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!

Making Make-Up

Before I write about the Battle of the Bulge, otherwise known as a throwdown between two restaurants undertaken by a friend and me, I thought I'd take a moment and talk about some make-up I made.

The recipe called for:

• 1 ounce beeswax


• 4.5 ounces jojoba oil


• 4-5 tsp mineral mica

When looking for the color of mica to use, I was a bit overwhelmed. I'm looking to eventually make a foundation to wear daily as opposed to the schlack I currently use. What's in that stuff anyway? And why do I love it so? Because I do.

First, you melt the beeswax.

I was home alone that day, and so pulled out a Native-American sushi dish to keep me company. There's a grocery store in town that sells the most random things. They were also selling canisters with old photos of cowboys cooking alongside a chuck wagon. Yes, I bought all of them. I don't know what it is about them, but I have a tendency to buy old photos in whatever capacity they're presented to me. They're just... timeless. This guy was breathing when it was originally taken. And I like having those moments of life surrounding me, even though they're long gone.

But in this case, I bought them because I have a thing for those chiefs. Is this what they call "prairie fever"?

Watch the beeswax melt until they look like a pair of eyes. This bee apparently had a lazy eye from the looks of the melting.

Can I ask a question? Who, in their right mind, would want a photo of themselves on a serving dish 100 years from now. How embarrassing. Do I need to stipulate that in a will or something? "In case of mass-marketing of my face, please use image attached."

Because you know this is the photo they'd choose.

Can you imagine serving a nice chicken piccata on this lovely creature? I know it would help with many people's diets, that's for sure.

Okay, back to the make-up. Pour in the jojoba oil.

It will cause the beeswax to seize up a bit, so just continue stirring until it's all nicely melted again.

And, lastly, dump in the mica. I'd recommend keeping it on the heat until pouring into the tubes, because the beeswax does solidify quickly.

I've made quite a few tube of chapstick (which can also be used as blush) and what I'm currently calling "bronzer". I'm not yet ready to use it only as a foundation. My umbilical cord to thick, plastered war paint has not been severed. One day, though, I will break free. To know that only three ingredients are on my face at any given time sounds really lovely.

We're off to picnic amongst hoop dresses and war uniforms today. Hope the weather holds out.

Until next time!

Wilbur?

Or maybe Boomer? We don't know, just that the owner across the street yells "Buuubuh" anytime Wilbur comes close to us. Maybe Bubba? Whatever his name is, Mr. Unfriendly, who refuses to return our waves doesn't like it. I don't think he likes Shack Dwellers.

My friend is going through a similar experience, except they don't live in a shack so I don't know their neighbors' excuse. What's up, unfriendly neighbors of America. Is it some sort of club? The UNA club. Is his child receiving a scholarship for being part of the club? For gawd's sake, Wave.

We've had a good laugh, though, watching how hard they avoid making eye contact with us. One guy actually twisted his body in such an awkward way while getting out of the car to avoid facing us. And then side-shuffled along the side of the vehicle to the front door. Oh, how that made us giggle!

Oh, people.



Anyway, sometimes we walk out the door and there's Wilbur/Bubba/Boomer. Like he's waiting for us to hug him.



So we do. Apparently he likes giving kisses to pirates.

It doesn't help that N carries dog treats in his car for random "leeedull dowggies" in the town. Seriously, without even owning a dog. He's like that weird guy getting a little to close for comfort to kids on the playground, only it's dogs.



I get up to go, and Wilbur asks me not to just yet. Please rub behind my ears some more. I don't care if you live in a Shack.

But I have to get dinner started, Wilbur. We'll play another time. Promise.



And as I was prepping my food, I watched him slowly make his way back home across the street. He'd walk a little bit, then lay down and stare at The Shack, walk, lay down a bit, stare.. walk, lay down  a bit, stare, all the way home.

Oh, Wilbur. How you make up for your owners.

Compost Pile

Hope everyone had a good Labor Day. I spent the weekend with friends while wind blew in our faces. It was nice and my sunburnt nose agrees. As fun as it is to leave town, though, it's such a breath of relief to finally arrive home after a 8 hour trip which normally takes 5.5 hours, but you decided to stop in every stinking town on the way home "to break it up" which actually just made it seem more unbearable than it really would have been to begin with.

And breathe one-two-three-four. Again two-three-four.

R and I did get some good talkin' in, though. And I needed that after he had been working late for most of the past few weeks.



Plus, we missed our livestock... which is what we're calling our rabbits since, well, you know what we're gonna have to do.

Next to them is the compost pile that we've been adding to over the past month. We positioned it close so that the transfer of, ahem, poop is quick and easy. They tend to "read the paper" in the same spot, so we put some buckets underneath to catch it all.

I get excited over rabbit poop. What have I become.



But I do.

Along with free wood pallets from Lowes. The manager shot me down the first time, but I've learned from past experience that you just need to find the right person. So I asked again, and they hooked me up.

N sawed off part of the front pallet and we were in business. Poop business.



And also quickly-rotting-food-from-Walmart business too. Man, it has been a race to eat all of our bananas in time. So I've been making mucho banana bread, because it's not working. The racing, that is.

But guess what, it all mostly goes into the compost! And since we don't have a garbage disposal, this is a win-win. Not that I normally put banana peels down the drain, but you get my drift.



In a couple months, we'll have to leave this compost alone and so I've begun my search to find some more pallets for a second bin. While this one rests and decomposes until spring, we can start adding to the second one.

Who knew The Shack could produce such goodness!

Dinner Al Fresco

Did anyone else walk outside today and immediately start skipping to the car?

After finally admitting to myself that my favorite season is Spring, the feeling of Fall in the air downright filled me with happiness. The heat wave over the past couple months had just sucked every ounce of energy out of me.



But tonight. Yes. Tonight the roommates and I were able to eat our spaghetti dinner outside The Shack with cold drinks and warm sunshine on our faces.

Without sweating.

Glorious, glorious, glorious.

I think I may just turn into a Fall person, after all. That is, until Winter hits.

Can I have that piece of my ear back?

This is literally what we do almost every night during the week. Don't be jealous.



N sits on one couch, I sit on the other... and we watch R try to beat Mike Tyson in Nintendo's Punch-Out. It has become a very sad event to witness, R coming so close and then getting knocked out every time. He turns into Million Dollar Baby and won't move until time for bed, he becomes so distraught.

Was that an inappropriate joke?

Anyway, N & I want him to beat Tyson just so he'll quit obsessing over it and *we* can play some games. Like Dr. Mario or Goal.

You will know when R wins.  You'll be able to hear him he'll yell so loudly.

And, yes, we've finally hung those pictures leaning against the wall. The Shack is coming along.

Twiggy

I was headed out The Shack's back door to bask in the 110 degree heat index, when my hand closed around something large, wiggly, and with many legs.

I screamed.

Neighbors probably thought someone got murdered in The Shack, so they put down their knitting and shook their heads at their spouse saying, "It was only a matter of time..."

Shacks get a bad rap.

(can you see the turkey farm?)

But it really wasn't a 300 lb spider that my brain told me it was.

In fact, it was just our friend Twiggy, the stick bug.



Since our initial spotting of Twiggy, we have seen him roam around the property, popping up here and there.

Until recently, that is.

We haven't seen him in about a week and have come to the conclusion that a dog is playing catch with him. You had a good run, Twiggy. And so did that dog..after he caught you.

Turkey Farm Shanty

This weekend R and I are moving into our new digs. On a turkey farm.

It's actually a really cute shanty. R thinks it looks like the quintessential country home to generations of meth users, whereas I think it could easily be used in a movie. You know, like in the last scenes of Silence of the Lambs.

Quite adorable, really.

But it is excruciatingly cheap. Making us one step closer to buying our own bit of starry sky.



And it has space. And quiet. And breezes. And trees.

Put those together and you have the most delicious sound that even an iPod can't rival.

Roommates

R and I are loving our new roommate!

I don't know if the same could be said for N, considering the fact that we are always in his personal space. When he wakes up, he hears "Hi N!!! Just Making Some Coffee!!!" When he goes to sleep, he hears "Go ahead and sleep, N, we're just going to finish up this 3 hour movie."  

Ugh. I'd go crazy.

He has a good attitude though and makes fun of the annoyances, so that helps. Like when we were all discussing the book The Five Love Languages, I asked what his language was and he said, "being left alone."

Soon, though, we will be moving into a new place. And all will be well.



For the record, R is wearing pants. And yes, those are overstuffed slippers on his feet. He makes me smile.

I think the boys are enjoying living together again after so many years.

Here's a taste.

Dressers

There's been an update in the dorm room bedroom.

Yes, we are still sleeping in a loft bed a la an eighteen year old child in college.

But we didn't feel we were utilizing all of the wall space possible.



These are the dorm room dressers before. We ended up selling the dark brown and keeping the white one. The trunk had been moved to the living room as a coffee table. We created a makeshift recycling center under the loft.

I've finally admitted that I am quick to sell items when I'm bored with them and then I replace immediately. Why not try to find another use for it and save money? For that reason, I kept the white dresser and moved it to a new resting place.



We bought a bakers rack and some storage boxes to fill up with both of our clothes. The rack fit perfectly in the corner next to the loft bed and opened up the room.

Plus, later, when we have real dressers (which at this point, getting out of this darn apt is a pipe dream), we can use the storage boxes for, dare I say, vegetable storage?

You know, right next to our dairy kitchen and north-facing cellar. Sigh. I want a mini-farm so badly.



Here's the new home for whitey.  I'm not a fan of the detail on top of the dresser, so I hid it with the bread box. Not sure if it's going to stay there, but I'm too lazy to move it right now.

I'm using this dresser for linens and blankets. And it has opened up the trunk to store less-used items.

Go Dorm Room!

Range of Emotions

Okay, before we get started, I want to make sure you keep your eyes on R the whole time. Otherwise, you'll go stir crazy. Our local library has a little corner in which they sell used books, so our bookshelves have kind of exploded and we've yet to organize. Also, there's a little wire behind our computer that I cannot seem to keep tucked into our 50's style roadside find.

(psssst, that is one of my favorite styles in furniture).

Anyway, that darn wire haunts me. It's like the little spider in the Bernstein Bears books.

So now that you are focused on R, I have to mention how much I like watching games with him. When he gets excited he does this little karate kick, double punch thing while yelling our alma mater's name. I wasn't fast enough to catch it, but it happens.

Last night we played KU. And we lost. The game gave me an ulcer.

R's emotions ranged from jubilation to hopefulness to disbelief to annoyance.

Let's watch.


Sad night.

Travel Map

This map haunts me. Because of that, it drives R nuts, even though it was his idea to copy this idea from his brother.



We'd mounted the map onto foam core and waited the appropriate number of days until Hobby Lobby's frames came on sale. Then we framed it, hung it on the wall, and have been staring at it every day for the past six months.

It. is. torture.

If it had been just a plain ole framed map, it would've been no big deal. But we put pins in it. And those pins have meanings.

• Orange: Where R has traveled


• Yellow: Where I have gone


• Purple (K-State pride): Where we both have traveled


• and the clincher, White: Where we want to go

Sigh. If it were up to me, the entire map would've been a sea of white. But I edited my choices to a select few.



I've been staring at the Peru pin for the last few days because I found tickets to Lima round trip for $222. Can you believe that? But it falls during the school year (which equals no time off). Plus, logistically speaking, we could not have made it to the Inca Trail and back in just three days. And believe me, I researched every detail from every angle. Maybe four, if you were pushing it and ran on a tight schedule.

R even hung a carrot in front of me asking if the deal landed on a holiday (it could have been the pain killers talking). And of course it didn't. So, I'm chalking this one up to patience. And boy do I need some.

I research trips probably once a day. Am I addicted? And I've seen the show, people, I know the drill. If any of you invite me to a hotel room to "talk", I'm not coming.

Oh, you white pins. How you laugh at me.