Fred Provides

We finally got Fred to a Coinstar location. Rather than go somewhere around here, in a supermarket where you sometimes have to check your rotisserie chicken for the right number of extremities, we went across the water to a super fancy market where the air smelled like...scallops. Truly. It was so much fun!!

Some Fred facts:

Weight prior to Coinstar: 13.8 lbs

Dollar amount before fees: $108.22

Dollar amount after fees: $94.19

Here is Fred in his native habitat, stopping the door in my home office.

We shared a seatbelt during the ride:

So much rain:

Coinstar rejected a handful of nickels, a Sacajawea dollar coin, a random quarter and some Lira.

Nobody batted an eye that I was carrying around an 18" high Fred Flintstone bank at FancyMart. They just kindly gave us our cash and we drove home in the rain. Mrguy gave me my cut while I made us our dinner of stuffed potatoes, green beans and salmon. It's a partial Christmas, Observed. Still haven't opened presents, but we're catching up :)

Christmas is Over!

OK, it only worked out partway, but it could have been worse.

The last few years' Christmases have been so difficult.

2022: Two days of hosting grandkids at my mom's. Then the Christmas from hell where I was her caregiver. She was angry, called me a slut, wouldn't let me change her depends, tried to break her own finger and tried to eat a figurine, which she later broke.

2021: Two days of hosting grandkids at my mom's. After that Thanksgiving (during which mrguy had a migraine) I promised myself that my mom would not ever sleep here again, so when I was hosting grandkids, it was by picking her up at her place, bringing her to mine, and then sleeping over at her place. We had Christmas dinner at her place. She complained about how I'd given her too many presents. Complained about the food I served her so I made something else and she complained about that also. Challenged the clock, thinking it was morning. 

2020: Made and delivered Christmas dinner to mom and her caregiver. The next morning, when mrguy and I were having Christmas, Observed, she called twice and I didn't pick up. Then she made her caregiver drive her over here and I wouldn't let her in (still pandemic time). Then she called crying a few hours later and wanted my forgiveness. Mrguy got a migraine. 

And yesterday? The plan was for us to go for a walk and take the Fred Flintstone bank to Coinstar. But mrguy got two migraines on top of the migraine that he just got over. I hung out with boy kitten and cooked. I made deviled eggs and stuffed potatoes and delivered eggs and Chex mix to our neighbors next door and to the clam family down the street. Then I stated rewatching The World at War, cause nothing says Christmas like the Holocaust, right? I have no idea why The World at War seemed cozy, especially since the subject matter is so horrifying, but it reminds me of being fascinated by history and watching the series with my parents when I was a kid. I got to stay up until 10pm just because of this show. Also I was completely fascinated by the Holocaust when I was in middle school. It (1973) was a time when people who had been through the war (soldiers, survivors of the American camps and German camps) began to speak about their experiences. Anyhoo, I'm still mystified about how Hitler managed to gain power. And quite afraid of the xenophobia and right wing power grabs happening across the world and at home. I want to understand. And that was Christmassy. And then I watched a reality show and went to bed.

On the light side, I did go out doors and I saw some happenings in the garden. First, our camellia Debutante is starting to bloom.

And then this guy is blooming for the first time since being planted. I guess it has bloomed in the past but the cloven one has eaten it before we can see. Ahhh.

And in a final happy note, I spoke to The Broham, and he picked up an 8-string Kamaka tenor uke for me while helping clean out a friend's garage. I can't wait to see it in person!

Another Obsession. What?

Makeovers. Physical items.

Current obsession: Baumgartner Restoration. A second-generation art restorer. Yeah, he kinda talks like if Rod Serling were trying to get with you. Or maybe it's *yeah!* he kinda talks like if Rod Serling were trying to get with you. His videos are so compelling -- he makes art look better and ensures it a longer life. 

In this one he returns a portrait that had been oddly painted over into something more like the intent of the artist. Not quite as bad as Monkey Jesus, but related in its enthusiasm and well-now-I-have-to-paint-over-the-whole-thing-and-maybe-nobody-will-notice-ness of it. After watching certain other of his videos he makes you want to wash every painting of its varnish, if only you knew how.

And then there's any restoration of a tool. Usually includes an acid bath and dangerous-lookin electricity. Like this one. So good!

And...Norwegian Wood. Man in cabin in Norway repairing stuff with an accent? Wish he was my relative (although my cousins are really great).

As always, more than you needed to know!

Anxiety Dreams

I had an interesting chat with my soon to be former therapist this week about my anxiety dreams. I didn't tell him about all of my scenarios, but they usually have this setting:

College, version 1. A combination of my high school (1960s concrete) and my junior college (1970s wood). I have a class I need to pass in order to get my degree. I have taken several incompletes in this class over the past few years. I really want to not let myself down again. I don't know where the class meets. I desperately search for a place where I can find the course catalog so I can find the classroom and attend.

I attribute that one to the shame I feel about my undergrad days where I totally procrastinated, took incompletes in classes and had to make them up a year later and was a terrible student. 

College, version 2. Takes place on the UC Berkeley campus, and the sociology class I have not attended all semester is in Dwinelle Hall, a building that looks normal on the outside but is notoriously confusing to navigate. I want to find the classroom and start attending the class, but rather than look for information about what room I'm supposed to be in, I think it's reasonable to just wander the halls and see if I can recognize my class through an open door in a hallway. I do not. I feel terrible that I've procrastinated on such complex material, because I probably won't be able to bullshit my way through the final with my good writing skills.

I attribute this one to shame I feel about basically bs-ing my way through life. Why is it always Sociology? I never had to take Sociology for any of my degrees. Also I did my penance, went to graduate school and was mostly an A student (I got an A- in Reference, of all things. Still bothers me). Why can't I forgive myself?

Restaurant. I still work on Sundays for my old employer. Everything in the back of the restaurant is totally disorganized, so nothing is findable. The restaurant fills quickly, and I'm still looking for matching water glasses long after I should have been taking orders in my section. Everyone pitches in to help me but I'm not really a full team player. I get blazingly mad about not being able to find stuff. I'm searching in the basement which seems more like a sewer than a basement, but there are folks cooking down there.

Family vacation. I'm putting away dishes in the kitchen of our rental house (this is a customary scenario) and Chevy Chase comes in (a first, just the other night!). He's a real asshole, but I guess he's a friend of some other family member and was invited on vacation. He starts giving me a hard time about the kind of therapy I'm receiving -- he uses big words and tells me that people who do "x" kind of therapy are jerks.

So ends my short list of anxiety dreams. I really just wanted to mark the occasion of the Chevy Chase dream (what an unwelcome element!), but there you go.

Pineapples

I kinda have a thing for pineapples. Mostly ever since we came home from family vacation with a pineapple and I forgot it in the beer fridge for two weeks and then opened the fridge and smelled the heavenly aroma. Best pineapple of my life.

I always thought they were a real pain. I don't know where I got this notion. They are no more difficult to prepare than a cabbage. I even got lucky at the thrift store and got an Oxo pineapple corer, not really thinking about the fact that I wasn't in the habit of buying pineapples in the first place. Or that they were expensive, and we were broke and that I routinely chanted "Put the mango dollar in Fred (our Fred Flintstone bank)!!" when mrguy would buy a mango. Who was *I* to chant when I was spending dollars myself on pineapples and pineapple tools?

We're in our pineapple years, now. I will buy and eat the occasional pineapple. 

Adding to my pineapple interest, five or so years ago I was watching an episode of "Who Do You Think You Are (UK)?" when a subject, on air announcer of the Chelsea Flower Show, was told about an ancestor of hers who grew pineapples in a greenhouse in England. This was during the Georgian era, and the ancestor would *rent* pineapples to people for use on fancy occasions. Fascinating! I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about them as an ornament in architecture,  furniture and decorative items, but once you see it you can't unsee it. A really great article about the glory days of pineapple can be found here.

My further interest in the pineapple comes from, of course, a genealogical connection. I have been trying to trace my ancestry back one generation further than my 5th great grandmother, whose last name was Touchy/Touchi/Touche. The only person I can find who is even a possible candidate is a guy named Ferdinand Christian Touchy. He was a farmer and author, and even descendants who lived in the early 1900s weren't able to figure out who he was or where he came from. He wrote under dozens of pseudonyms, which really doesn't help very much, but made him a little more fascinating. One of his books, written in 1801, purports to instruct ordinary people how they can raise fancy fruits and veg in a portable greenhouse (I think), even in winter (I also think). His pseudonyms boil down to variations on these names:

Anton, Karl Friedrich

Baer, C. F. 1736-1808

Blotz, J.F. 1736-1808

Claß, D. F. 1736-1808

Dietrich, Christian Heinrich 1736-1808

Düchänie 1736-1808

G., C. B. M., 1736-1808

Gaschütz, G. 1736-1808

Gaudich, C.F. 1736-1808

Goetz, Johann Friedrich 1736-1808

Meißner, C. H. 1736-1808

Tiessen, Christian 1736-1808

Touchy, F. C. (Ferdinand Christian)

W., C. F. 1736-1808

So when I see a pineapple, I often think of this family mystery. Nobody in my family cares about this, and that's ok. I can't really move the needle on what my family cares about. I think it's fascinating, but the thing about genealogy is that if you are into it, it lets everybody else think that they don't need to know about it because we're all going to live forever and you can just ask. Right?

Anyhoo, two days ago I saw a pickup truck full of pineapples on the way to work. A gigantic pile of loose pineapples in an old truck. Nothing to protect them. All of them bearing a hang tag saying "SWEET" in bold red type. I snapped this photo at a stoplight. Instead of turning right, in the direction of a famous tiki restaurant and bar, it turned away from the bay and into the hills.

I have so many questions.

Mapeleine

My oldest sister sent us a yummy looking pancake gift box in the mail for Christmas. I thanked her via text and it went like this: 

"I hope you like real maple syrup"

"I don't know. I was raised on medium simple syrup flavored with maple extract"

"I think the extract was called Mapleine. Kinda sticks in my mind, and my thoat, like maple nut ice milk." 

As soon as she said Mapleine I knew it was in a blue and white box. And there you are. Makes 24 pints of rich Mapleine flavored syrup.

A quick poll of my fb friends shows that West Coast people all knew Mapleine, and East Coast people were horrified. It was the thrifty option for folks who were broke :) 

Ah the memories!

The Golden Bachelor

Oy. Can we talk about it?

I can't really tell you the last time I watched The Bachelor. The behavior is sooo bad. It's not my thing. But when the old person version debuted a while back I watched. The dude was so smarmy -- that voice drove me nuts! And the women were pretty funny and mostly great. I expected more of it, and came away disappointed.

Come on, ABC. You gave us this guy's CV and it wasn't true. He told his story (my life partner died and I've been a heart-broken loner ever since) and that was rubbish, as well. And then he started telling all of the women and their families that they were the one. Only there were three at that point and three is not one, if you know what I mean. When he finally made up his mind and broke the heart of the woman who he had told "I really think you're the one," his response was to try to comfort the woman. Who wants to be hugged by the person who just confessed to preferring someone else? She gave him what for, and I'm happy about that. The day after the finale, Hollywood Reporter released an article that outed Gerry the Bachelor as being a miser who refused to take his girlfriend to his class reunion "looking like that," i.e. 10 pounds heavier than he liked. This guy has problems, and I didn't like his lady choice, but I hope she isn't disappointed in the end.

And now on to Buffy Sainte-Marie. I've been obsessing about her this week. Who knew that North America's most famous indigenous performer, winner of accolade after accolade intended for true indigenous performers, is a big fat faker? Super sad. She did do some good, but she did it in red face and now she lives in a time where anyone can research her heritage. People who trusted her and her story are hurt and flabbergasted. She refuses to take a DNA test, and we all know what that means. Her son explains her choices as being a girl with unconventional looks who explained them away by saying that she was Native American. Then she just went with it from there. But to what lengths? And at what cost to others? 

Heck of a way to end a career. Here's a link to the expose.

New Car!

Chin Ho was a venerable car. He was a 2009, but I'd had him since May of 2008. And yesterday he sailed off into the sunset.

For quite some time now I've been on the hunt for a compact SUV. I wanted something that is hybrid (for range, since our other car Horus is an electric). I also wanted something with enough room that would allow us to pack out easily in an emergency without worrying how to stack the cats in their carriers and their emergency supplies. And I had a fantasy of a car that I could put my bike in and drive somewhere to ride without dealing with a bike rack or taking off the wheel. For two years I've had a bicycle but no way to get it down our very steep hill.

Yesterday we bought a RAV4 in the color that I really really wanted, with the contrasting trim. I *had* really wanted a BMW X3, but they stopped making hybrids for a while (coming back in 2025), and the grill on the 2024 is so...birth control. Like I would have to decorate it somehow to live with it.

I had some initial resistance to the RAV4, while studying all possible options for a new car. And a casual comment from my sister about the RAV4 stuck in my craw. But I swear that when I started seeing the Cavalry Blue with black trim I was all "Hubba hubba!! Mama likes!!" Had to have it. And it is a nice ride and has lumbar support (happy back, happy life) and Apple Car Play. The dealer hooked up Car Play and all of a sudden I was terrified that my audiobook of "Leslie Motherf*cking Jones" would start to play because the woman has caused a worldwide shortage of the word mutherf*cker with this book. Good lord. The chapter that uses this condiment least like a main course is her chapter recounting her very awful hemorrhoid surgery which, no less interesting than the other chapters, is not as sweary. Thankfully, my Audible app chose to start playing "Our Secret Society", a book which contains zero MFs and is a wonky and much less interesting book centering on the National Urban League and one of its luminaries, Molly Moon.

And here we are. While we were mid-purchase I just kept thinking of the color, and how I'd want to wear certain colors while driving the car. Pink would look amazing. And I do have the matching nail polish. And in the day, when I was driving Maceo (a turquoise metal flake '68 Oldsmobile) I would buy super fancy cigarettes (Nat Sherman's Fantasia) and save the turquoise ones for smoking in the car, because they matched my dashboard. As I recall, they tasted horrible, like American Spirits (the health cigarette!).

Anyhoo, I'm going to go now. Need to paint my nails before entering my new vehicle and figuring out a) how to use all of its amenities and b) how to drive it.

The car color is Cavalry Blue. The nail polish color is called Irresistible.