My First CDs

My first cd.  The first cd I bought.  Both gotten when I was in 6th grade and both, despite many purges of my cd collection, still in my possession.  Back in the day when music didn’t magically appear at your finger tips, getting your first album was a big deal, a special occasion to remember.

The First CD I Owned

I got my first cd before we even had a cd player.  It came free with a subscription to this newsletter my mom had gotten me and I got to choose “Compact Disc or Cassette.”  Even though we didn’t have a way to play it, I chose the CD.  I knew cassettes were on their way out and figured sooner or later we’d have a cd-player.  I guess I was, in the words of Mr. Trizzle, future-proofing.

The newsletter was called How on Earth, self-abbreviated to HOE.  It was a very Berkeley-esque publication about saving animals, preventing animal cruelty, not wearing fur, not eating or using animal products.  All that environmental stuff that was really in for awhile in the early-90s.  I wasn’t that into most of the stuff in the articles, but I saw the subscription as a nice gesture on the part of my mother to show that she supported me in my newly-declared vegetarianism.  Even if she thought it was just a fad.  That meant a lot to me.

So this CD came with it, Tame Yourself, a crazy collection of anti-fur, pro-animal, pro-vegetarian songs by some of the eras best genderless save-the-world-singers, and some random artists like the B-52s.  It was played a lot when we finally did get a cd player, for awhile being the only disc we owned.  (I still remember how exciting it was the first time we could fill up our 5-disc changer.)

Of course, my sister and I had a favorite song on the album, which we played over and over and over again – a task made so easy by that new “repeat” button!  My poor mother.  Our favorite song was called “Don’t Kill the Animals,”  and it was our favorite pretty much only because it had this really obnoxious part in the chorus that went “ee-ee-eeeee” in a very high pitched squeal.  And I just happened to find a video for it so you can hear it yourself!

The First CD I Bought

As if I were designing my cd collection solely for the purpose of torturing my mother, the first cd I ever bought, and thus the second cd I actually owned myself, was The Village People’s Greatest Hits.  Yeah.   What sixth grader actually buys that as their first album?  One who’s too young to know any better.

You see, what happened was Alfred and I were watching some tv show that was showing old clips of The Muppet Show and there were all these Viking muppets in a ship and they were singing, you guessed it, “In the Navy.”  And we loved it, and we loved the song.  And we made our own ship out of the back of the couch and sang “In the Navy” as we rowed through the family room.  We liked it so much, we put our tape recorder next to the tv speaker to tape it so we could listen to it and sing along.  It was probably the only moment in our life when we liked any vikings.

At some point while steering our giant couch and recruiting pillows, Timmy Bear and Daddy Bunny to join our navy, Mommy walked in and went, “oh, no, disco!?” And nicely informed us that the song that so delighted us was originally by the Village People.  That was all I needed to know.  Pretty soon we were running around the house singing not just “In the Navy” but also “Macho Man,” “Hot Cop” and, of course, “YMCA.”  The dream of every parent that had survived the 70s. ;)

 

It’s kind of funny, those two cds seem to predict my ending up in San Francisco more than anything else in my life.  I wonder if today’s kids will remember their first mp3.

Adjustments Take Time, Even in the Closet

“The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco.”  So said Mark Twain, supposedly.  You know what? Summer isn’t the only time it’s cold here.

The Chill – first bad, then good

When I first moved here, the fairly constant chill – October is a reprieve – meant one thing: a lot of complaining.  (Poor Mr. Trizzle!)  But a year and a half later, it means something new: sweaters! and lots of them.

Zambia, Nashville, not exactly your permanently cold places.  Even Wisconsin, so very different: hot summers, warm autumns and heat in the buildings during the very cold winters and slightly-less cold springs.

Closet Fail

My wardrobe was not ready for the Bay.  Short-sleeved cotton dresses, tank tops, loose flowy skirts, light blouses and shorts.  On the other end, heavy jersey knit and long-sleeved stretch velvet dresses, thick down jackets, thermal shirts and cozy socks.  My closet was built to handle two extremes and nothing in the middle. 

In all the places I’d previously lived, temperatures in the 50s and 60s were fleeting sprites marking the border between seasons.  They were the days you threw on a light jacket over your warm-weather clothes, or they days you removed your jacket from over your cold-weather clothes.  Those were not real temperatures in their own right, they were slight modifications of whatever the usual temperature had been the weeks before.

In the Bay, it’s different.  Especially in San Francisco.  Temperatures in the 50s and 60s are the norm.  Too cool for short sleeves, too warm for a heavy jacket.  Add to that the de minims use of indoor temperature control and the requirement of spending time outside getting to and from public transportation and I had a pretty frustrating situation.  Until I discovered the beauty of sweaters, and the even more delightful sweater dress.

Making Improvements

Now that you understand how badly my wardrobe needed adjusting upon my moving here, you will totally understand that I did indeed need to buy a new dress.  - Yes, all that background was to justify my spending money on clothing. 

I will also add that I set a budget for myself before starting my search for new sweaters and dresses and I stuck to it.  There.  Do you feel better about it now?  I do.  (Well, a little bit better. A teensy bit better.)

Smashing New Dress

The dress seemed to call out to me from the catalog.  There was something retro about its styling yet unique and new.  I debated for awhile.  The strange styling on the top looked like it could go either way.  When the box arrived and I opened the dress, I was even more apprehensive.  The U-shaped neck line hung funny on the hanger and the dolman sleeves appeared overwhelming.  There was only one thing to do.  Try it on.

So on it went.  And I loved it!  It’s so warm and comfy, like being wrapped in a thick cloud.  Yet it’s flattering, not at all bulky or pulled down by its own weight.  Best of all, it won’t need to be ironed.

P.S. I know it would have looked better with my beige on beige seamed stockings and some brown pumps, but it’s just too cold here at this time of year for that much bare leg.  The boots are pretty cute anyway.

Fashionita for a Day

I was 10 minutes early.  I’d factored getting lost into my commute time estimate and had somehow managed to get there without getting lost.  That was a first.  9:20am on Saturday morning, and I’m standing on Short Artichoke’s… heck, I don’t even know what to call it.  Porch?  Ramp?  Plank?  Standing outside the door of her houseboat trying to figure out why she’s not answering the door.  Why?  Because I’m ten minutes early.

Short Artichoke invited me over to help her sort through her wardrobe and maybe identify some missing pieces.  I figured it would take the morning, and maybe part of the early afternoon.  Boy, did I underestimate the extent of her wardrobe!  And I thought I had a lot of clothes.  10 hours.  10 hours of clothes.  On, off, store after store, shop, shop, drop.  It was after 7pm, when I finally slumped into my car, exhausted, but happy.  The day was worth it.

Redoing Short Artichoke’s wardrobe, we had our work cut out for us.  Let me start by saying that there’s a reason she’s called Short Artichoke (much to her disapproval).  One day, shortly after I met her, she was dressed head to toe in artichoke green, and she’s short.  You get the idea of where we were starting.

As I settled onto a kitchen stool, Short Artichoke began hauling clothes into the living room.  (Ok, Short Artichoke, in addition to being annoying to her, is a pain in the vampire to type. From now on, she will be SA.)  Shirts, trousers, sweaters, even a couple of dresses.  Piles of hangers, mounds of fabric, everywhere you turned, clothes.

Surprise after surprise came out of those piles.  Including a few goodies for me that were too big for SA.  Sure, there was the expected stuff  - the army green array of every article under the sun, the blazers and crew neck T’s I’d seen her wear.  But the expected was easily dwarfed by the unexpected.  A gorgeous burnt orange gauze blouse that fit perfectly and accented SA’s dishwater hair and green eyes.   A black vintage 1950s sweater from her grandmother.  Two suits that fit better and looked nicer than anything I’d ever seen her wear.  She even owns some heels!

But by far, the biggest surprised wasn’t in the clothing itself; the biggest surprise was what the clothing revealed.  SA has a figure! This discovery reminded me of when the neighbors and Munchkinhead and I played dress up with Alfred when she was in 5th grade and discovered she was really pretty.  Or when they played dress up with me in high school and we discovered I’d finally gotten some shape.  I was stunned, and super excited.  

Pretty Alfred.

The best part was when SA herself discovered just how great she could look.  We’d been jousting back and forth, me saying those jeans looked amazing on her and her griping about how she didn’t like them and yadda yadda.  Or her saying she loved some shirt and me telling her it was too stretched out and didn’t fit her well.  Back and forth, back and forth.  Then, she put on these jeans that were so different from her normal high-waisted tapered old-lady/Aflred style jeans,  resting a bit above the hip, boot cut, and a black button up blouse she’s practically never worn.

“Oh my goodness,” I exclaimed, catching my breath.  “You look amazing!”  Here she was, little ms SA, little ms frumpy t-shirts with the army barracks palate standing in the middle of her living room in a pair of blue jeans and a black blouse, looking like she was about to go out for a night in the City and arguing with me about how much she didn’t like the way she looked.  “Turn around.  Look in the mirror.”  Still muttering her complaints, she rotated around to the full length mirror.  “Oh,” she said, disappointment in her voice, “I do.”

Warm Weather

Sun dresses.  I love them. Spaghetti straps, flowy fabric, knee-length beauties.  I was starting to think they no longer had a place in my closet.  Then this weekend came.  Beautiful, sunny weather, warm but with a nice breeze.  Like June in Wisconsin.  I’m so happy, I could burst.

I put on one of my newest lovelies, an orange and brown paisley ankle length sundress, empire waist, smocked top, ruffled straps and a ruffle at the bottom, of course with some 5” heels, silver and brown wedges.  And I marched down the street, past the shopping plaza, past the burger place that smells distinctly like a side-of-the-road suya stand from Nigeria, and down to the estate shop. 

Estate shops are very interesting to me.  One crowded store seems to sum up so much of my life to me.  There’s an old fold-out end table like my grandpa had, along with some chairs that remind me of his living room.  A box of sewing patterns that look exactly like the ones my mommy has in her sewing room.  A magazine here, a figurine there, nearly everything in the shop reminds me of growing up, of my grandparents’ house, of my parents’ house, a bit even of my own apartment.  I guess you know you’re old when your childhood is in an estate shop.

 A once-yellow chair that looks like it might be circa I-have-no-idea enticed me into the shop.  It’s marked ‘$35 as is.’  The fabric is torn on the back and there’s a few small paint marks on one of  the arms. I’m still debating about it, but  I don’t think the color will go with my living room.  I’m mostly concerned I won’t be able to get the dust out from around those little bronze rivet thingies on the arms.

I did leave with some goodies though.  One of those patterns just like my mommy has, except that this one is in my size.  (My mommy was so skinny!)  And a lampshade.  No, not just a lampshade, the lampshade for which I have spent the past two months searching.  It’s for a particular lamp I made.  I will show you, soon…

H – Building Home One Letter at a Time

My new home is coming along fairly well.  Our back room is arranged, if not completely set up yet.  It’s going to serve as Mr. Trizzle’s office and my sewing room (and my dressing room as my closet is in there.)  My mommy’s comment to sharing an office and a sewing room was “well, good luck with that,” so we’ll see how it goes.  I can’t wait until I can use it for sewing.  I got some beautiful fabrics for the curtains in there and the curtains in the kitchen.

Our kitchen is also blue, but unlike the bathroom’s “water” theme, the kitchen is one shade of blue.  So far, with white accents.  The dishes are a pretty royal blue and the curtains are white with royal blue paisley.  (Shhhhh… don’t tell Munchkinhead, or she’ll never come visit!)  It was the least-girly blue print I could find.  I wanted just a nice blue and white stripe like this one retro dress I used to have, but the store didn’t have any. :(

The backroom only has one small-vampire window (and an entire outside wall with no windows on it!) so I’m doing the room in yellow to brighten it up a bit.  I found a great yellow and white check gingham that also happens to perfectly match Anne.  (Anne is a fabric bodied porcelain doll named after Anne of Avonlea and dressed in a beautiful dress and apron made by Mommy.)  I’m also planning to hang a mirror on the wall kitty-corner to the one window to take advantage of the bit of natural light we get back there.  Then I just have to find some way to cover the hideous sliding closet doors.

We have sliding doors all over this place, three closets and the shower.  I hate sliding doors.  I break them.  My parents can attest to that.  Of course, the best ever breaking-sliding doors event occurred in Alfred’s room when we tried locking Munchkinhead in the closet.  Munchkinhead pushed and fought, slamming her body into the door, throwing it off its tracks, her skinny little arm reaching out like the claws of the veloca raptors in Jurassic Park.  It was very scary.

I’ve also been working on some of the furniture for the rest of the place.  I glued three things that broke on the way here: one of the slats for the entertainment center shelves that my parents got when they were first married, the bottom of the sewing box that my uncle’s late friend gave me and the leg of a sitting room chair that belonged to my grandparents.  The shelf needs a bit of sanding to remove extra glue, but other than that, everything’s all good.

One of the nightstands is about half sanded.  I’m going to refinish the two of them so they match.  I’m guessing Daddy repainted this one previously because 1) the back of the nightstand says it’s blue and antique white and it was only antique white, 2) there’s some strange extra bevels and wavy parts that make it look like the thing’s been hand sanded before, and 3) I think I remember him repainting it in the backyard at the old house.  I may pause on the rest of the sanding for awhile because today I ordered a Dremel tool with my Westlaw Rewards points so that I can get into the little corners and around the bevels better.  I am very excited for my new mini-power tool to arrive!

Mr. Trizzle and I finally went grocery shopping tonight.  It’ll be nice not to have to eat out all the time now.  Plus, I’ll get to make his lunches in the morning. :)  That’s super fun!  But I won’t put cigars in them or anything like Grandpa used to do to Daddy’s lunches.