Thrifting

I always love to point out how much I hate to shop.  And I do... for new things. Give me access to pre-used, bargain deals, then my mouth salivates at the thought of going store hopping. It's to the point where I can't even stand being in regular stores, because I think, "Oh I'm sure I can find a better deal on this." or "Who would pay that much for this?!"

In effect, I've become a snob. A reverse snob, I guess.



There's a thrift store trifecta that I hit every time I'm in the neighboring town. Even if it's for a quick run-through due to limited time, I cannot not stop. They all help satisfy my different needs, so the steering wheel literally takes on a life of its own and plops me right in front of the door. It can't be helped.

First stop, Goodwill.

Here I get clothes, books, bric-a-brac, and occasionally a piece of furniture.

It was at this place that I landed on a pile of discarded Eddie Bauer sweaters. If you know me or R, then you know of our love affair with EB (or Ed, as he likes us to call him.)



Then onto the Salvation Army.

Here you can find a great piece of furniture and bric-a-brac. The clothes are still too pricey (can you believe me!?), and the kitchen ware is slim.

Okay, I'm not a complete imbecile.. where I refuse to buy anything new. It's just become a knee-jerk reaction to question the need to pay such inflated prices. I mean, yes, I will buy new and unused underwear. (However, I did buy and wear a vintage 1940s swimsuit for a summer. Discuss.)

A hairbrush? New. (This has especially been cemented in my head after working in an elementary school where those insects whose name rhymes with 'mice' tend to congregate. Shudder.)

If I were to jump out of a plane, then yeah, I'd pay extra to make sure the parachute was new and in working order.

See? I'm not demented.



The last stop on the holy trinity trail is just a generic THRIFT STORE (per the sign). I found this puppy while getting lost one day.

It feeds my do-it-yourself projects, my kitchen ware, knitting, and occasional piece of clothing.



It was there that I bought these bushel baskets. R thought it was a great idea, since we have an orchard not growing anywhere near us. (He never appreciates my purchases).



And who could forget the great book buy of 2010: a Gardening Encyclopedia set. The cashier rang up each book at 25 cents when I thought they'd be a dollar. Will I read them? Probably not. But I saved almost $14 people.

And I love how they look in our eames style TV stand. We found that curbside in our old KC neighborhood and I made R carry it three blocks home. You know, instead of me running ahead to get the car. I was afraid it would be snatched.

Yes, I am that person. A dumpster-diver.

There, I said it. I'm a dumpster-diver and I love it. During my sister's annual neighborhood large-item pickup day, she and her husband would grab a six-pack, sit in their screened porch, and make fun of my fellow divers.

They don't understand.



Then what about the Shack's mini, almost microscopic wine (and champagne?) cellar. With my $4 wine rack and $2 carafes. I bought the carafes back when we lived in KC and they were next to 12 mini wineglasses of the same decor. Those glasses still haunt me to this day. Why I didn't buy them, I'll never know.

I think I didn't want everything to be mitchy-matchy. I still get queasy about mitchy-matchy, but in this case I would've come to love the matching set eventually.

Note Klimt's and my mutual friend, Judith, gazing longingly for a glass.



And then my 'Medicinal Plant's' poster. At the checkout line, a lady said that she was this close to buying it.

Half of the fun is the competition. There are not several of these in the store, with more in the back storage room. It's a one and done deal. Who knows when you'd see it again, if ever. So you have to grab fast if you like it, because others are just as quick.

For the record, I have no idea which plants these are, as they are all written in the latin names.  I know one day I'll see something outside that looks similar and then end up with poison ivy on my tongue.



But when you live in a Shack with limited storage, you have to be creative. So when I found this 60s (maybe earlier?) laundry basket, I immediately thought where it could go.

In front of our kitchen window, where I am desperately trying to revive my grandma's plant. Remember? I said I'd baby this one forever here. Turns out I'm a liar. It's hanging on by a thread. Sorry Mary Margaret. I'm trying.

It also holds the cute set of vintage mixing bowls, one of which holds our compost goodies.



You need storage, Carolyn? Then voila! That little guy opens up to find all of my awkwardly sized bottles. These have been stashed randomly in the kitchen, bedroom, and who knows where else.. so it pleases me to have them all in one place.

The Shack's wallpaper & white linoleum, on the other hand does not please me. Oh well. I'm blessed to have a roof over my head.

Happy Thrifting everyone!

Fly me to the moon.

It really backfired on him, this surprising me with a trip and planning out the major details thing. Because, before, I would do all of the planning and never knew of this state of being called "laid-back." I just thought that was a synonym for lazy.

Um, no. It's not. In fact, it's a synonym for happy and hungry. Because that's what I was the whole trip.

I knew something was going down, folks, I'm not gonna lie. Everytime I suggested we do something over last weekend, my question was deflected. And R is normally not a planner. So for him to continually push aside someone else's pre-packaged idea raised red flags.

So did his question to me, "Carolyn, if we were going to go to Hot Springs, what make-up would you bring? No don't just point them out, pile them up at the end of the counter and leave them there."

Hmm... so I"m taking it we're going to Hot Springs. (This shows that I didn't think R planned ahead even to formulate a hypothetical situation.)



I went to work and R planned to pick me up with our muffler that happens to have an engine attached. When he pulled around, I squealed, "Hot Springs or bust!" and he smiled. All the way to the airport.

I love our airport. It's so tiny that Economy parking is a car lot away from the main doors. We get excited over things like that.

But he still wouldn't tell me where were going until the tickets were in my hand. And then they were.

New England! I squealed (again). We had been wanting to go up there for a while now, and this was just perfect timing....with the leaves and all.



Because I was in that particular state of being (happy - not hungry this time) and everything R did made me giggle. He took advantage, too. Like when decided to change his watch forward an hour by comparing the airline map with the view out the window to determine when the exact time changed.

I think I was delirious.



But I especially loved looking out the window and seeing the moon below us. I don't think I'd ever seen that before on a flight. Both Sinatra as well as Hey Diddle Diddle came to mind. And after the chicken bacon foot long sandwich I put down prior to take-off, like I was actually training to jump over the moon, I thought the latter was more appropriate.

By midnight we had arrived, and we still had an hour to the B&B. The owner, E, said to come whenever, that'd he'd wait up for us.



When we arrived, there E was. He opened up the door to our very victorian room and I was greeted with a Birthday sign, a bouquet of handpicked flowers, and sherry!

My nasal pitch got so loud, E had to close the door. As he bid us goodnight, he said he had another surprise tomorrow.

I'm liking this place already.



The next morning we ate a big breakfast, wandered around the grounds, got chased by a pit bull, and then I unpacked my suitcase that R lovingly put together. It weighed no less than 65 lbs and literally had my entire closet it in. Out of the 5 skirts and 7 shirts he brought, I decided on an outfit and searched in the pockets for my razor.

Where. is. my. razor.  (!!!)

He managed to pack up the entire Shack and somehow leave one crucial device behind. And considering I hadn't shaved since 1872, I was in desperate need. I went back down to the living room and tried to find one from that particular year, but they must have just run out.

Seems that even though their legs were covered up by layers and layers of stockings and bloomers and skirts and who knows what else, the Victorian ladies still shaved their legs more often than me.

My first plan of the weekend included a trip to the nearest Walgreens and a shaving in the car. I'm pretty classy.



It was gorgeous out, so R and I took advantage. We went to an open-air museum with a nautical theme. I've discovered I'm not a big boat buff. I mean, don't get me wrong. I really like them while I'm in them, with a floppy hat and a glass of wine. Looking at them and reading about the history of boats, ummm not so much.

So I spent the majority of the time trying to scare R staring at him stone-faced through various windows until he'd catch a glance. Problem is, everyone else looked first before R and I suddenly became known as that weirdo Shining lady.



R spent his time creeping me out by analyzing a doctor's office shelf. Seriously, what was all that used for. Wait, I don't want to know.

For lunch, we headed back to downtown Mystic, Connecticut and decided to go to none other than...



Mystic Pizza! I tried to channel my inner Julia Roberts, but could only squeeze out her 1980s bushy eyebrows.

Oh well, I'll take what I can get. And the pizza was fantastic! I love when something is not so over-hyped that the food takes a beating.

But hold on!R had another outing up his sleeve. We drove to Newport, Rhode Island which has now become my new favorite place to visit.



He had heard of a "cliff walk" that bordered the ocean. It snaked its way in front of the mansions and estates along the shore.



We picked up a couple small bottles of vino and slowly walked along sipping our drinks, holding hands, and wondering what it would be like to (clean) live in those beauties.

Outside one estate, we heard some people rustling in the bushes.



R found an opening in one and went through. I followed closely behind to find...



a couple escapees! It was the butler and the maid making a run for it. Okay, no it wasn't but they really did want to climb over the fence to join everyone on the Cliff Walk. R and I laughed so hard because the husband was not shy about lifting up her leg to hurl her over. So R stepped in to help.

Do you think she made it?

Stay tuned.

Loose Lips Sink Ships

In grade school, we had to interview someone who either fought in or lived through WWII. I called my grandpa and asked him several pre-written questions.

I wish I had done that more often.

But I do remember him telling me that his brother (Dad - can you verify this?) was shot. However, because he was carrying a bible, it slowed down the bullet enough to not incur too many injuries.

I'd always wondered how plausible that story was.



And then, while I was staying with A, I saw this on her coffee table.

It is a metal cover designed specifically for soldiers during WWII and were put in their front shirt pockets to protect their hearts.



Is that neat or what?

Bye!

I'm out of town this week (Spring Break) to visit old friends on the west coast. The girl that is coming along for the first part is always up for anything, so I know it should be interesting. In the meantime, I've gone back through some old photos and shared a few that I like, along with other stories I hadn't written about yet.

For instance, this.

Who wouldn't want an old Coke freezer, housing coke bottles, on which you could pop the cap off of one? Can you picture this on a sunny, hot day? Oh, how glorious.

Reading Character At Sight

Not so long ago, I was digging through some books at an estate sale and came across these beauties. From 1918, they delve into how to read people's character (and your own character).



As I skimmed the chapter titles, my eyes got bigger and bigger. Oh my... Oh wow... and I started to fan myself.  If only Geneva Wollard had read this before she went on her dating rampage back in 1915, her list may have been longer. You gotta see what was written in an old Charles Dickens novel!



So I took my time looking at the headings... Not really wanting to read the description, knowing it would dispell my first initial reaction.

The Refined, Sensitive, Beauty-Loving Man - Oh hello, sir. Look at that rose sunset. Sure, I'll sit on this blanket with you. Tea? Why thank you, kind gentleman.

The Vigorous, Virile, Coarse Man - Yes, the sunset is divine isn't it. But who is that laboring in the field below? He's just so, so virile. I think I'll take a walk. NO! Ahem, I mean, no thanks, you don't need to accompany me. I'm just going to stretch my legs... right through those hay fields.

The Hard, Unsympathetic, Driving, Close-Fisted Man - On my way to meet Mr. Legends of the Fall, I trip and tumble down the hill. The 7th Earl of Carolyn's Daydreams rode up on horseback and yelled at me to get off his property. Oh, how rude you are! I was only taking a walk. But I'm sure there's a sweet man inside you somewhere.

[side note: this is taking the tone of Beauty of the Beast, one of my most hated Disney movies. But it is any easy plot, so I write on...]

The Impressionable, Indolent, Extravagant Man - The King is taking a tour of his countryside and happens upon the scene. He calls out for the nice young woman with graying hair to please ride home in his carriage. Why thank you King! While we're in here, let's talk about your son...



At the end of each lesson, you are given activities. One of which is to observe people and list where they rank in each category.

What have you learned at the end of this lesson? (Besides that Carolyn needs friends. Real ones this time.)

Poor Guys

Some people would take home stray kitties. Not me. I'd rather save these stray radiators. A tear came to my eye as I passed by them.

A Day to Myself.

R is out of town for a few days, so guess what that means? Girly time ... with myself!

Hello, my name is Carolyn and I'm an introvert.

There, I said it.

R and I had gone to some friends' (T's blog is here) house last weekend. We were sitting around talking about, well what else..ourselves, and T mentioned that his wife had said "Oh good! She's an extrovert for me and you're an introvert for R." Immediately, my palms got sweaty and I started to tremble. Extrovert, extrovert... oh lord, does that mean I have to talk to people? After smelling salt was waved under my nose, I woke up to declare that R was more of an extrovert and to please not give me a debutante ball into extroversion society because I'll be expected to reenact a scene from the Crucible where they pretend to see birds and my part is one of the girls that screams and cries and, really, I am just not prepared nor do I have the lines memorized even though it's mostly screaming nor do I like to have people's eyes on me and no one will clap and everyone will laugh even though it's a drama and not a comedy, so please.. please!

[silence]

Anyway, by the end of the discussion, it was decided that T and I were functioning introverts. I like to write, I observe and absorb, I don't mind giving up the spotlight, I can interact with people despite my sometimes clumsy conversation, and maybe when I get comfortable with you, just maybe, you'll mistake me for one of those extroverts.

So I took myself to a museum in the next town over. They were having a "Cabin Fever Reliever", complete with three speakers and they're normal museumy stuff. The presentations were of the historical trails that went through NW Arkansas: Trail of Tears, Butterfield Stagecoach Route, and a Civil War Troup. It was nice. So were the free cookies and cider.

I skipped the Civil War talk to look around the museum with no one else around (Introvert Alert!!). I wanted to shoot everything. Everything. But was worried I'd do a repeat of my trip to San Juan Capistrano, in which I took about 300 photos of various chairs and pottery. So I made an effort to include myself in photos, if only to make it more interesting to look back on.

My parents are recovering non-self-includers. Now, every time they come back from a trip, they like to point out to me where they are in each photo.

Hang on though, I'm not saying I don't enjoy interesting pictures from a trip without people I know in them. But that's the key word: Interesting. I mean, look at this: I could never do this.

Could you? You probably could, huh. Well, I can't. So I might as well throw me in the scenery mix. What has it got to hurt? (I heard that.)

After gazing at my future dining room table, I turned the corner to a dress-up area and squeezed into a 12-year old's hat....

...looked at old 3-D photos.

And then I saw it. An entire area devoted to cleanliness in the olden days, which included a replica of an outhouse, of course.

So I tried it out. What you don't see is the lady standing behind the camera pretending not to watch me set the self-timer and run into the outhouse. Apparently this is the face I make when someone walks in unannounced and stands there staring at me. I mean, hello lady, I'm having a private moment with me and my 1905 Sears catalogue and you are breaking my concentration.

In the end, I outran her to the real deal outside, after which I took a tour of a small cabin and barn.

After a quick stop at a thrift store, I drove home, changed into pajamas, fixed myself a nice cocktail as well as a plate of cheese and crackers (Do you see any green on that plate? I was getting wild and crazy last night, people), and plopped down to my netflix account.

A good, quiet, introverted day.

Crocks

We had a couple days off from school this past week due to weather, so I ice skated my way to some antique stores. I always try to have a game plan before entering these fun-filled edifices. If not, I'll wander aimlessly and you'll find me in the corner many days later overdosing on other people's memories. It's not good.

One of the items on my list was a crock. My co-worker gave me a recipe for biscuits and gravy, but she suggested I use leftover bacon grease.

Whaaat?



You see, it's these little things that I just never think of. This is just one more way to extend the food I eat. Another similar idea is the sourdough starter for bread. I'll be trying that someday soon once I get some courage. I don't know why it intimidates me so. But absolutely no yeast needed. Kneaded is needed. But not yeast, and the starter just grows and grows and grows. A new deliciously informative blog I found has already helped at least prepare my mind for this feat. Here's her post on sourdough.

So, anyway, I found two crocks and immediately strained the grease into one of them through a cheesecloth.



And there she be. I know, I know.. you're wondering why I just don't wash my hair for a day and use that grease. That wouldn't taste good on biscuits, silly.



My other crock I used on the side of the stove, where I store utensils and other frequently used ingredients. Remember, we live in a teeny apartment, so any space is crucial. Above is how it was before...



And here's the after. The new crock just freed up an entire drawer in the kitchen. Sweet!

Oh, and guess what else I bought? A pressure cooker/canner. A co-worker owns 100 acres and has offered to set up a garden this summer.

I. AM. STOKED.

When the Cat's Away...

R has a business trip in KC next week, so he wanted to drive up earlier to stay with a friend.

One problem.

We're a one car family and I've had an antique shopping day planned with a couple girls from work for about a month now.

Solution? He took the bus. It left at midnight and arrived around 5am. R didn't get a lot of sleep, between a man grabbing his shoulder in the dark and asking loudly "Where are we?" and watching the guy stumble to the front of the bus and getting off right before an exit on the highway to thinking about the KC bus station and hoping his friend, B, makes word on his promise to pick him up.

The KCMO bus station is not exactly in the best area of town and B has a tendency to get worked up about things.

So Little Miss Carolyn took off early Saturday morning for a full day of antiques. On the original email, it said "this is not for wimps." And man, was she right. I was exhausted by the end of day.

We stopped at two Amish stores for breakfast and lunch.

D I V I N E -- Fresh made donuts and a roast beef sandwich, respectively.

My bread never ever turns out this good. I ate it up, literally (and I guess figuratively too.)

We attacked a lady and her 4 month old English Sheep Dog as they exited the beauty parlor. I think I may have found my new favorite breed. I could've scooped him up and took him home with me right then and there.

He would've liked the Dorm, right?

Antiquing was a success. Found three more of my Butterprint Pyrex dishes for twenty bucks total. Easily saved ten dollars. R mentioned not too long ago that he read the new Pyrex refrigerator dishes are having issues exploding in the oven. And since living sans microwave, it was crucial that I find the older versions to be able to reheat foods. Right. Right?

I debated about mixing different styles of Pyrex, which I normally would not be opposed to doing. In fact, I kinda like that look better...not so mitchy-matchy. But we've talked of the idea of exposing the dishes (plates/cups etc) in our future kitchen, and so in that case, I prefer having similar colors, but different textures. That way it doesn't overwhelm the eye (or at least my eye) but it still creates some interest.

Was that straight up HGTV or what.

Believe it or not, I felt like I had been too practical in my finds and had to get something tasty just for myself.

What's better than snuggling up to a 1932 journal filled with outings, bridge parties, and trips to California?

Well, I guess one thing.

Snuggling my feet under someone's legs with a 1932 journal.

Pre-Adventure

We were laughing and giggling... obviously having no clue what we were getting ourselves into.

R felt like a ballerina in his new long-sleeved synthetic shirt; a mandated item to enter the race.

While I ran around taking more photos of things that make me smile in the dorm. Like a sexy photo of two legs dangling out of a claw foot tub. Some people have asked if those are my legs. So I pull up my pants to let them figure it out.

"Nope, it's not you", they always say. "Hers are shaved."

And my little matchbox holder. The only suitable place I could think of was by the toilet.

More of our adventure race to come....