Third World problem.

It's true that, when left unchecked, any behavior can get ugly. And in the case of chronic thrifting, it can turn into the verb of hoarding, which isn't good http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2010/11/dazzle-brief-history-of-hoarding.html.

But most people who thrift, including myself, aren't the compulsive, wild-eyed, must-have hoarding type.

Because I and so many others just like me understand that thrifting as a verb creates a panoply of other wonderful action words. Saving money. Living happily with less. Nurturing personal contraint. Appreciating value in something someone else no longer wants. Snagging a great deal.

Long and short, the verb of thrifting is, for most people, a conduit to a less stressful life. It can be the antithesis of addiction.

I love the verb of thrifting, and I know its place in my life. For me, thrifting is a treasure hunt, it's been an education, sometimes it's a distraction, it's an income stream. I'm not an addict to the verb of thrift.

That's probably what an addict would say.

Thrifting gone wild. Spare no expense.

2012-02-03T13:07:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was Errand Day, and one of the items on my To Do list was to find a place that could work some magic on the cool chair I found a few weeks ago at a thrift store in Greeley (http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2012/01/post-modernists-dream-for-under-10.html).

I'd done what I could with the chair. I'd removed the upholstery, which revealed a piece of plywood that had been crudely fashioned to act as the chair's seat. The plywood was topped by a thick piece of foam, covered by ugly 1970s upholstery. I found a piece of fabric, got out the staple gun, and tried all the tricks I knew before I realized this project was way past my skill set.

So Kirk and I brought the chair to a furniture refinishing place I found on google. I'd given up on thinking there was anything to be salvaged when it came to the plywood and foam.

Just like the chair, the place that's refinishing it is definitely a find.

The guy (let's call him Dave) who helped us loved my chair. And he was like a furniture detective. We all presented clues on how we thought the seat was originally crafted, and judging from the fact that all four sides feature slits in the wood and multiple holes underneath, we determined that the seat had originally been woven, not upholstered.

So we narrowed it down to a weave. Then it was time to pick a material.

Dave had a kind of a lightening-bolt moment when he told us about this lady who'd seen a handbag made of seat belt material. She liked the idea so much that she had her kitchen chairs reupholstered with the stuff, and they looked fantastic.

I was sold. I like the idea that the material we chose is so incongruous.

So the seat of the chair will be woven with 2" black seat belt webbing. The chair's going to be refinished to its natural teak luster. Dave and his people are going to reinforce the legs and do other acts of magic to make this chair look as good or better than it did when it was made in 1969.

Then it was time to do some math. Dave crunched some numbers. Restoring the chair will cost me $496.

I've done my taxes, and I'm getting a bit of a return. So I'm sinking some of my money into this little project. Sometimes, I justified, it's okay to spare no expense.

I asked Dave if he needed a deposit. He said no, the chair was my deposit. Because he said that, even in its current state, the chair is worth a whole lot more than what I'll be paying to restore it.

As we were leaving, I told Dave that I bought the chair for 8.99 at a thrift store. I think, based on his reaction, his mind was a bit blown.

And four to six weeks from now, I'll pick up my new old chair. I can't wait to sit on the seat belts.

This is probably the least thrifty thing I've done in a long time, spending hundreds of dollars on a thrift store find. But I think it will be worth every penny.

Looking for something familiar.

2012-02-01T18:16:00.000-08:00

Some days are all smiles.

Some just aren't.

When things aren't going well with the Right Now, when what should be connected is disconnected, where do you go?

I was just looking for the familiar. I was looking for some connection.

So I checked in on my kids' Facebook pages. Neither one of my kids is here right this minute, but I wanted a moment of connection.

Maybe 483 million people and I aren't quite so alone. That's how many people reference their Facebook page every day, according to the Baltimore Sun.

And Facebook is doing the IPO thing in May. Billions will be raised, purely on our need to look for something familiar, right this minute.

Again, I must interject that I remember vividly what is was like to merely have a phone on a wall connected to a cord when it came to connection.

Now, thanks to someone young enough to be my kid, I can find something familiar in the blink of an eye.

It's oddly comforting.

So when May comes around, maybe I'll dip my feet in the well. Maybe I'll invest in what's brought me closer to the familiar tonight, in its odd, makeshift, disconnected, cassette-tape kind of way.

Because when interesting times require creative, disconnected measures, there's always Facebook, especially when you're looking for the familiar.

And tonight, Mr. Zuckerberg, you're worth every penny.

Heading back to the start.

2012-01-30T09:57:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, a road paved with good intentions can take an unexpected turn.

I decided a while back to pull up stakes on Paradigm Thrift, in order to point my bloggy sites in a different direction.

I started a blog about parenting my son, with the approval of the son in question. After the ball got rolling and I'd cranked out some entries, he asked that I stop. He told me that it made him feel uncomfortable to read my perceptions about his life.

I have the utmost respect for my son, and I'm grateful he was able to tell me how my writing was making him feel.

Words are powerful, beautiful, sometimes benign, sometimes evocative, interesting creatures.

And I'm going to continue to churn them out on the Paradigm Thrift site. I still have so much to write about - the blackboard in my bedroom is becoming dusty with new ideas.

So for the readers who visited and began to follow my new blog, thank you. For the thousand or so folks who hit on this blog when I wasn't posting anything new, who chose to continue to follow after I said I was heading somewhere else, thank you. I hope you all stick around.

Because the map continues to unfold itself when it comes to this site, and I have a lot of ground to cover.

A post modernist's dream, for under $10!

2012-01-20T08:40:00.000-08:00

My sites are pointed in a new bloggy direction, but I have to share what I found yesterday!

I was in Greeley to visit my son, and of course I had to visit the ARC. I went before I saw Connor, and I saw this chair. I mulled it over, but didn't buy it. I certainly don't need another chair.

But on my way out of town, I couldn't help myself. I stopped by the ARC again, and there it was. God-awful upholstery, but I loved the design. So I coughed up the 8.99 and bought it.

When I got home, I tore off the fabric, which was most likely in fashion somewhere in the '70s. I was looking for a label or sign that might give me a clue as to who made this unique piece.

There's a label that indicates this chair once was the property of Colorado National Bank. I imagined a man the likes of Darren Stevens sitting on the chair, wondering if his loan had been approved.

And there's a date, hand-written underneath. 8-22-69.

Then I did a bit of googling. I started with a 'mid century chair' search, which led me to several other places, which ultimately led me to the work of Hans Wegner. The chair is aptly called The Chair in Wegner circles.

I 'm not 100% sure of its authenticity, but if it's a Wegner, it's worth a whole heck of a lot more than 8.99.

Score!

I'm going fabric hunting today.

So now it's back to the other blog, until which time I trip across something else I just have to share! Please join me at my other site, and stay tuned! I never know what I might find next!

http://straighttalkmary.blogspot.com/

New year, big changes.

2012-01-17T20:26:00.000-08:00

So you may have noticed that I haven't posted a blog since before Christmas.

There's a reason for that.

I've been grappling with the idea of continuing with the Paradigm Thrift for a while. Like leaving a child at a fire station because you can't nurture it any more, it's been a tough choice, letting Paradigm Thrift go.

Especially considering I've had such amazing support for what I've done over the past two years. The rants. The discoveries. The experiments. Who can forget Free Time? I was on the tee vee, for God's sake. The month of Cents and Sensibility. The philosophizing. All the good information I've found, just by poking around. I've learned so much.

But I have a lot more to learn, and a lot more to say.

I gladly welcome my old audience, and my new audience, to visit the place I'm choosing to put myself next.

straighttalkmary.blogspot.com/

I'm changing my focus with the advent of the new year. I've had thoughts and ideas bubbling around in my noggin about this topic for a while, and I think it's only right I give it some time.

I welcome you warmly to my new location.

As for the time I've spent with Paradigm Thrift, the site's not disappearing. It's simply changing shape. Its content will be available for the next few months. Then it will most likely be turned into an ebook. So take what you will from what I've learned. And rest assured - I'll let you know where you can find Paradigm Thrift in the future.

Like a baby that's hard to maintain, what I've created is too good to let go. So I'll find a way to keep it.

But my new site is where I'd like to head next.

Please come along with me.

Do you hear what I hear? It's that time of year for Christmas songs.

2011-12-11T16:57:00.000-08:00

Every year in the recent past, I've vowed to count just how many times I hear Christmas songs over the course of the season. The ubiquitous nature of holiday music definitely begs the question.

And this year, I decided to count.

My first taste of holiday music was served up on November 13, way before Thanksgiving. Between then and now, I've tried to count every Christmas song I've heard. And I'm sure I've heard more songs than I've written down.

I've stopped, stalk-still, more than once this holiday season, wherever I've happened to be, in order to make note of another Christmas song. I've stopped at the grocery store. At work. I've made note while listening to holiday hold music.

Long and short, I've heard at least 123 holiday songs since November 13.

That's 123 songs in 19 days. That's 6.47 Christmas songs every day. And there are two weeks to go until Christmas.

Frankly, I think my numbers are skewed a bit low.

Because the 123 total thus far doesn't take into account that I've seen The Nutcracker twice this season. I figured I sought those songs out, so it wasn't an organic reflection of what I'd normally hear just by going about my day.

I didn't add the songs I sing or whistle during those colorful moments when I'm drenched in the Christmas spirit.

Everything might nicely be balanced if it's taken into consideration that I don't watch television or listen to conventional radio. I'm sure my 123 would go up considerably if I'd been logging holiday ads and Christmas specials into my total.

I'm obviously not a conventional retail shopper, but apparently the presence of Christmas songs in a retail environment boosts sales figures. And interestingly, people seem to want it that way. According to music research experts, "a remarkable 95 percent of consumers said they prefer shopping with in-store (Christmas) music. Among this group, four out of 10 prefer to shop where Christmas music is playing rather than music they already know and like." http://www.musicworksforyou.com/in-store-music/christmas-music-does-it-work.html.

Despite the anti-consumerism direction I could go with that information, I prefer to refer to the three reasons why people like to hear Christmas music this time of year, according to the article.

First, Christmas music is emotionally evocative. It reminds us of time happily spent with loved ones.

Second, listening to a Christmas song is "a mass-karaoke experience... with 53 percent of respondents saying that they often sing along to Christmas songs."

Guilty as charged, as I mentioned before. No other time of year are people like myself prone to breaking into a Christmas song, either by singing along with the holiday Muzak or by quietly whistling Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas just because it feels good.

Third, Christmas music is unifying. Everyone knows the words to White Christmas, and there's a cultural understanding that we all get it. There seem to be few things we collectively get any more, but knowing the words and feeling the sentiment of a holiday song seems to compel us as a culture to feel like we're all in this together.

Stop the presses - I need to update my Christmas music tally of 123.

I've been listening to Christmas music while I've been writing this, and I'll be adding 18 more songs to my total. The first song out of the gate tonight was perfect for the tenor of my kind of holiday: Nancy Wilson's That's What I Want for Christmas.

I'm grateful for being loved. That's all I need or want.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6C8Y4k32LIU.

So I've heard 141 Christmas songs so far this season. Rum-pa-pum-pum.

Enjoy the music.

Christmas on the cheap. Let's get crafty.

2011-12-04T19:08:00.000-08:00

Last time, I wrote about Christmases past.

My mom loved Christmas. The interior of her house, from the day after Thanksgiving to the week after New Years, looked like Santa threw up all over the place. She'd spend lots of money and many hours shopping and wrapping and preparing for what was her favorite time of year.

Christmas gave her a good excuse to give.

But times have changed. My holiday iteration is a bit different from the Christmas tradition of liberal gifting my mom established.

Shopping has never been the same since my mom's been gone, so I have little interest in the lure and sparkle of malls or big box stores.

And I'm not fond of crowds.

So needless to say, I don't do the typical kind of holiday gifting.

If your budget is tight and your fuse for high-voltage consumerism is short, I've got a few suggestions when it comes to giving on the cheap:

Get crafty. I have a few vintage typewriter keys that fell off a very old Remington I bought for $5 this summer at a garage sale. The keys are a perfect fit for these totally cool barrette/hair pins I found in Portland for .50 a piece. Once I got home and got busy, I quickly ran out of these cool hair things. I found a lot of 50 of this exact same item on ebay for $4, free shipping. So I'll have plenty of inventory.

In addition to the barrette potential, I have a bag of unused beer bottle lids, old board game pieces, vintage sheet music, light switch covers, dominoes, scrabble tiles, broken jewelry, hotel room numbers, so much more. My collection of hot-glueable and Mod-Podgeable items is embarrassingly immense. The photo shows just a smidge of what awaits whoever participates on a Crafty Day.

When I commit to create, I can make items for people with their particular taste in mind. I can't go into a tremendous amount of detail (I don't want to spoil anything for a few of the folks of my Christmas list), but let's just say that every piece I've made is one-of-a-kind, somewhat off-beat, and chosen specifically for the person who's on my list.

And I'm not the only one who's getting in the crafty spirit. A friend came over last week to make some presents and have some fun, and my 18-year-old and his friends joined us. We had a great time.

In other words, the process of making presents for people can be as memorable as what you create.

You're so handy! The other day, someone asked me what I wanted for Christmas. At the time, I was overwhelmed by the broken tiles on my kitchen floor, the outlet that only occasionally works and my clothes dryer that made a sound like I was drying a load of rocks.

I mentioned that I'd love the gift of time spent by a handy friend. Just a day, maybe less. They'd fix stuff that's way beyond my skill set, I'd make lunch, we'd chat - it sounded like a dreamy Christmas miracle.

So there's a thought. If you're handy and you want to give a really great gift, offer up a few hours to someone who's not quite so bright when it comes to fixing stuff. It costs nothing but time, and take it from me - it's a gift that would be highly appreciated.

Think outside the box. We can all feed the Big Box stores with our ching, or we can go local. Give a gift card or a certificate from a small shop or business in your area. Give an oil change, a haircut, a night out at a local restaurant, tickets to a play. Keeping your gifting money local does a service for your area's economy, and it might invigorate your friends and family to try something new; to step out of the box.

Go live. Last year, I blogged about the coolest thing I got for Christmas (http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2010/12/whats-coolest-thing-you-got-for.html).

And although the catalogue I recently received from Heifer had a bit of grandiosity on its cover ("The Most Important Gift Catalog in the World"), I don't dispute its sentiment. Contribute on behalf of the folks on your holiday list and you'll measurably change things around the world, for people who would otherwise have almost nothing. Heifer makes a difference.

Get cooking. Tasty homemade treats are such a great gift idea, especially for those of us who have no culinary proclivities. Going one step further with a gift certificate for a homemade meal, especially for busy moms or families in need, is a great way to share without breaking the bank.

And, like crafting, baking, giving away time or keeping your money local, there are a myriad of other ways to show how grateful you are for having good people in your life that don't require spending a lot of money.

Which brings me back to my mom.

My mom was an exception in so many ways.

I'd give anything to spend another Christmas in her presence. Not for what she bought me, but for what she gave me.

Ultimately, she taught me that it doesn't require deep pockets to find gifts that are filled with meaningful, thoughtful, loving intention.

Keeping Christmas simple, part one.

2011-12-01T18:55:00.000-08:00

Black Friday and Cyber Monday are over, and despite this rocky economy, people seem to have money in their pockets, or at the very least a balance on their credit cards. Because as you may have heard, this holiday shopping season has begun with vigor (http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-11-26/consumers-in-u-s-release-pent-up-demand-amid-brisk-black-friday-traffic.html).

Right: me (left) and my sister, posing for our family Christmas card in 1964, each in our own way. Note the matching outfits.

Despite the direction I've turned in recent years, I was raised on retail, especially during the holiday season. My parents were devout Lutherans way back then, and my mom was a seasoned shopper. She was crazy about Christmas, primarily because the season signified the birth of Jesus.

And because the holiday season is a time for giving, it gave her a great excuse to go shopping.

My sister and I received lavish and abundant Christmas gifts well into our 30s. Each gift was chosen with care. It was obvious that many miles were traveled in search of what she'd intuited (usually with Kreskin-like accuracy) that we'd want. And she was usually right.

Her mobility waned the Christmas before my mom died, but her enthusiasm for gifting was still in high gear. She couldn't afford to spend energy walking through malls and big box stores.

So the last Christmas my mom was on this crazy planet, my sister and I each received one gift.

We each received a box filled with gift cards from every store we frequented. She and my dad drove all over the city collecting gift cards for my sister and me.

That box of cards, filled with the intention of shopping, complete with the knowledge of what I really liked, was the best present I've ever received.

Because it took effort. Time. Knowledge. Intuition.

And money.

Hopefully, I have the intuition. I definitely have the energy. But I don't necessarily have the financial resources my parents had.

But meaningful giving can be done on a budget. Despite the early shopping modeling I received from my mom, I've realized that everyone can be appropriately gifted without attending a Black Friday or Cyber Monday sale. Everyone can get what they want without going in the red.

And I'll go into the crafty world of artful giving next time.

But for now, I pay a bit of an homage to my mom. She was a shopper. She was a giver, and she loved All Things Christmas.

As an added bonus, she had deep pockets.

For those of us who don't (read: most of us), I'll chat soon about living richly during difficult times.

It's possible.

All it takes is a bit of a paradigm shift.

Rules of engagement. A few words about time.

2011-11-25T21:42:00.000-08:00

Time will do the talking,
Years will do the walking.
I'll just find a comfy spot and wait it out...

Patty Griffin

After ten days off, I go back to work tomorrow.

Ten days ago, I saw ten full days off like someone who's dehydrated sees a glass of water. A necessary thing.

This past ten days has been a brief step off the wheel. A refreshing drink of water.

And whoosh. Ten days went by in a flurry. Miles were covered, events were attended, friendships were refreshed.

It all seemed to go so fast.

Not unlike summer turning into winter seemingly overnight, time seems to have taken on a disquietingly speedy tenor as the years go by.

Of course I'm not the first person to think that time seems to be going a whole lot faster. Everyone from Homer Simpson to NPR has posited that time seems to fly faster the more it's been accumulated (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=122322542).

The bottom line seems to indicate that the more experiences we ferret away, the faster we seem to perceive them.

That doesn't fully explain why ten days off seemed to fly by like they were lumped into one fantastic memory jumble.

It doesn't speak to why there are days that seem to last forever.

This whole time thing may come down to simple economics.

Saving time.

Spending time.

For instance, sometimes time is saved by doing one thing in order to spend time doing something else.

And there are other times when time is spent in an attempt to save time later.

But there's another component.

Engagement.

Time seems to go much faster when what you're doing is truly engaging. Captivating. Compelling.

And maybe, as we age, we identify and understand more fully the value of captivating moments.

Being truly engaged and interested in the time you're spending is a double-edged sword. The more you're engaged, the faster time seems to pass.

What I've realized lately is time's going way way too fast. So I can try to save it, unthinkingly spend it, or try to slow down and engage.

And tomorrow it's back to work, back to real life.

I want to slow time down a notch. Even the unexciting, rote, unappealing parts.

I've decided I want to enforce a few more rules of engagement.

Black Friday is morphing into Black Thursday. More on Thanksgiving shopping and being grateful.

2011-11-16T18:25:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving.

It's a time for being grateful. It's a time to celebrate kindness, goodness, friends, family, abundance. It's a time to drink a generous mouthful from our collective glass-half-full goblet of good fortune.

When it comes to holidays, Thanksgiving ranks second in popularity, just behind Christmas, according to rankopedia (Christmas, 79.12, Thanksgiving, 59.38. http://www.rankopedia.com/Favorite-U.S.-Holiday/Step1/3068/.htm).

Everyone has a different intention behind why they prefer one holiday over another. But Thanksgiving seems to have such a genuine motivation. Get together with people. Contemplate the goodness in your life. Give to others. Bake. Cook. Eat. Chat.

Aside from deep grocery store discounts, Thanksgiving seems to remain somewhat untouched by the strong arm of consumerism and acquisition.

Because it's a holiday that's about being thankful, for god's sake. How uncomplicated is that?

Until this year.

This year, many of us will feel compelled to excuse ourselves from the table of thanks a bit early.

Because Black Friday (aptly named because this day puts retailers in the black) has historically unleashed the consumerism tiger.

This year, our culture is apparently deciding to open the cage of seasonal acquisition a day early.

On Thanksgiving.

If you haven't heard, most major retail chains and big box stores have decided to start Black Friday discount shopping on Thanksgiving.

And thankfully, a whole lot of people are fighting back.

A kind of an Occupy Thanksgiving thing, if you will.

Target employee Anthony Hardwick doesn't want to work on Thanksgiving. He wants to spend time with his family. And he's started a movement that's generated over 100,000 signatures in an attempt to convince retailers that people can wait a handful of hours so that he and everyone else can just stop and enjoy some time being thankful http://abcnews.go.com/Business/target-retail-employees-fight-thanksgiving-openings/story?id=14963563#.TsRYOGDaicc.

Regardless of how Anthony feels, some stores will be open all day on Thanksgiving.

And retailers have couched this shift by pinning it on consumer demand, but I think that's a load of crap. One Walmart exec mentioned recently that this shift was generated because customers asked for it. Because it's more convenient to stay up later rather than get up earlier.

I don't buy that line of bull.

And I'm not alone.

But the statistics tell the holiday spending tale.

Retailers generate up to 11% of holiday sales on Black Friday weekend (http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/business/2011/11/black-thursday-stores-opening-doors-on-thanksgiving-day/).

Part of me is reminded of my last entry - the one where Thanksgiving was moved up in the FDR days in order to invigorate a lifeless economy (http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2011/11/let-wild-rumpus-start.html).

It all seems too coincidental.

Apparently, according to somebody, we must procure.

The sooner the better.

But we don't have to.

My only comment: STOP.

Be thankful. Revel in what you have, not what you might get at a deep discount, that you probably don't even need. Think about people who don't have, and be thankful that you do. Think about keeping your money, your time, your need to get get get.

Be thankful.

Let the wild rumpus start.

2011-11-12T18:45:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned in my last entry, it seems that the official crazy shopping season started just as the kids were sorting the Snickers from the Smarties on Halloween.

Christmas is coming, and the season of acquisition has officially begun.

But, as we're reminded multiple times every day - by the media, the advertising, or maybe simply by checking our bank balance - times are hard.

So A+B doesn't always to add up to C.

Where are people coming up with all this money to buy all these things we all seem to so desperately need?

The short answer is obvious.

A whole lot of folks simply don't have the money they used to have.

And that's translating into numbers when it comes to sales. According to the National Retail Federation, retail sales projections for 2011 are holding at 4 percent, up from 2010's 3.5. This forecast (which excludes cars, gas and restaurants), is "cautiously optimistic", and "comes on the heels of seven consecutive months of retail sales growth and better than expected holiday sales."

But as I've mentioned before, challenging times bring out the creative in people.

Which might explain a few things.

According to a recent Seattle News 5 report, nationwide sales at Goodwill stores are up 7 percent. I've read other articles that put it closer to 11 percent.

That number doesn't take into account other thrift chains, garage sales, estate sales, craigslist, and most likely a myriad of other creative ways people tend to navigate through a tough economy.

Have you been to a mall during the day lately?

It's easy to find a place to park, unless you get caught in the net of a freaky-crazy sale.

Have you been to a Goodwill, an ARC or a local thrift store lately?

Sometimes it's not so easy to find a place to park. The aisles are becoming increasingly crowded with fancy-looking people.

It's true. The demo at a thrift store is often that of a Nordstrom or Macy's.

Because people who know brands, who understand quality, who get that there are treasures to be found, can do all kinds of shopping on the cheap.

Thrifting is catching on. Even during the holidays.

Who wouldn't want this tasty item under the tree?

It's a KitchenAid Model KS-A mixer with more attachments than a master baker could use on a good day. I love the color. Kind of a mid-century yellow-green. If you do a bit of digging, you'll see this is a valuable bit of kitchen goodness.

My cost? 14.99 at a thrift store. This would have cost me hundreds of dollars if I'd have bought it at a retail store.

As I mentioned, any savvy shopper knows a good brand when they see it. Times may be tough, but good sense and a fistful of knowledge is tougher.

I do have to share the photo of the chair I found the same weekend I claimed my new mixer.

I had no idea when I bought this chair that it's a recliner, but it is. It's comfortable, very substantial, and it was made right here in America. And when I did a bit of research, I realized that, if I bought it new, it would have cost me almost a grand.

My cost? $10 at a yard sale.

I'm not sure how many folks want a lovely recliner under the tree this season, but that's not really the point.

The point is that people are getting it. They're beginning to understand that there's a usefulness, a true value in finding, using or giving priceless artifacts that are found on the cheap. The initial cost doesn't decrease the item's intrinsic worth or value. The item simply changes hands, and everyone gets what they want.

Thrifting is no longer an embarrassment. For some, it's a curiosity. For a fraction, it's an income. For others, it's a necessity. For a big chunk of people who used to think nothing of buying items at retail prices, spending time and money very generously at a mall is merely a memory.

According to the parking spaces and the numbers, a larger percentage of us has let the wild rumpus start. These folks have stepped out of the box.

And based on the information I've acquired, there are a whole bunch of people who are understanding the value of value.

I'm just looking for a place to park.

A Thanksgiving retail retrospective.

2011-11-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned in one of my last entries, I've eliminated the magical television box from my house (http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2011/10/cutting-cord-few-words-on-life-without.html). But I do watch a few shows on my computer, and I do see my share of ads.

Recently, I saw my first holiday pitch of the season. Sears is apparently having a huge Holiday sale soon, and many things will be deeply discounted.

It's not even Thanksgiving, and retailers have already begun to feed us a generous helping of Christmas food.

It seems that Christmas comes earlier and earlier every year.

But I've learned that's no big surprise.

This crazy consumerism started way back in 1939, when Roosevelt was president. Way back then, our country was in the midst of an economic depression. And there was World War II to think about.

Sound familiar?

But let's back up a bit.

Abraham Lincoln actually saved the date for Thanksgiving in a very official Thanksgiving Proclamation. He'd made official what George Washington had floated: that November 26 would be a day of "public thanksgiving and prayer" for this new, fantabulous nation we'd created.

Lincoln just made it official, in 1863.

Fast-forward 75 years. Now Roosevelt's in office. And, not unlike our current situation, things weren't looking good. The economy was in the tank, and there was that unsavory War to think about.

Folks were reluctant to spend.

But retailers seemed to have a bit of sway with FDR. They created something akin to a shopping lobbyist organization. A consortium of retailers convinced Roosevelt to move Thanksgiving up a week on the calendar. They thought that changing the date would compel people to let loose of some of their money. Reinvigorate the economy.

It's become somewhat of a trend.

And we seem to have moved the retailing yardstick as time has passed.

Now, we're fed a steady diet of consumerism weeks before we carve the Thanksgiving turkey.

Perhaps it's a reflection of the times.

Or maybe we can tip our cap to FDR.

History seems to repeat itself, whether we know it or not.

Because desperate times call for desperate measures.

Recycling comes in many forms. Case in point: Haunted.

2011-11-02T06:41:00.000-07:00

In the interim between now and when I finish researching and writing my next new entry, I thought I'd recycle an entry I posted last April. Between then and now, I've done occasional digging through the Goodwill Outlet bins, and I've found my share of treasures. But few have been more memorable and educational than this collection of records. It's amazing and haunting, the pieces of the past that people throw away...

Mr. Fabulous and I hit the bins on Saturday, and I happened across two volumes of 78 rpm records. I had no idea who many of the artists were on the records that were in each volume. The records just looked really really old, and I couldn't pass them up. Each volume, each containing several records, was 49 cents.

I started doing some research, and these dusty old books filled with heavy 78s were well worth the dollar I spent.

I learned about Bert Williams, who was an African American vaudevillian entertainer who actually put blackface over his black face in an effort to deal with racial prejudice. I had no idea who he was when I found one of his records among my bins finds.

But he was considered to be the most influential African American entertainer of the early 1900s. He was a tormented man. W.C. Fields described Williams as, "the funniest man I ever saw, and the saddest man I ever knew."

And there was a recording by Marie Dressler, titled Rastus Take Me Back, which was highly racially charged. This song was among her "coon song favorites." Dressler was an acclaimed Broadway and early film actress at the start of the 1900s. She worked with Charlie Chaplin, Greta Garbo and their contemporaries. Marie even won an Academy Award in 1931 for the movie Min and Bill.

And she didn't even start her career until she was 42.

Then there's the flip side of Marie Dressler's record. It's a little number called I Don't Care by Eva Tanguay.

Eva Tanguay apparently had a distinctively average voice, but she made up for it with a robust, suggestive, enthusiastic delivery. Her songs, their lyrics and her lifestyle symbolized The Emancipated Woman.

She was the Lady Gaga of her time. She loved creative costumes, and in 1910, a year after the Lincoln penny was introduced, she appeared on stage in a coat made of the coins. She had another costume made entirely of dollar bills.

Brittney Spears may have taken a page out of Eva's How To Get Noticed handbook. Eva got her name in the papers by allegedly being kidnapped, having her jewelry stolen and throwing a stage hand down a flight of stairs.

Her boom turned into a bust with the Wall Street crash of 1929. Apparently she lost over $2 million. That's a lot of ching now, and it was a whole lot of ching back then.

There are several other thick records in this collection that found its way to the Goodwill Outlet bins, and each has a history that's colorful and compelling.

The compelling part may explain last night.

Ever since I had kids, I'm a very light sleeper. I wake up at the slightest sound. Sometimes without provocation.

It really sucks. Very few things would be as sweet as a night of uninterrupted sleep.

Last night, I woke up around 2.30 am. My bedroom window was open a few inches, because Colorado days have become warm, and the house gets stuffy.

I was laying in bed, awake for a while. Then I heard the sound of someone walking outside. It was a klick-klack sound produced by a woman wearing heels.

I listened for a while, and I wish I'd have gotten up to take a look, but I didn't. I just listened.

Whoever was wearing those loud klick-klacking shoes wasn't just walking down the street. That sound would come lightly, become more pronounced, and then fade off. These steps were lingering.

I know I was wide awake. I wasn't dreaming.

So who wore those shoes last night?

Maybe Marie or Eva, looking for their records?

This collection of music I can't even play by people I didn't even know before yesterday is nothing short of haunting.

Cafe 180. A fresh angle on going out for lunch.

2011-10-28T22:20:00.000-07:00

Imagine a restaurant that has a creative, healthy and totally tasty menu, a lovely atmosphere and a friendly group of workers that truly wants to be there. Considering the cost of virtually everything has gone through the roof during these troubled times, one would only expect to pay top dollar to dine at a restaurant that boasts the triad of good food, pleasant ambiance and a helpful, happy staff.

But as I found today when I took myself to lunch at Cafe 180, I could have paid whatever I wanted, no questions asked.

Because Cafe 180 functions on the "eat what you want, pay what you can" concept.

And it seems to be working just fine.

I arrived at Cafe 180 around 11:30 am. The restaurant is open for lunch Tuesday through Saturday, and to be honest, I didn't want to arrive right when they opened, because I didn't want to be the first and only person in the place.

What I found was a flurry of activity. A very inclusive, community feeling. Everyone seemed to feel good about where they'd picked to have lunch.

And why not? It's a crazy-simple, trusting, genuine concept, and that intention spreads among the restaurant's patrons. According to the website (http://www.appetitesunite.org/Site/Home.html), the restaurant's mission is "dedicated to eliminating hunger and social barriers associated with food by feeding all people regardless of their ability to pay, in a dignified and respectful manner."

Just like you may have just done, I'd visited the Cafe 180 website, and frankly, I didn't know what to expect when I walked in the door. Part of my brain thought the place would be crawling with fringy, radical hippie types who'd try to sell me on something more than lunch.

So not so.

There's a chef who's essentially in charge of the cooking, and he's surrounded by an amalgam of volunteers who are busily preparing lunch.

Today's kitchen help ran the demographic from teen to senior. Everyone took such care with what they were doing, and they looked like they were having a great time.

And they weren't making a dime, because they were all volunteers.

The open kitchen was operating in high gear when I ordered my lunch. I chose three items from four categories, and within a few minutes, I was presented with an apple walnut feta salad, a bowl of creamy tomato basil soup and a turkey bacon spinach wrap.

It was so good. And I could have paid anything I wanted.

Despite what some might assume when presented with this concept, it's an idea that works as well in practice as is does theoretically. Naysayers may think that the pay-what-you-can theory would have slackers and takers coming out of the woodwork to take full advantage, but that's obviously not the case. Because people are essentially good.

And these community-based restaurants that cater to peoples' essential goodness prove that serving the greater good isn't just a lofty theory. It's been tested with success at SAME (So All May Eat) Cafe, located downtown at 2023 E. Colfax, as well as Cafe 180. Neither of these restaurants are links in a corporate chain; they're simply the outcome of out-of-the-box thinking put into action.

Contributing, as a volunteer or as a patron, makes going to these restaurants so much more than just going out to lunch.

And these local, independent restaurants aren't alone. Panera, a multi-million dollar publicly held chain of restaurants, has had great success with its test store in Missouri which operates with the same pay-what-you-can sensibility (http://www.usatoday.com/money/industries/food/2011-05-16-panera-pay-what-you-can_n.htm).

When I left Cafe 180 today, I wondered how the world would be different if this gentle form of bartering and volunteerism were expanded into the realm of goods and services. The possibilities seem limitless.

So this entry is as much a review of a fine restaurant as it is a recognition of a fresh concept that's as refreshing as the menu. I'd heartily suggest stopping by Cafe 180 for lunch (3315 S. Broadway), and while you're there, you can sign up to volunteer. Or visit the website. You'll find a link to the menu, the philosophy, and suggestions of other ways you can give.

In a world that seems focused on how tenuous our economic thread has become, how life is about attaining and retaining, it's refreshing and satisfying to see an other-based, giving, caring, community-centered retail model flourish.

Cafe 180 and its counterparts prove that there are many ways to serve the greater good, and whether by volunteering or just stopping in for lunch, supporting the concept and witnessing its success makes a difference.

And making a difference is a delicious thing to do.

Cutting the cord. A few words on life without a television.

2011-10-24T20:18:00.000-07:00

We used to have a TV in the kitchen. After the kitchen was repainted this summer, I decided to put the TV in the garage.

Unplugged, on a shelf.

I cancelled cable, too. Why have cable if there's no TV, I say?

Life without a television hasn't been that difficult. It's actually been quite pleasant. I feel like I bought some time.

Considering what I've read lately, it might be a good thing to rethink watching television. According to the A.C. Nielsen Co., the average American spends over four hours each day watching television (that's 28 hours a week, two months non-stop for a year).

If the average American lives to be 65, s/he will have spent a total of nine years watching television.

Time (which I'll get into in a future entry) is just too important to me the older I get.

And what can be accomplished in nine years? Children can be conceived and can grow well into elementary school in nine years. A person could graduate from high school, go to college to become a doctor and open their own practice over the course of nine years. Relationships can begin, end and begin again. A seed can grow into a sapling and become a tree that produces shade over the course of nine years.

Do I really want to spend that span of time in front of the television?

Nope.

Despite this lack of a conventional mechanism with which to watch my favorite shows, I don't go without.

And I do keep informed. Despite my lack of television, I know what's going on in the world.

Because now I watch everything I like on my computer. The difference between life with a TV and life without is that I decide when I'm going to watch. It takes a conscious effort. Television isn't an easy companion; it's not background noise.

And the internet as a media delivery system is a growing trend.

According to a recent New York Times article, watching television in the conventional manner, commercials and all, is going by way of the newspaper. "More viewers than ever are using their laptops ... to watch shows they once saw on a TV screen. The problem is that even legal online services only generate a fraction of the revenue that cable does. ... And if more viewers begin 'cord-cutting' - canceling their cable subscriptions in favor of online options - it's hard to see how television producers could avoid the same kinds of cost reductions that are killing newspapers. That would mean fewer 'Mad Men' and more 'Real Housewives'."

So we have a few choices when we cut the cord. Maybe even more than we think.

Everything old is new again. Case in point: podcasts.

Podcasts are the modernized version of the golden days of radio, and they're filling a lovely audio niche. Best of all, the podcasting world is completely unregulated.

Podcasts can be found from many sources, but anyone with a smart phone is just an app away from Stitcher (my favorite). Stitcher automatically streams without synching or downloading.

Stitcher lets me know how much I've been listening. I have my own queue of favorites. Radiolab. Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me. The Onion. So many more.

Since last April, while I've been driving, cleaning my house, working in the yard, working at my job, I've listened to 1,034 hours of content.

Because podcasts are unregulated, the content podcasts have to offer is like a beautiful playground no one but you and your friends know about. Anything goes.

So, in short, there are options to Life After Television. There's the Hulu, the Netflix, the scores of other internet options. Life without a screen opens wide with podcast possibility, thanks to Stitcher, Itunes and other services, which are, in large part, free.

In my experience, there was very little static when the Television cord was cut. I feel like I gained some time, some money, and some silence.

I think I have a bit more remote control.

It's been good to cut the cord.

The best job in the world, revisited.

2011-10-19T09:55:00.000-07:00

Like watching a rerun on tee vee, I'm reconstituting a blog I wrote last summer. I really liked this entry. Plus it has a bit of a tie-in (with a less serious tenor) with what I last wrote about, and it also dials into what I'll be blogging about next. So relax, enjoy, and reflect on my Vanna White envy. And stay tuned for the next bloggy entry!

The kids are in Mexico, and I have a few days off. So after watching the news yesterday, before the cool of the evening made it comfortable to work in the yard, it was time to play Jeopardy.

Alex Trebek is such a smarty pants; so cool, so calm, so capable, so willing to solicit interesting and usually embarassingly geeky Important Moments from his brainiac contestants, so chameleon-like in his ability to accurately pronounce obscure words and dialects.

Ironically, right after Jeopardy, it's time for Wheel of Fortune - arguably one of the most insipid shows on tee vee. Usually, I race to turn off the television when Wheel of Fortune comes on.

But yesterday, I wasn't so quick on the draw. Wheel of Fortune had its moment in my house before the show was summarily dismissed with a quick "no freaking way" muttered under my breath. But the show was on long enough for me to get a glimpse of Vanna White flipping over letters. And I had a twinge of jealousy.

Here are the facts, as I see them.

Vanna's job requires virtually no measurable skills, save for dressing up in a series of flowing evening gowns and knowing the difference between a consonant and a vowel. Her job requires no re-training or job description re-tooling, because as I see it, our alphabet isn't going to change much in the foreseeable future.

Vanna doesn't have to worry about anyone snatching her job away from her, because frankly, I think the audience Wheel of Fortune attracts would form some kind of awkward, walker-driven uprising if she were ever to be replaced.

She's the Teller to Pat Sajak's Penn. She can sashay through her job saying nothing, projecting nothing but a glam smile and a rudimentary knowledge of the alphabet, and her job is done.

Vanna gets to play dress-up five times a week, and The Wheel often goes on location. She gets to flip letters all over the world.

Best of all, she gets paid a rumored $5,000 per episode, not counting special appearances, residuals, board game income, et cetera.

In short, she's currently on my Very Short List of women who have The Best Job in the World.

I was just a little bit jealous as I defiantly flipped my television off yesterday at the sound and sight of Wheel of Fortune.

I attempted to assuage my jealousy by comforting myself with the knowledge that I'm attempting to craft ideas by actually stringing words together, as opposed to simply getting all fancy-looking while flipping lit vowels to the freaky glee of excited contestants.

I'm running as fast as I can on my personal wheel that involves over-thinking things, underemployment, and a complete love of everything casual.

No high heels for me - I have bunions.

But no matter how hard I tried, my heart was a bit tipped in the 'I wish I could do so little and get paid so much' direction yesterday.

I have to admit it. I wish I had her job.

Okay, I said it. What's a 4-letter word for what I'm feeling? The word has an N and a V.

I'd like to buy a vowel.

Occupy yourself.

2011-10-16T18:00:00.000-07:00

noun

a choice limited to one of two or more possibilities, as of things, propositions, or courses of action, the selection of which precludes any other possibility: You have the alternative of riding or walking.

one of the things, propositions, or courses of action that can be chosen: The alternative to riding is walking.

a possible or remaining course or choice: There was no alternative but to walk.

adjective

affording a choice of two or more things, propositions, or courses of action.

(of two things, propositions, or courses) mutually exclusive so that if one is chosen the other must be rejected: The alternative possibilities are neutrality and war.

employing or following nontraditional or unconventional ideas, methods, etc.; existing outside the establishment: an alternative newspaper; alternative lifestyles.

Logic . (of a proposition) asserting two or more choices, at least one of which is true.

I was driving home from work the other day, and I was overwhelmed with a feeling of disconnection.

So. About my job.

What began as a place that, when I started there 13 years ago, was so organic, so interesting and interested, so fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, has changed.

My job has become somewhat sterile.

It seems that things have taken a turn where I work, and it's a party to which I'm not invited.

And I willingly decline the invitation.

Because I'm not data- or protocol-driven, which is the direction things have turned. And I prefer to see my world in blasts of interesting color as opposed to black and white.

Unfortunately, black and white is what my job has become.

So I've accepted that I'm not cut out for what I perceive the corporate environment has become: a quiet, sterile, unnatural, uncomfortable place.

But let's be clear. I don't devalue sterility completely. I see the value in tracking data, in compelling people to comply.

But the process of collecting that data has created a monster, I'm thinking. The chase has devalued the beauty of individuality. And the absence of individuality has proven to create something I don't like.

As I was driving home the other day, I realized even more profoundly the importance of accepting who we are, and who we're not; of who I am and who I'm not.

To put it a bit more personally. I understand I'm not the corporate type.

And I'm really not that old.

Because I come from an age that wasn't monitored with every step I took. I wasn't photographed at every intersection and at every monetary transaction, I wasn't tracked by what I buy at the grocery store, I wasn't available in any form once I got in my car, because the only way anyone could communicate with me back then was hanging on the wall.

But that was back then.

The world has become a different place. Very slowly, we've all come to willingly accept that what was once just ours belongs to everyone. Our data. Our personal lives. Our freedom of movement. Virtually everything has become accessible to virtually everyone. Very virtually.

So there are people, all over the world, who are recognizing that the organic, collective, personal expression of the uncomfortability with How Things Are has some value.

Bravo.

Occupy yourself, I say.

Become comfortable with however you define your alternative.

I prefer # 4, #6 or #7. Refer to the definition that started this entry.

I completely agree with the lovely, messy, loud, world-wide mess that started as Occupy Wall Street and has gone global.

I hope that, in the long run, this becomes a movement that compels people to occupy themselves a bit more consciously.

Because everyone is alternative, depending on your definition.

Plant, water, harvest, enjoy. Repeat.

2011-10-12T16:35:00.000-07:00

I don't have a lot of time, and neither does my garden.

I have to go to a meeting at work tonight, I have to leave in less than an hour, so I'll make this quick.

I've been working in the garden lately, but not like I was a few months ago. In May, I was planting and digging my garden like I was building scenery for a play. Back then it seemed the one constant backyard sound was the dulcet hum of a neighbor's lawnmower.

Recently I've been deconstructing what was created over the summer. My gloves wear the juicy remnants of a few weeks ago when we tamed the tangled mess of overgrowth in the front yard.

I was cutting branches and filling trash cans the other day, and I was listening to Radiolab on my iPhone. The show was all about loops. Music loops; a story about a woman with a temporary brain disorder that compelled her to remember and repeat only what happened about 20 minutes prior; mathematical loops; the loop that's created when a whale dies.

The show's topic seemed to resonate with what I was doing, with what I've done every fall and every spring in this yard for almost 20 years.

And although I haven't heard of anyone who's had a banner year with the yield from their gardens, ours has generated more than we've been able to consume. I picked this crop today, and I have another larger bowl in the refrigerator.

So there's been the blanching, the shredding, the freezing, the baking, the giving away.

The handful of seeds I planted in May has created a remarkable harvest, really.

I saved the seeds from the zucchini and the white acorn squash last year, and some seeds must have co-mingled without my knowing. I had a plant that generated strange zuke-acorn squash hybrids.

And there were a few zucchini that hid under plate-sized leaves and grew to super-veggie proportions. This is the group of recalcitrant zukes that are waiting for the grater.

And now it's time to go to my staff meeting, with a few minutes to spare.

It seems like the perfect opportunity to bring an armful of zucchini and a bag filled with tomatoes.

It's a tasty fall loop. Satisfying to plant, to nurture, to watch grow, to harvest, to give away.

The voodoo of finding cool stuff, of keeping it, of letting it go.

2011-10-10T19:25:00.000-07:00

I'm going to Portland with one of my two lovely kids next month, and I don't want to miss a thing.

Let's do some math, shall we?

I'm not made of money + I'm going on vacation and I intend to have a crapton of fun + I know how to make extra money vis a vis my mad skills on the eBay = problem solved.

The head she spins, what with all the math.

I'll provide a bit of backstory, for those of you who don't know.

But first I'll do a bit of self-disclosure.

Here's the cool thing about going to thrift stores. I show you a tiny corner of my bedroom, and I know exactly where I found every element.

I found the two 1950s Turner prints at an estate sale for almost nothing (think: less than $20). The vintage metal laundry basket, the wood nymph and the decorative thing that's on the hand was procured at Linda's Boutique (a diamond in the rough place here in Denver I'll blog about later) for a total of about $40. The hand that holds the nymph and the who-knows-what-to-call-it thing was found at an ARC thrift store for 2.99.

I've realized that I enjoy collecting body parts. But not in a bad way.

It's interesting, the items with which we choose to surround ourselves.

Long and short, just like everyone, I do love my surroundings.

Here's another shot of my bedroom. I love the 9.99 Goodwill chair. The 2.99 chalkboard. The doll my friend Shawn made, which is such a piece of art, sitting on its shelf. In short, everything in this corner is so comfortable, and each thing had been put to good use before it found me.

Everything in my room was affordable.

And totally cool.

But it's not all about the cheap. We'll get back to that later.

I used to paint my walls white, and I was in love with all things retail.

My treasure hunting started when I bought a bunch of cheap, completely cool original art on eBay about a decade ago, when my now-ex-husband and I decided to color up our upstairs and go from eggshell to sage.

It was a big change, in many ways.

After we were done painting, I didn't want to put the same old worn-out framed prints and copies of real art on the walls.

That odd original art procurement got me to thinking. If other people sold stuff on eBay, why couldn't I sell stuff on eBay?

So I started to go to garage sales and thrift stores. I found a very cool deco mirror for $10 at a garage sale, did a bit of research, and realized I might have found something.

I created an account on eBay, slapped the deco mirror up for sale, just because I'd learned that other people did it all the time, and sold that mirror that I bought for $10 for $130 to someone in Florida.

I was hooked.

Prior to that point, I thought thrift stores were for the toothless and smelly. I thought I was lowering myself in some psychosocial way to succumb to the tyranny of thrift.

I was so very wrong.

Since then, I've decorated my house by finding stuff other people have used and discarded.

I've changed my way of thinking about so many things.

And I've also experienced an amazing learning curve when it comes to what other people collect.

I've taken full advantage.

Just like the blog lately, I've taken a break from the eBay.

But I'm going on vacation next month, and I want to have fun.

Christmas is coming, and I want to do the gifting thing some justice, at least when it comes to lift tickets for my kids.

I think I've found a time-tested way.

I've found a whole lot of treasures that I've chosen to keep, and I've found many items that are conspicuous in their value to others.

Ergo, a bit of a money stream.

So I'm financing Portland solely on what I've found that I've had little incentive to list lately, for one reason or another.

The incentives have changed lately.

Voodoo Donuts.

Powell's.

The coast.

Le Happy.

Time with Mike and Miriam and Sage, of which I intend to take full advantage.

So I'm back in the game.

And when I find what I find, what I sell - everybody gets what they want.

When it comes to making things happen, sometimes taking advantage of what you know - the retention, the giving away - doesn't have a down-side.

I've accumulated a nice chunk of change this past month or so, just by going through my inventory, simply by realizing what I don't need that someone else might want.

Voodoo Donuts, here we come.

Mr. Coffee is a bad, bad man.

2011-10-06T07:36:00.000-07:00

I know it's shocking, but I've purchased a few coffee makers at thrift stores, and until last time, I've had nothing but positive experiences. Last time, I got my thrifty pot home and it didn't work.

I'd been burned.

So I reluctantly decided to go to the dark side.

Retail. Because my daily coffee experience is just that important to me.

I bought the cheapest Mr. Coffee model that was available, which set me back $30. This was uncharacteristic, because most of my previous coffee makers had served me well for an initial outlay of $10 or less.

But I deserved it, and Mr. Coffee promised so much.

It wasn't long before Mr. Coffee and I began having problems. There were mornings when I'd get up after having pre-set Mr. Coffee's fancy alarm and I'd find steaming pools of hot coffee beverage all over the kitchen counter.

There were other times when I'd trust Mr. Coffee's attractive no-drip feature which allowed me to pour a cup whenever I wanted in the brewing process, because Mr. Coffee cared so much about my needs.

One too many times, I'd pull the pot out of its warm resting place and would fall victim to a continuing stream of coffee, which pooled and sizzled on the burner surface.

Yesterday morning was the last straw. I'd set things up the night before. The alarm was set, the coffee had been ground, the water had been added. And yet, when I woke up and robotically drifted, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen, I got nothing.

Mr. Coffee wasn't there for me. Again.

Until I turned Mr. Coffee off and on again, and jiggled the handle. Then Mr. Coffee decided to produce.

I'm forgiving, but I have my limits.

So yesterday afternoon, I headed over to Goodwill, looking for something better than what Mr. Coffee was giving me.

Sometimes we get used to what we have, and simply accommodate for obvious weaknesses. But everyone has a tipping point. And once it's been reached, there's no turning back.

Invariably, the quiet discomfort of compromise compels a person to look around, and it's usually stunning when bigger, better, more attractive options can be found without hardly even trying.

Such was the case yesterday afternoon, when I found this super-cool Hamilton Beach 12-cup BrewStation at Goodwill. You'll notice that it doesn't have a carafe, which is probably why it was 6.99. The folks who priced it probably thought it was missing something.

But it's not! This efficient and attractive model provides my steaming morning beverage in a dispenser-like fashion. I simply press my cup next to the recessed area, and it's swiftly and efficiently filled with hot, delicious coffee.

I did a bit of research, and my new coffee friend retails for $60. I bought it for the price of a venti Starbucks and a scone.

My needs are met.

So Mr. Coffee and I are parting ways. Next stop for Mr. Coffee: Goodwill. I'll let that unsavory piece of my history become someone else's problem.

Because I've decided to turn my attention to relaxing every morning on Hamilton Beach.

Time is on my side. Getting back to bloggy basics.

2011-10-04T18:51:00.000-07:00

I haven't written for a while, and I'd convinced myself it was because I didn't have any time.

Then I realized that was a bunch of crap.

I'd written every day in June. The Cents and Sensibility project showed me the value of money, and time. Or so I thought.

I've almost finished my fiction project (which began July 5, if you want to start from its beginning), and I'm sincerely enjoying the characters I've created.

But then I stopped.

Partially, I stopped because life has provided so many shiny distractions.

I also stopped because I was overwhelmed.

I had the fiction, and it's been fun. I've also been collecting ideas that are true to the nature of this site, and they've been written hastily on my chalkboard, entered into the Notes section of my iPhone, scrawled on random bits of paper.

Like a hoarder who's faced with a room filled with clutter, I did what most people would do.

I moved into another room, filled with less obstacles.

So like mess to a hoarder, I'd convinced myself I had no time to put things away.

But then I remembered that I like doing this. A lot.

So here's the deal. I'm continuing the fiction, but not in this context. If you want an update, email me (mnb504@aol.com).

I'll be going back to the initial intention of this space, and I have lots of material.

It was exciting today, like opening a present, just thinking about all the topics I've put on the I'll-Do-That-When-I-Have-More-Time shelf.

Because lately I realized that I'm the only one who creates this idea that I don't have any time. Discretionary time, like discretionary income, is by its very discretionary nature my choice. I can carve my free time into any succulent dish I wish to consume.

So get ready for some content, because I have some stuff to say. The scraps of paper, the electronic notes-to-self, the ideas scrawled randomly for future exploration have been put in one place.

I'm getting back to basics.

Because, like my otter pop wall that was so novel and distracting and colorful earlier this summer, I've gained some clarity lately.

Like returning home after a long trip to find that everything's as you left it, it's nice to be back.

Match game at the Lucky Strike.

2011-09-19T18:30:00.000-07:00

It's not like I haven't been thinking about these ladies lately.

I've actually done a bit of thinking about why I haven't done an update for over a week.

I think it stems from some kind of interpersonal rebellion. I don't really have to do this; it's a complete elective. I can do whatever I want with the blog. That's what I love about it.

But then I remember how nice it felt; the undistracted sense of space I created during the Free Time and Cents and Sensibility projects, and the residual dusting of calm that followed each.

Like writing every day, I've missed that easy, disciplined sense of calm I'd created.

I don't have long until summer is officially over. And there was a time, not very long ago, that I wrote every single day. These gals are frightfully close to the coast, which is their destination, although I have no idea what will happen when they get there.

Maybe the not knowing is what's keeping me away from creating a conclusion.

Maisie dug through her ample D Cups until she found the collection of bills. Stella was shocked and a bit overwhelmed, not only by having been cornered into a bowling alley bathroom by ex-Carrie Wilder's malevolent ex-husband, but for the sheer volume of money Maisie was producing from her bosom.

"Maisie," Stella said, with a somewhat judgmental, skeptical tone. "That's one hell of a lot more money than we found in that envelope."

Maisie had reached her limit of being treated like she was a dim-witted novelty. She was done being tolerated. She wanted some respect, because she had a plan.

She peeled ten damp $100 bills from her stash of cash.

"Give this to Bob," Maisie instructed. "Tell him we're paying him for helping us fix the tire. You can tell him the money's in honor of Carrie's memory, too. You might throw something into the conversation about how we know what he did in Reno, and we promise not to tell a soul. Wink at the same time, maybe. I've seen my share of Bob and his kind in my lifetime."

She looked into the bathroom mirror, fluffed her hair and dabbed a bit of road weariness from her eyes. "I think that should do the trick."

Money can't buy happiness. Maisie knew that. But she'd lived long enough to know that money can buy freedom.

Stella was speechless as Maisie sauntered from the sink and its unforgiving mirror to the door of the women's room of the Lucky Strike.

"He'll believe you," she said, relying more on intuition than pure knowledge. "I'll meet you at the buffet."

Spokane city limits: Spared at the Lucky Strike.

2011-09-11T21:59:00.000-07:00

I wrote this update on the ladies kind of quickly, and haven't gone over it with my editor hat on, so enjoy some stream of consciousness storytelling.

They're so close to the coast, I can almost smell the sea...

"Great story, Maisie," Stella said as she buckled her seat belt. "You were Carrie Wilder's babysitter."

"How in the hell was I supposed to know Bob was married to Carrie, God rest her soul?" Maisie had thought her explanation was flawless. She'd never been good at math, but she knew right away that the odds that their random good Samaritan, such as he was, had a connection to the randomly chosen Carrie Wilder were astronomical.

As astronomical as the odds that Maisie would have a wad of bills nesting between her breasts, which had been acquired quite honestly by playing a game of chance.

Even more uncharacteristic was the fact that Maisie hadn't told Stella a word about how she'd come into the seed money that had been financing their past few days of funeral-hopping.

It was time to come clean.

So as the Dart followed Bob's Impala down I-90 toward Spokane, Maisie spilled the beans.

She told Stella all about her winning streak in Bozeman. She dug into her cleavage and retrieved the bills as evidence, waving her soggy stash like a fan.

For a moment, Maisie thought that shedding light on her secret would act as a form of absolution. But Stella would have none of it.

"He's onto us, Maisie," Stella's knuckles whitened under her paper-thin skin as she gripped the wheel at 10 and 2. She was driving close behind Bob, so she didn't notice there were many more bills than they'd happened across back in Burlington.

So much for full disclosure, Maisie thought. She tucked the wad of bills back into their hiding place.

"We have to go to Carrie's funeral now, or our cover's completely blown." Stella seemed to be thinking out loud. "He knows what we drive, he probably has our license plate number, we have to spend time in Spokane to get this damned tired fixed, and I'm sure he'd track us down."

"Stella," Maisie said in an uncharacteristically calm, measured, rational tone. "It's not like we're bank robbers. It's not like we're malicious. I think what we're doing is very respectful. And you have to admit - there's nothing like funeral food."

Stella could tell that Bob was watching the Dart in his rear view mirror.

Against her better judgment, Stella drove through Spokane behind the Impala, until Bob drove into the parking lot of the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley and Lounge. The letters that spelled out the event of the evening, Carrie Wilder's last big party, were somewhat askew, and some of the words were misspelled.

"It's a meat and potatoes crowd, I'm thinking." Maisie grumbled in chorus with her stomach.

"No tofu on the premises," Stella said. "But plenty of bikers. Welcome to Harleytown."

Bob unraveled himself from the Impala and wandered with intention straight to the Dart.

"Welcome to the dark side, ladies," he said, blowing smoke from lips that were curled into a grin that was raveled with both sincerity and an odd mania.

"Well, who could have predicted this from Carrie!" Maisie said while generating an obviously false sense of familiarity. "I always knew she'd be popular."

"Cut the act, grandma," Bob said. "You ain't foolin' nobody. Not even me."

"Oh, Bob," Stella had to think faster than Maisie, faster than the Dart would need to fly as soon as there was an obvious exit strategy.

"Let us have a moment with Carrie, and then we'll go, Bob." Stella remembered the wad of cash tucked nicely between Maisie's ample bosom. "We do have a contribution to give, if you know what I mean."

Bob wasn't born yesterday. The ladies owed him a little something for fixing their tire, he thought, and part of him wanted to think they were on the up and up.

It was a very small part.

"Well why didn't you say so?" Bob was suddenly more affable, less defensive.

He must have been a dream to live with, Maisie thought.

"God rest your soul, Carrie Wilder." She wasn't sure if she said it or thought it.

"May I welcome you both to the Lucky Strike - Carrie's home away from home," Bob said with a flourish.

They stridently walked into the Lucky Strike, not anticipating its darkness or the resonant sound of pins falling.

They headed straight for the ladies room.

"Dig deep, Maisie," Stella said before either of them could reach a stall. "Hand Bob a few of the bills you have tucked in your bra and we'll be good to go."

So much for pursuing the simple pastime of sampling the funeral cuisine of the northwest.

As Maisie searched through her simple but complicated makeshift wallet, she realized that tonight, they'd have to pay for dinner.

The wad of cash could prove to be what spared them.

But Bob was waiting right outside the door, so all bets were off until they found their way out of the Lucky Strike.