Excess

So I'm sorting through my stuff, getting ready for our trip - deciding what to leave, what to take, and what to stick in the safe deposit box - when suddenly, overwhelmed, I saw it all as if through someone else's eyes, as if I were an alien (or a normal person) seeing it for the first time. And all I could think was ... where did this all come from?

I can't remember buying half of it, and that's not good. A true collector has stories. A true collector doesn't keep things she's outgrown or doesn't really like any more. A true collector doesn't keep everything just because. You know who does that? A hoarder.

Have you seen that show on A&E? (Clean House scared me. This one gave me nightmares.) Soon after I began blogging here (old life) I started the Grande Divestiture. I worked like a demon and cleared an astonishing amount, selling some in a yard sale (see June '08 posts) and giving the rest away. A few weeks ago, I noticed things starting to back up again. I cleared much from my office & closet & bathroom & dressers. I felt sooooo smug. Until today.

When I opened my under-bed storage box, pulled up the tray with my everyday stuff (gold, duh) I found ... seven pairs of sterling hoops that I haven't worn in eighteen months (two of which I bought in that time frame) ... eleven 925 chains that didn't even have pendants attached (in a big, orgy-like heap of tangled links) ... eight rhinestone buttons - buttons! - of various sizes ... and three pairs of broken earrings waiting to be fixed.

Now, understand, I really had done a lot of work, even here. Seriously! I picked and pulled and organized just a few days ago. I remember clearly bagging silver rings and turquoise and onyx. And yet I kept things. I excused. I hemmed and hawed until I just ... didn't part with it.

I can't do this. I won't. I realized today that instead of being a channel for all of this wonderful "learning curve" stuff, I've somehow let myself get snagged in the u-bend between "conspicuous consumption" and "twelve-step program" - hell, I'm one slow drip away from an intervention! I knew - I know - that if I can't blow these pipes for good, I'm going to have the 15 minutes of fame that we supposedly all have ... on the Arts & Entertainment Network.

I had a vision today, and I couldn't claw the donation bags open fast enough because of it. My excess will be gone tomorrow even if I have to walk it to the nearest thrift store.

Anybody need a 16" glass funnel?

Christmas Treasures

This Christmas wasn't one I looked forward to. Plans changed (a lot), priorities shifted, illness hit (the Lug more than me), and somehow the holidays crossed the finish line before I did. "Surreal" doesn't begin to describe it. And yet, somehow, it was a very good day.

Just the two of us this year, for the first time ... ever. Even before the Trips (one year), we spent the holidays with parents, and the first Christmas just us, as a family, was when we were two kids into the three.

Funny that. I didn't look forward to that one much, either. We were living in a foreign country, an ocean away from everything we knew. Two kids, one a year-and-a-half, one four months. We both worked. We both stressed. And it was tough. I wasn't going to do it. The kids were young - what would they know, right? But Christmas Eve, I caved. I couldn't let my daughter's first memory of the holiday be empty. So I went to the base store, bought the only tree there - the homeliest, Charlie Brown leaner you ever saw. One box of ornaments left. Not enough. But there were four boxes of variously flavored candy canes stuck behind a fake Santa. A few toys on naked shelves. Enough lights to sparkle, no more. And three tubes of Pillsbury Cinnamon Rolls in the fridge case.

Every Christmas for years afterward, the three common elements were always candy canes, toys doled out (because there weren't always many), and (other than the one time I tried homemade) those sticky, outrageously delicious canned rolls. A few years ago, we stopped the candy canes because they make almost all peppermint now (boring). And the rolls (all watched waistlines). But we all - still whether here or somewhere else - all take turns opening presents, one by one, giving everyone a chance to open, hold up for the rest to admire, and even sometimes play with the gift.

Today it was just the Big Lug and me. Oddly, it was nice. The presents were few (watch winder for him, gold tester for me ... plus some books and videos) but the warmth, the love, all the good things were still there. It's been an amazing day, as it always is ... no matter what leads up to it.

I hope your holidays were filled with laughter, loved ones, and light. And that your special day, whatever it might be, was better than your warmest dreams. As mine was.

The World Recreated ... One More Time

Hey, I'm here! In my new digs! If you're a first-timer, I've put the "Basics" into a file of archived blogs (in reverse chronological order right now ... gotta figure out how to fix that) so you can see the rules of the game. I'm also in the process of grouping some of my favorite posts, showcasing my favorite bargains and finds. But I'm still doing major reno work here so don't be surprised if there's new gadgets, new colors, even a new subtitle the next time you log on. I'm not the techno-geek in the family. And I'm still trying to find my voice.

See, this started as a blog about getting out of debt, straightening out the finances, and retiring rich. It turned into something weirder and wonderfuller.

Welcome to my midlife crisis.

And my (hopefully) lifelong passion.

Under the Knife

Remember when I made my "New Year's" resolutions (Labor Day)? I said I would "start something over, from scratch." The Big Lug's surprise visit is the best excuse I can think of to do just that.

Yep, this blog is going into cold storage for awhile - to get a face-lift. Watch the changes happen before your very eyes ...

... and then disappear forever.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. And maybe Merry Christmas, too.

Nah.

Busted ... Maybe

He caught me - the Big Lug waltzed into my office while I had my blog prominently displayed, and then he stared ... and stared ... and stared.

Okay, so maybe he didn't see what I was doing, exactly, or why I was doing it. He didn't say anything, actually, and I'm pretty sure he couldn't quite read the header from that distance (his eyes, of course ... he cowboys up every time the optometrist is mentioned). But I'm also pretty sure he's now certain I'm hiding something - especially since I stared back at him, gaping like a big, guilty Bunny-fish before I whipped around and minimized the damned window.

I'm a really bad liar, have I told you that? I can evade like nobody's business (and have been for years), but when confronted I crumble like month-old crullers.

Part of me is glad. I've been struggling with this quest lately, juggling so many disparate parts that I have trouble with the details of my regular life. I'm tempted to reveal my secret identity, open my heart, let the whole sordid tale pour forth, then ask for his help ... with his own retirement.

The other part wants to distract him. Bare my soul, pah - baring my breasts would make him forget everything he saw, and be more fun anyway. (He's a dog, it's true.)

Yet another fragment (a pretty solid one) recognizes that the most joy I've had thus far is the treasure hunting, so maybe I should just work (behind the scenes?) on the other four ways to make money (sans blog ... mostly) and change this to a "Bunny Hunts" blog. (I did just find another pair of Tiffany earrings this morning ... seriously, I did.)

Of course, maybe he's just toying with me, waiting until the perfect moment to challenge me with my perfidy ... some time after the naked parts, no doubt ... in which case by tonight he might ... he could ...

Argh! I don't know what to do! I've put Acid Trip on high alert, though. With any luck we can put our heads together (soon) and find a scathingly brilliant, decidedly devious plan to cover it all up. Or let it all out. Or ignore it until it goes away.

Sigh. See you all Monday.

Maybe.

Crazed and Confused

Okay, I think I've got it figured out. Maybe.

Why am I proud? Well, recognition, for one. I wouldn't have given either the star or the small pin a second glance before my reading binge (alerting me to "trombone clasps" and "Edwardian style"), and, thanks to my inner Science Geek (and my jewelry tutor), I got the diamonds at a glance (the second, true, but a glance). I guess I"m proud of my willingness to take a chance, as well (though I do regret not picking up the two school pins in the same store with the smaller pieces - they were 10K but heavy, and they were not there when I went back for 50% off day).

So why am I baffled? Part is the "why" of it - why me, why now? Yes, I know that one will drive you mad, but if there's anything (anything at all) to metaphysics or to cosmic justice, I really don't know what this cranky, snivelly Bunny did right.

But the other part is more confusing - the "huh?" factor. Not for the existence of the donations themselves, though the high number of gold pieces in more than one store did surprise (and please) me. Mostly my puzzlement is about the prices. Total spent for the four pieces in last Thursday’s picture - just under $50. Total. Now, admittedly, the star's hallmarks were tortuously well-hidden, but the Tiffany pieces (and the watch) were clearly stamped. Why were none priced over $30?

The only reason I can figure is someone's just plain hurting for cash. That means bargains might continue for awhile (though a quick return to the scene of the Tiffany-binge today showed the previously usual, through-the-roof tags). And, yes, giveaways are hard to resist, but though I'd be a fool to question Mama Angel's bounty - and the f-word ain't one of my monikers - I'm also disturbed that the organizations that help those in need might be so horribly underfunded. We need to do something about this - and, in the process, keep the awesome treasure-fest going.

Here’s what I propose: for every gift we plan to buy (or get!) this Holiday season, we donate one we already have (and not the crappy ones!) to the charity shop nearest and dearest to us. And do it this week. I’ve already started bagging up much of the sterling jewelry destined for eBay. So can you.

Oh, come on, you know what a pain selling it is! And you also know it’ll come back to you - somehow, some way, it'll show up in your life. Maybe not in silver or electronics or Juicy Couture, but it will cycle around. Usually when you least suspect it.

And maybe that's the answer - I've just kept it all spinning like a crazy revolving door. Not consistently, not logically, and not with any expectation of return but simply because.

Wouldn't that be sweet?

Loot

Not as much time today as I would've liked to have - two grandkids this morning (one overnight, gone now, the other here smack up to my first tutorial). I'm cleaning, too. Once I had the table cleared I had the irresistable urge to take pictures. Pulling out everything I've found this year would take too long, so here's just the recent best - the thrift store finds (the stuff that was nowhere near retail) I'm most proud of, and, frankly, baffled by.

Obviously, the star is the 18K and diamond pin (found a few weeks ago), and the watch is the 14K gold Rado (a week or so ago). The two new ones are the Tiffany-made sterling/18K lapel pin in back (will probably sell), and the gorgeous Tiffany Moorish themed (stamped with logo, engraved 1924, mine) 14K pin in front.

Gorgeous, fabulous, wonderful, thrilling gifts from Mama Angel. I would be a fool to question my good fortune - and that's one word that isn't usually applied to me - but why proud, and why baffled?

When I figure it out I'll let you know.

Shopped Out?

I feel wierd. I don't know what it is, exactly, but I think ... I feel ... it isn't the flu, or anything ... might it be ... could it be ... no, it's not an overload. Not me. Not now!

I shouldn't feel this way - it was a fabulous weekend, full of wheeling and dealing with vendors at a two-day flea market that swings by three or four times a year ... plus another two hours in a thrift store this morning - but I do: I'm ... a little (just a little) sick of shopping.

What did I find? A fantastic tri-colored Hamilton 14K gold watch, a ruby-and-diamond necklace and a rose-charm necklace (chains and all), five plated watches for me (mostly working, beautiful bands) and six pipes for the Big Lug (pretty-pretties), six cups and saucers in my milk glass pattern, two pairs of beautiful sterling-and-gold earrings for my daughters, and even ... drumroll please ... one gorgeous seed-pearl-and-enamel 14K pin and one sterling and 18K tie tack, both signed "Tiffany & Co." (hopefully real). I paid tag value only once. All told, after negotiating and discounting and sighing with my my big, puppy-dog eyes working their magic, I spent just over $200 for all of it.

That would be about $15 more than I'd saved for this weekend.

I'm tired. But my work is just begun. I have a ton of research to do, and it's all my own fault.

On a related note, one of the vendors had a stunningly beautiful watch (for just short of $1K) that I lusted over. It occurred to me that I might be able to leverage the pin for it. I asked if she took trade. She said "yes, depending on what you have to trade." I told her. Her eyes widened. I didn't have the pin with me - I'm not going to rush into anything before I know what I have - but she was interested. And I had three (count 'em, three) epiphanies ...

One - scrap value (my excuse for buying) of all the gold I've been finding is great, as long as it's truly scrap. I have been blessed by Mama Angel more than once. And though I LOVE the things I find, I'm not (yet) an evening-gown kind of Bunny, nor do I have an office job that makes me dress up in heels and suits (thank God!). Yes, diamonds go with blue jeans and black leather, but do I want to go that route? I'd wear the 18K watch, for sure, and, technically, it would only cost me $2 (the price I paid for the pin). Isn't that more important?

Two - if this keeps up, I might one day be the vendor who has all this stuff. Once the economy heats back up the price of gold will fall, but the demand for gorgeous, well-made jewelry will increase (check prices just three years ago and you'll find the really good stuff went for more).

Three - the more I read, the more look and touch, the more I notice. Dear Lord, you wouldn't believe the amazing earrings I found this morning, and I would never have noticed their impeccable quality even this time last spring! I've learned it's all about quality over quantity ... and I'm developing an eye for the latter.

Where will this take me? No clue. I am happy that I had the extra savings to buy the items (that I will wear) and that I can still bargain with the best of them. But I'm ready for the pot of red beans that are simmering on the stove, for the cleaning and the reading and the internalizing that must happen for awhile, for a period of quiet in the eye of the storm. Donations are increasing. Yard sales and flea markets are staying around longer. And even the most established antique dealers are willing to deal. I will be there, with my radar out.

But not just now.

Maybe tomorrow.

Adventure

How does one go about finding adventure when one is confined (without too much complaint) by earning a living, watching (gladly) one's grandchildren, and tending (serenely) one's parents? Not an age-old question, exactly, but certainly a relatively age-new question, yes?

Women of a certain age didn't used to actually survive to that certain age, even a few generations ago. Not that we're the only ones who yearn for thrills (our younger counterparts yearned so much they used to suicide in droves to escape the confinement, the "gilded cages," of their era) but we are the ones who have a chance to achieve it more often. Yet do we?

According to womentraveltips.com, 72 million women travelled last year (out of date, but probably still close), and that the average traveller is a 47-year-old female (who wears size 12, by the way). While that's cool, and everything, almost all of sites I pulled up with an "adventure women" Google search involved travelling (or, strangely, extreme sports). Dictionary.com defines adventure as a "bold, usually risky undertaking." Are travel and death-wish spins down rocky rivers our only choices?

I'm rethinking my strategy for this entire quest. Yes, I love searching for and finding treasures (in both shops and the earth). Yes, I want to write fiction again (a surprisingly possible way to achieve my goal). And yes, I continue to pay off and build up. But the masthead for this blog says I'm supposed to have adventures.

What does that mean?

I don't know yet what it is, but I know what it isn't - it's not travel for travel's sake, and it's not a black diamond run down a snow-covered slope (not with my back), and it's really not what I've been doing (well, not only that). There's something missing, not only from the concept but from the entire equation, something that will take this to a whole new level. Something that will make this the adventure of a lifetime.

I just need to find it.

Pay Attention!

I love Mama Angel. Just when I think I've caught the brass ring (or the 18K star pin), just when I'm convinced I won't have another great find for weeks (even months), just when I thought I'd forgotten how to Listen, she hits me with a 14K gold (vintage) watch.

Sigh.

It's funny. Last Monday all I did was sit on eBay, scrolling and watch-listing and (yes) even lusting a bit. This entire week I've seen item after item selling for much more than my bargain-hunting soul can stand. (I did win a lot of costume stuff, so keep your fingers crossed.) What I learned, however, is legion.

1) There's money again. While things are hardly going through the roof, they are definitely on the move - mostly with sellers who are smart enough to start the feeding frenzy with a (sometimes frighteningly low) opening price.

2) People pay more for things from established sellers. I won't reach "preferred" in a month, but I'm confident that after a few weeks of establishing myself with my silver jewelry and my milk glass I will be able to sell my better finds credibly.

3) My butt is not made for ten hours straight in one of my dining room chairs.

The past three weeks have also shown me something else - with this renewed confidence in our economy, donations are on the rise. I've not only seen the pin I bought, and the watch I bought today ($10, by the way) but this same store also had a pair of ruby and diamond earrings ($40, but only 10K so I didn't buy them) and some really nice silver pieces ($4 - $8 each). In fact, this place today had an unplanned 75% off sale of all clothes, handbags, and shoes because they're overwhelmed with stuff. And though they pulled most of the designer things out of the pool into a special area (with special pricing) I was still seeing the most amazing tanks, blouses, and f-me heels cross the counter. Shoot, one woman had filled two shopping carts! And I saw at least three kids' outfits with labels even I recognized!

Hey! People! The holidays are right around the corner. Your local charity is dying for both your excess and your cash! So why not start a new tradition, one not of recycling but just of cycling. Go to your closet. Pull out your skinny jeans (you'll never wear them again, stop lying to yourself), last year's stilettos (you know they hurt), and any item with an still-attached price tag older than the cheddar in your meat drawer, and tote them down to your favorite charity shop. Then, with the guilt trip pre-empted, ravage the racks at will. You, too, can find a Gucci leather bag ($1, practically new), an Iceland-made sweater (doesn't anybody read any more?), and a Rado solid gold watch (thankyouthankyouthankyou!). Yes, it takes digging, and even a leap of faith (there was this pair of earrings that might test out) but it's so worth it!

Oh, and I'm thinking of going back tomorrow. I forgot that I have at least a half-dozen people to buy for. And they all wear silver.

Scaaaaary

The Electric Kid is here today. We took a walk earlier - he wanted to see the spooky houses up close because (he says) they give him headaches, hiccups, and make him "craaaa-zy."

He's four. He loves Halloween. And I love watching him love Halloween.

Scary was so easy when we were that age, wasn't it? A leap from a door (with an explosive "Boo!") almost made me pee my pants back then. Jack 'o Lanterns flickered and leered and gave me nightmares until Thanksgiving. Hell, growling sounds from someone's stomach would give me chills. I don't jump at any and all sounds these days but potential for fear abounds.

My mother getting taken by a scam artist (yep, true - working on reversing it). My car getting hit in a parking lot (a bad scratch to the driver's mirror housing, but four days in the shop because the actual mirror broke). The Dow rising and falling and rising and ...? My doctor recommending a (routine) colonoscopy because the Big Lug and I are now "that age." Hopes pinned on a quest that (at the rate I'm going) will depend on winning a lottery, writing a bestseller, or pulling a Madoff. The chest pain that turns out to be bad fish or a pulled muscle due to overly energetic sex.

Y'know, all the stuff that could be, might be, can't be ... left on, walked off, no control ... what if I, what if he, what if they ...

I think I want to be four again for awhile, let the "ghost-es" floating in the trees and the "skedingdons" dancing on doors and the " 'pider webs" stretched from bushes to shrubs and back again frighten me. Just for a few days. Just "a'cuz."

Boo!

And grrrrrrrrrrrr!

Dreaming

Today is the first day in almost three weeks that I haven't had a student. I have a granddaughter, yes (she had the flu over the weekend) but not a student.

We've been dreaming today. It started out as research on eBay - I bought a box o' stuff at a flea market awhile back, and I wanted to see how much the comps are selling for. Somehow, one thing led to another - I searched "18K" and suddenly I lost three hours of my life.

Princess was with me, looking at the pieces over my shoulder (she didn't like many of them, but then again she's wearing blue Hello Kitty socks with a pink dress covered in mint green flowers). She helped with the calculator, too, proving to me that she is the most brilliant girl in the world. She wasn't allowed to watch TV so she's been changing watch bands and faces (something I bought at a yard sale) to match her mood. She tried eight of the ten colors, only skipping the mustard yellow and the light blue (what that says, I don't know). She also talked to imaginary people on her cell phone (a dead throwaway we put in the toybox). Pretty realistic conversations for someone who can't reach the back burners of a stove.

We pretended today, she in her world, me in mine, and we both had the most fun when our worlds intersected. I started out the day with housework and organizing in mind. I'm ending it with visions of my Sugar Plum dancing in my head.

Not too bad for a day off, huh?

Letting Me Up

It hasn't eased - my schedule, my life - but I'm starting to learn a bit about how to get out from under it, sometimes at least. It doesn't involve shopping, either, though that's a great stress reliever. It actually focuses on things I've been avoiding.

Housework. Paying bills. Organizing. Things I hate, things I have to do in order to create the world that will help calm me after a particular frustrating day (which is most of them right now). I have to do that today, even with the migraine that crept into my head yesterday afternoon.

Eat good food. Clear surfaces - and the decks. File. Donate.

Unclutter most of my world so I can handle the messy particulars a little better.

That means cutting it short here, too. I have too much to smooth out.

At least right now.

Working

Twenty hours over the weekend. That's what I worked. Travel time extra.

Earning a living is the name of the game these days. After the rather emotional Thursday I had last week, I purposely and purposefully revisited my own tenets for this quest, and reminded myself that I have more than one way to reach it. Finding is fun (though traumatic sometimes), stealing is just waiting lately, and winning is not my priority (too much time on the 'net). Earning it is the star. Somehow, in all those hours, I managed to keep my cool when three students were late (not all at once) and interrupted the class while I had to go down to let them into the building and shepherd them up, managed not to lose it when another (tutorial) had the wrong time because mom didn't look at the calendar (we rescheduled for next Sunday), and even found peace in the parking lot that was the commute home (construction and rain). This is all part of a bigger picture. Thursday helped me with that, and other things.

What? Something was missing from my list? I didn't mention inheritance? There's a reason for that - Thursday also helped me realize I've been collecting instead of divesting, a reservoir instead of a conduit, Dragon girl instead of Bunny. I need to get that big donation ready to go - the one I said would go out by the end of summer, remember? It's time to inherit it forward, to return the generosity I've been shown, to give for ... okay, so maybe the pin and earrings have spurred a bit of guilt giving. Or maybe they just reminded me to work as hard on balance as I've worked to earn, and to find.

Because next time I get a big (platinum?) Good Bunny, I don't want to burst into tears.

Or worse - to take it as my due.

Errands

I called my son today to thank him for finding a sitter for the Electric Kid. I love my grandson to distraction, don't get me wrong, but I've worked 13 days straight at my job (for at least 1 hrs per day) and had filled the rest of them with watch guys and babysitting and even (tomorrow) a trip for the Big Lug. I've felt as if I were in one of those running, running, running dreams, the ones in which you're not being chased, and you aren't moving toward a goal, you're just running. I always feel insanely tired after one of those, waking exhausted and befuddled, and I almost always have the dream when I'm stressed to the max. Between my mom's plight, my work schedule, and the extra responsibility, I didn't need to fall asleep to have the dream.

But today I got a break. And I took advantage of it to run errands and hunt my thrift shops - well, I'd planned to go to more than two, but I had only time for two. This turned out to be not a problem at all. In fact, it was a very good day - a pair of rose gold earrings and a white gold pin, in fact (nice ones), and several sterling pieces I will offer up to my kids if they want to pass them along or use for "secret Santa" stuff this coming holiday season (when I will be in Texas).

I needed to do this. I didn't know how much I needed the time - and the fabulous finds - to somehow reinforce that I am somehow worthy (no matter how lame that sounds), that I am smart (the earrings had been there for nearly a month, and the pin had no visible marks), and that I am going in the right direction with both my "hobby" and my life. The earrings made me whisper my "thank yous" the entire trip home. But when the eight tiny "diamonds" on the pin tested real, my breath caught, and then - shaking so badly I could hardly hold my loupe - I found the "750" hidden beneath the clasp, I burst into tears.

I didn't really know why, not then, but I've figured it out. Firstly, the Dow closed over 10,000 for the first time in a year; I've been more worried about our finances (never mind reaching my goal) than I thought I had, but I reacted with cynicism yesterday instead of happiness. Second, although I loved going through the watches last Friday, and loved what I found and what I bought, it was more "work" than "fun" - I had to make decisions, and that's all I've been doing lately. Third, and most importantly, I have only two oases in the Hidalgo-like endurance race that is my life right now: the Big Lug's arms and shopping for treasures. To find one piece would have been fantastic. To find two was a bloody miracle - especially since I wouldn't've gone anywhere near these places for at least another week without my son's gracious understanding, his efforts to not take me for granted. That made a difference.

I told him about the finds, by the way, just a minute ago. He didn't seem thrilled. Maybe he was late for his meeting, or maybe he thought I'd fill my entire day with the catch-up I needed to do, the other work I have so much of, but I couldn't. I don't know. I'm still sensitive enough to wonder. But I had to take a moment - today - to find the fantasy, the good dream again. I had to break from the calls, the plans, the anger and sadness and frustration.

And I had to - had to - learn to Trust again. Not the small-"T" kind but Trust, with a capital. I'm going to need that kernal of serenity, that hope fulfilled feeling, in the coming months. Today has helped me toward that.

I know now that I'm not strong enough to keep going on my path, or to find my way, without a sign or two. I'm glad I found that out today. And I'm beyond grateful that if Someone had to pick a sign for me to see that it was this big, freaking, neon "ATTAGIRL!"

Equilibrium

I'm not quite sure why (or maybe I know), but I spent Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and - yes- today shopping.

Oh, not all day, every day. Duh - it's the crazy season, and I had twenty billable hours spread out over 27 (drive time and meals) just the last three alone. But I had opportunities this long weekend, and I took them.

What opportunities?

Well, Friday I went to visit my watch guy - not the one who fixes but the one who sells. He had the loveliest 14K, 23 jewel watch ... I bought it for a good (not great) price, along with eleven others (plated) and three empty cases. More than I'd wanted to spend, a lot less than I thought I would, but since only four of them need work (cleaning) and none of the ones that needed cleaning was the the golden beauty, I got a deal.

Saturday was an estate sale that started early, before my first class. I spent too much on a 10K ring, but it fit so I won't have to size it. (Emeralds and diamonds, too - small but ... well, I don't know my stones as well as I'd liked but they looked pretty fine for 10K). I also, it turned out, spent well under what I could get (not market, but actually get) for a 14K locket, so it evened out.

Sunday I went to a small antiques show, local. Actually I'd stopped in on Saturday between students, to scope out the place. I found a couple of dealers who seemed to be willing to negotiate, and I figured they'd do so even better on the last day of the sale. I was right, but I found only one thing I was willing to pay even the lower price for - another ring, gold, just my size, and - oddly enough - after weighing it at home found I could sell it for scrap and make a profit. I won't, but it makes me feel better.

Today was my thrift shop. Found a nasty-looking set of maybe-pearls, but I bought it for the two beads that might (might) be something other than rhinestones. (Shut up - it was charity, and cheap.)

That's the key, I guess - I needed something to make sense, to balance correctly for a change. It doesn't surprise me that it was jewelry that helped me feel that, especially gold. Money isn't a love for me, not as in root-of-all-evil anyway, but it is a great method of keeping score. I like it when the numbers work out. I like it better when it works out (even slightly) in my favor.

If that were all, you might label me reformed. But there was an ... incident yesterday.

I went to one of the booths and saw a pretty woman's Bucherer watch (nonfunctional, no band) as well as a ladies' pendant watch (no crown, no stem, damaged dial) that I hadn't seen during my recon on Saturday. The dealer - oh, let's call him Richard - wanted a certain amount for the pair. I looked them over. Both were marked in French. I don't know much French, but I know gold is "oro," and I didn't see that anywhere - not even connected to the "plaque" on the first one (which I was pretty sure meant "plated"), while the second had, on the inside flap (flap?) something that looked more like mechanical specifications ("ligne" means "line," right?). I thought Richard wanted too much for both, started to walk away, and he shouted out another price, lower but not within my comfort zone to gamble with (especially since I'd bought so many on Friday, after I'd sworn I'd buy only solid gold).

Later, after the success with the ring (and wondering if the lapel watch wasn't old, therefore unmarked, gold), I went back and asked if he still wanted that price. "I repriced everything," he snapped (seriously), "you missed your chance."

I smiled brightly (which was not faked), thanked him, walked away, then parked on the internet once I got home late that night - I had to Google and eBay everything, didn't I?

The Big Lug caught me. "It doesn't matter," he said despite my brilliant idea to go to the next small show, just to see if he's there, and if they've sold at his tripled price. "No matter whether you're his lesson or he's yours, all you should be glad of is that you didn't give your money to ... Dick."

Oh, come on, you had to see that coming.

And you know I feel better.

Levelling Out

A few weeks back, life was busily tossing stones in my face, and so many came at me so hard and so fast that I could only break or defy it. I chose defiance. It was the right decision. But lately the rocks have been a bit ... larger. For that, the only way to fight is to give in.

Yes, you heard me - give in. Not in an it's-cold-oh-I-just-want-to-sleep kind of way, but in an it's-raining-boulders-wow-I-can-make-islands-in-my-lawn kind of way. Not giving up, but surrendering to the inevitable.

My mother's illness is worse. That is no surprise - it's the kind of thing that does get worse - but a new, miracle medication turned into a nightmare for her caretaker (my sister) when the transport method changed from subdermal (Mom developed a skin allergy to the machine) to direct injection (into her chest). The first method entailed mixing the medication with the IV solution, putting it in the pump, two steps and a long window, no sweat. It was so easy that even my mom, with her Swiss-cheese memory, could do it (with reminder for time, of course, by mouth or by phone). The new methodology came with a bigger system, two weeks of training, and has multiple steps with multiple pieces of machinery and multiple places in which a single step forgotten or done even one note off-key could prove fatal. Mom can't remember all the steps, even with an illustrated list. And, since the solution must be mixed at the moment of need, my sister is now unable to leave the house or even the area for more than 48 hours - there's a four hour window that shouldn't be pushed because if respiratory distress is begun, the patient will likely die. Oh, and by the way, the medical community won't provide trained personnel to administer these dosages because of liability issues, not even in a nursing home. And this med, with its ridiculously complex system, is so new that even if Mom went to the ER she'd have to bring the meds and equipment with her (no one knows if the doctors could or would do the procedure even there).

There's a reason neither me, my sister, or my brother went into medicine - we don't have the temperment or the aptitute or (frankly) the fortitude. She (Sis) was just getting back to herself after her husband died. She's raising two teenager daughters. Now she's forced into a life-or-death situation every two days. This is wrong. And I'm pissed. Oh, not with fate - I am, however, furious with my mother's doctor. He knew the strings attached to this new therapy. He knew my mother couldn't hold a thought for more than a few minutes at a time and so was incapable of doing this job herself. He also knew there was no one who could come in to administer the meds to the patient if the caretaker had to ... oh, I don't know ... leave town three or four times a year because, though she works from home, she has to go into her job's physical building every few months to earn a living to pay his bill. Yet he never spoke with her. Not once.

Not that she's complaining. But - no shit - she's stressed out. I can relieve her for a week or two twice a year (December and June), and I can (and am) working to organize my schedule and students (no substitutes in my job) so I can get away at a moment's notice if she needs me. But it will take time.

Maybe this really is a miracle drug. Maybe Mom will recover enough that she can rewire the missing sections of her brain (my most fervent prayer). Or maybe the medical community will catch up with this new regimen. Maybe I can raise enough of a stink that they will. And maybe I'll be heading to Texas several times a year for the rest of my life, dealing with the life-or-death tension in the primary instead of the vicarious. No matter which way this goes, I will step up to the plate (hopefully) with as little complaint, and (please) as much grace as she has shown.

And I can level out the field, lie out on all those new boulders, and enjoy the sun.

Meat and Potatoes

I'm still trying to untangle my life, which has suddenly taken a strange and emotional turn. I know I'll figure it out, that I'll come out on the other end with newfound wisdom and strength, but right now I'm just trying to get through (without complaining). Unfortunately, one of the ways I'm coping is with an old, supposedly defeated, enemy.

This weekend I spent half my allowance on junk - I had one clear moment at a flea market and bargained hard, netting about $3 in potential with the gold items I bought, but overall I tanked everything. I also ate everything in sight - Popeye's, Burger King, scones at a bookstore where I meet students, even half a box of cookies. It wasn't new behavior, either; I've been buying things at thrift shops and in fast foot restaurants since I was in Florida, but it became so out of control I finally noticed it.

Today I'm working to control my gluttony. I've gotten out the bean soup and the salad greens. I've hidden my cash. I'm not going anywhere near a thrift shop. I balanced checkbook and paid bills and reminded myself of my goals here. It's hard. But it's working.

Maybe, with a little more thought, prayer, and meditation, I'll find the cure for the disease as well as the symptoms.

Saying Nothing

A wise man once told me, "If you have nothing to say, say nothing." I figured the wisdom holds true if I have too much to say, as well, at least until I can untangle it.

So here's me, saying nothing ...

Lazy Daze

Not a bad weekend. Found some jewelry, some of which isn't crap, none of which is gold (probably - still trying to figure out how to work that gold-testing kit). Found a backpack full of kids books, too, for the Grands. Even found a fairly cool pipe stand for the Lug. I'm trying to work up the energy to take pictures - to post here, to maybe make my first eBay listing - but I'm just not there yet; I'm not sure I'll be there ever again at this rate. Truly, I'm hitting the wall here.

Two more weeks of this insane schedule, of tutorials filling every nook and cranny, of classes filled to the brim with students. It ramped up with the speed and power of a tornado late last week, won't let up until the 10th - and even that's suspect since I'm starting to fill up with other tests (ACT, PSAT), other dates forthcoming (November is just around the corner), even an AP Calculus student. The money is good. The brain fog is bad.

How do I get rid of this haze?

Well, for today I'll take a walk. That seems to help some. And I'll try not to think too much, save it for my students. I have to believe that one day I will be rid of this mental fuzz-bomb. Maybe my hormones will finally settle, or maybe I'll find the right combination of food and exercise, but I will, some day, be able to think.

Just not today.

Today I rest.

And, today only, I will force myself to enjoy it.

Effing Up

I keep the books for an LLC. There are three partners (including myself). I found out a few interesting things today about LLCs, the IRS, and my own innate sense of chaos:

1. Last year's "automatic" extension (with pertinent paperwork) was for 6 months. This year it was 5 months - which was 9 days ago. Writers do not good timekeepers make.

2. If you file late on an individual income tax form - but you owe no money - you owe no late fees. (At least it was that way a few years back, though a quick check of the IRS web site reveals it doesn't say anywhere obvious and in so many words whether people who are owed refunds pay a penalty or not.) If you file late on a corporate tax form, even if you not only owe no money but made not a penny (and even took a loss), tough toenails - it's $90. per partner, per month or part of a month. And, if I remember correctly, you can't even deduct that on next year's form.

3. If I ever get the urge to be a bookkeeper, an accountant, or a tax lawyer I will lay down until it passes. If it doesn't pass, I will drill a hole in the exact spot the thought came first because obviously it's an alien living in my smart bits.

I'm tired, I haven't eaten lunch, and I have students in less than an hour. Surprisingly, I while I feel sarcastic and snarky, I'm not terribly upset. I've learned an important lesson - like Thomas Edison and his views on failure, I have eliminated another handful of possibilities for future employment and enjoyment. That's gotta count for something.

Signs

I have white chili simmering on the stove - since I have tutorials every afternoon, into the evening, I now need to make certain I have food to come home to (or for the Big Lug so he won't hit Pizza Hut). I have London for Dummies sitting beside my laptop, too - I'm days away from finalizing our plans for the 30th Anniversary Trip. And maybe, just maybe, what I'm feeling is a new sense of determination and perspective.

Friday is the only day of the week I refuse to work. Every other Friday the Big Lug takes as a "compressed day" (work long hours 9 days, get the 10th off). This last one was that intersection. Usually, we travel. This time we lounged. It was weird (I'm not a lounging kind of gal), but wonderful, full of snuggles and deep moments and random acts of love and laughter. No treasures of the selling kind, but many of the better kind.

I needed it. Obviously. When I'd come back to the "real world" from my Florida vacation, it was cold, complicated, and messy. Then, on Wednesday I passed on a lithograph (or original?) by Ernie Barnes at my local thrift shop, and regretted it - not only did I like it (yet couldn't figure out where to put it) but I looked him up afterward and ... well, I might've missed the deal of the year, because I couldn't find that picture anywhere on any web site. To top it off, Thursday evening, on the way home from work, I spotted a dozen "Yard Sale" signs dotting my route, proclaiming a Saturday hunt I couldn't have. Friday was a tonic, and I relaxed my guard.

Maybe that's why Saturday happened.

I had a full work schedule for the weekend, but I was determined to do something. The paper said there was a flea market about 3 miles from my house, beginning at 7 am. Since I said "yes" to 9 am Saturday morning classes, I've done little hunting, so I really wanted to do this. And, as it was in the same place as the Gift Bee lady, I wasn't really expecting lighting to strike twice. But I could hope, right?

The first thing I found (at the third booth) was two lovely pipes and a pretty tie clip (sterling) for the Big Lug, and a Rogers demitasse spoon for me ($8 total). Then a great necklace for Head Trip ($2). Then ... nothing, but it's okay (I thought) because I satisfied my inner Treasure Hunter, and maybe had enough time to go to another sale.

On the way out, I stopped by the second-to-the-last booth, next to a bunch of (clearly) girlfriends setting theirs up a bit late. I had to pee, really badly, but I'd caught sight of a pretty pin - very Art Nouveau - and while I was inspecting it for markings I danced from foot to foot, wondering if I could make it back to Starbucks before I had an embarrassing moment. (Have I mentioned how much I hate menopause?). The vendor saw me, told me about the bathrooms just over there (we were next to a baseball field), so I tossed the $1 at her for the pin and sprinted to the shed-like building.

Afterward (no accident) I started for the car but Mama Angel reminded me I had time to thank the lady with the pin for the pride-saving tip, so I headed back, and did so. As I walked away, I couldn't resist glancing over the now-set-up booth next door. On the ground, atop a blanket I thought I saw ... couldn't be ... but it was. A pendant. A thistle? Gold?

Can't be. And yet ...

Have I mentioned that I have several pieces of Scottish jewelry? And even some Depression glass in the thistle pattern? I don't know why, but those little fuzzy flowers draw me like a ... well, like a bee. I picked it up, glanced at the back, and - sure enough - it was 14K. I asked for a price. The woman deferred to her friend, her very pregnant friend, who shrugged and said, "A dollar."

I hesitated. I was in the very same parking lot where I had received a small gift of hope (free, with guilt attached by me) just weeks ago. This didn't feel heavy, but it was gold. Again. And it while it was not free it was cheap. Again. And yet I still - just for a moment - asked myself, "should I tell her?" As if I had a choice. I opened my mouth to say tell her.

"It's gold," she told me. I guess she thought I'd hesitated because it was too expensive, not because I didn't trust my Angel.

I smiled and paid her.

That's when I noticed it wasn't a thistle. "Do you like Cadillacs?" she asked when I stared at it.

"Huh?" I said like a dope.

"The symbol," she said, indicating the pendant with her chin, "it's for Cadillac."

Well, hell, I thought, but - truthfully - when I looked again I have no idea how I'd missed it. But I still liked it, and it was (at worst) a hedge for inflation, right?

"I have lots of stuff I don't wear," she sighed, shifting to accomodate her in vitro. "But they were missing stones so I didn't bring them."

My heart thudded. "What things?"

"Rings," she said, "like, ten of them. And some other necklaces."

I swallowed hard. Karma or retirement? Which path should I take? "Lots of people would buy them anyway," I told her on my exhale.

"Really?"

"I would. And," I went on, resolutely choosing good vibes, "you could sell them just for the gold alone. There's places all over. Just ..." Oh, heck, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Ask how much they pay because most pay crap. Here." I took out one of my business cards, wrote my gold guy's name and address on it. "This guy will give you a good price, better than everybody else." And just in case, I put my cell on it, too. "If you decide to sell it, go to him or even just call me. I like jewelry, and don't mind getting replacement stones for the right pieces."

She took the card, but said she probably wouldn't do anything about it until after the baby was born. We talked baby stuff for a few minutes, I said ridiculous things about mistakes (and how we can't avoid them, so just do the best we can) and other idiotic advice that no one ever wants (which probably means she burned the card, seriously) and then I left.

A sign, some would say, but for what? - I'm headed in the right direction? Resolution of goal pays off? Making time for what you believe in is the right thing? Karma beats Greed? I'm going to inherit/win a luxury car?

Or was it lesson? - I'm a chattery dope? Stop while I'm ahead? Stop finding the dark cloud in the silver lining? Honesty is the best policy, but overshare is mortifying? I need my eyes checked?

Or am I simply overthinking it? (Snort. Gee, I wonder.)

I did see one thing clearly, that morning: next year, no early Saturday classes. Whether it's about the goals, the hunt, the lessons, the bank account, or the people-meeting, I realized that nowhere else on the planet gives me that fun, stimulation, hope, and smack-downs - not for $12, anyway. I won't block so many possibilities anymore.

Oh, by the way, I wore the pendant all day. It's really cool. Even if it's not a thistle.

Resolutions

The beginning of the school year always feels like New Year Day to me, much more so than the first of January. Let's face it, our lives have revolved around the fall-winter-spring-oh-yay/crap-it's-summer schedule more often than not our whole lives. Even without the teacher thing I have going, the student and parent part of it kept me busy for nearly 30 of my 50 years.

Sarah Ban Breathnach, in Simple Abundance: A Daybook of Comfort and Joy, makes the argument that we shouldn't make our resolutions in January, when we're exhausted from the holidays, when the weather is bleak and depressing, and when (from my point of view) our financials are usually at their lowest ebb. No, the best time for new beginnings is the one consistent time of many of our new beginnings - the time of the year we got new clothes, new teachers, sometimes even new schools and new friends. Fall is technically a time when the Earth begins to wrap up. Why not start to rev up instead?

So, here's my list of resolutions. In the months to come I will ...

... follow through on at least five things I've been saying I will do for oh-so-long (write a story, fix and send out my resume more than once, start selling on eBay, get the other blog site up and running, decorate/redecorate rooms, etc.).

... be more decisive (no more waffling, hedging my bets, or deferring when I have an opinion) but less of a know-it-all (as if I'm one to give advice).

... take more pictures. And post them.

... participate more, in everything I can.

... have more adventures - real ones.

... learn something completely new, from the ground up.

... start something over, from scratch.

... give more encouragement than criticism, more hugs than food, and more support than expectations.

It's going to be an amazing year.

Same Old, Same Old?

When my sister told my mother we'd gone parasailing, Mom said, "You're kidding? Your sister, too?" At which point Sis informed Mom she was on the speaker phone.

When I told Head Trip I went parasailing, she said, "Really? But ... Really?" I had to tell her I had pictures to prove it before she stopped tripping over her own tongue.

When I told LF Trip I went parasailing, he paused before he said, "Good for you!" in that hearty way someone who can't wrap his head around a concept says anything. And then he followed up later by laughing over a comment I made about cleaning the house, adding, "You? Mom you never really cleaned anything in your life." (Yes, I could hear the italics.)

Predictable, funny, do-anything-for-me Mom. Queen of the Unfinished projects wife. Low key, play-it-safe gal.

I'm pretty damned tired of everyone thinking they know me. I really need to do something about that. And do a lot of it.

Wipe Out

Tired. Got up at 3 am because I was so paranoid about my early flight. Well, that and I forgot to grade two essays I swore I'd grade. Haven't called everyone about upcoming weeks' schedules as I said I would, so I have massive amounts of tutorial students to call today.

I'm beat. I had fun. I'm back in the real world. Some of it sucks, but I am so happy to be in the Big Lug's arms again I don't care about the rest of it.

Late For The Blogging

I can't believe it's Tuesday - I haven't missed (many of) my deadline since I set one! One day and ... however many minutes late, but I can't help it. Time is different here.

It's not as if I haven't followed a certain routine. I found a pretty pair of earrings at a Goodwill Boutique (they have boutiques down here for all the good stuff - with boutique prices) and a couple of fabulous Rogers 1847 plate serving pieces (not boutique, so cheap) plus an after-market marked (585) fake gold medallion that while not gold wasn't priced as gold and is therefore gorgeous and worthy of mounting.

Plus I hunted the Treasure Coast - found nothing, but had a great time at the McLarty Treasure Museum, and watched my sister get truly bitten by the treasure bug as she chased a piece of green glass (probably) wondering if it was one of the emeralds that was in the convoy from 1715 (hence the Treasure Coast) and determined to find out. She saw it, missed it in the tide, and scanned the shore for an hour but never found it again. She said she was not hoping for the 69-carat emerald some woman found years ago after a hurricane, but maybe one of 2-carat size, as some guy with a metal detector said a friend found, would be possible. She picked up every flat "rock" that might be a piece of eight, every coral accretion that might hold a reale (a small piece of gold), anything that looked possible. And because of that, if for no other reason, it was a great day.

Today I parasailed - just returned, actually. It was like flying but without the engine and boredom that a pilot's license would give me. I felt close to the angels today. A treasure of a different kind, for sure.

I go home Thursday. Florida doesn't have the advantage of the Pacific Ocean (I will always be a West Coast girl) but it's fascinating, diverse, fun, and definitely outside my usual box. I suspect I'll feel the reverberations of this trip for a very long time.

Nuts

My husband thinks I'm insane. I'm about to leave on a fabulous Florida vacation, and I'm focused not on the beaches and pools and hunting in foreign parts but on the long, loooonnnngggg list of things I need to do before I leave. Men are seriously not women.

I don't understand why he sees clutter if it's my stuff but not if it's his (dirt, he never sees, not really). I don't understand why he will fight like hell to hold onto a scrap of wood or length of cable but tosses his clothes on the floor in the path of feet, cats, and other damaging things. I don't understand how he calls it "his lawn" when he doesn't know weed from fescue. And I really don't understand how he can rail on my for not putting his tools back in exactly the right pile. Men are so odd.

Ah well. He doesn't get me, either, and (frankly) I'm kind of happy about that. I'm a mystery. That's a guy thing, too (God bless 'em), and I'm happy about that because to us they're not a bit mysterious - they're just irritating. It would truly stink if they realized the same about us.

Down Time

Migraines are Mama Angel's way of saying "slow down."

Weekend was good: worked a little, hunted a little, loved on my granddaughter a lot. A road trip to the other town's flea market yielded three watches ($9 total) with a promise of some 14K gold vintage watches another time, a fabulous pipe ($3) for the Big Lug, and a sale of the excess gold bought at that yard sale some weeks ago - $58 in for my $40 out won't make me wealthy but it's definitely a way to finance my peacock impulses and indulge the Diva, especially since I didn't sell two pairs of earrings and two singles (for the Lug). Not a bad day. Didn't help my head throb.

But now I will. Ran a couple of errands, had a tutorial, but mostly I've been carb-loading, icing my head, and resting, resting, resting. It's okay. A few more catnaps and I might not barf.

Here's hoping.

Dirty Girl

I am one giant sweat ball. It's hot, humid, and buggy, but when I got up I couldn't take it any more - the edges of the sidewalk looked like high tide, and the tree rings were being swallowed by the lawn's amber-green waves of grass. Now, three hours of weed whacking later, at least the sidewalk is visible. My legs are covered with flecks of dirt and mulch, my face is streaked with salty mud, and my hands ache.

I love it.

About halfway through, when I was just getting to the finishing stroke (streetside), a lawn guy truck pulled up across the way. He opened his door. I glanced at him, then away, and turned my back, rehearsing what I'd say if he solicited his professional service.

"I could do that for you." he'd say.

"I'm almost done."

"Next time, then."

I'd give him a long look. "Do you use gas or electric equipment?"

"Well, gas but -"

"I prefer not to pollute the air." I'd pull a weed by hand to prove my point. "Oh, and I'd want you to do it for free."

"Excuse me?" he'd say (people are very polite around here). "Well, not free, of course. We usually charge $125 for this much edging, but I'm sure we can cut you a br -"

"Free," I'd say. "Because that's what it costs me."

"Your time is worth something, isn't it?"

"Of course. It's worth a lot. But it evens out."

"What evens out?"

"Well ..." I'd wipe my brow and look him straight in the eye. "I'm a tutor, so I actually charge more than you do for an hour of my time."

"See?"

"More than you do, I think. This took me two hours. That's two hours I'm not sitting on my butt watching TV. See, I've lost over 80 pounds in the last couple of years, and if I gain it back it would cost a fortune." I'd lean on the weed whacker. "A gym membership costs money - this is great exercise and actually accomplishes something. Do you know how many people I know who hire you guys then pay for Pilates and stair stepping?" Swipe stinging eyes on shoulder. "My allergies are blown away when I fight them head-on out here, too, so no more meds. And, by the way," a glance from beneath my brows, "type 2 diabetes and heart attacks and strokes don't just cost me money, but you, too, so really you should thank me for doing the work myself. I'm saving you a fortune in higher insurance rates."

"Uh ... but ..." He'd shrug and grin. "You have a point."

"Of course I do. We're both in tough businesses right now, huh?"

"Yep. But we'll both get through it." And he'd drive off, knowing there are still plenty of others, even in my neighborhood, who don't like to get dirty.

But he didn't ask, and I didn't pontificate (and that's not a bad thing). Instead, he sat under a tree across the street, taking what looked like a well-deserved break, and I finished the whacking, push-broomed the sidewalk, and bagged the weed-heads before coming in for scambled eggs, grapefruit, and a quick blog.

Time to run. The mower is calling - and I'm a bit too clean for my peace of mind.

Days Off

Friday was supposed to be a day off, but I had to catch up on the financials (I hadn't touched the checkbook or the bill-pay banking in way too long). After four hours (yes, four hours) I left it, but I didn't leave it behind. Not exactly.

All last week I'd looked forward to Friday, the day I was going to play with the new-to-me scientific scale (it weighs in Troy ounces, pennyweights, carats, and grams!) and separate what I wanted to sell from what I wanted to wear. I was going to start a story in one of the composition books I bought (5 for $1) at Staples during the back-to-school feeding frenzy, because I edit too much (and chicken out too much) when I create a story on my computer. I was going to take a deep, deep breath before the first weekend of fall classes began, because I knew it would be a goat rope. But I did my duty instead and paid the bills. Even when the Big Lug and I then went to play in a nearby town we ended up running errands instead of fun-hunting. And though I collapsed into bed Friday night I didn't fall asleep until after midnight, anticipating trouble during the weekend. (And, trust me, as bad as I'd thought it would be, I'd underestimated it; I'm blocking it from my mind forever.)

So, today was supposed to be a real day off. I dreamed about it - about buffing my Goodwill chest with wax and scrubbing the filthy copper hardware bright (finally), about calibrating my scale (weight provided) and bagging jewelry (and calculating potential profits), about starting the packing for a trip still two weeks away (dreaming and primping). Taking a long walk. Making a few phone calls. Having a relaxing day.

As I write this, my grandson is in the kitchen, trying very hard to sneak another cookie. Again. And I'm not regretting a moment of it.

Snuggles and book-reading, story-telling and dreamweaving, monster-acting and song-singing - it hasn't exactly been a traditional day off. And yet I feel more relaxed, more serene, than I have in a long time. Funny thing is, I remember when his father was little: I was so frustrated being "stuck" in the house with the kids - not working, not earning money, being a "leech" on my husband - when I could have had all this, this little slice of heaven. All it would've taken is a change in attitude.

By the way, I still got my scale calibrated, my chest buffed (shut up), and even some of the handles scrubbed - all (except for the copper poison) with the Electric Kid beside me. In between the lessons and the hugs and the attempt (and subsequent failure) at a walk, I also billed my boss (score!) and wrote this blog. I could get really depressed about the revelation, about the fun I'm having, but I'm much too happy to have found it at all, late as it is, to kick myself any more than I already have.

Tomorrow my schedule ramps up again, and then .. and then ... and then ... but that's just how I make a living. This is how I make a life.

Wannabeing

Last month, the county finally came by to inspect the panel upgrade (which was done in early March). Last week, the power company finally came by and changed out the box (which has hung like a demented octopus outside my bedroom window the whole time, preventing me from going forward with my gardening plans for that side of the house). And last night I finally realized that this house-to-home-in-a-year isn't the reason for my life right now.

I labelled this blog's theme for the first time last year - "Cleaning Up and Clearing Out," it was, and I did a lot of it, especially in our finances (so much so that even though I'm at about half of where I was this time last year, even though we've had two trips and put several grand into my IRA, we're still just fine). This year, January first, I put "Risk-Taking and Idiot-Proofing" up. I thought the risks were my decorating and building choices. But it's so much more than that, isn't it?

This is about what I want to be when I grow up.

Risk-taking: something I did instinctively in my childhood, something I've hidden from in my adulthood. I haven't made much progress on the house, have I? Deep down, I knew that was just a small part of the journey, I think, because instead of pulling out the rototiller I've been beefing up my resume - and actually sending it out. Instead of tearing up the kitchen floor I've been stepping out in more form-fitting clothing - just because the Lug's eyes light up when I do. Instead of damming up my money I've been building channels to let it flow - and irrigate a few parched fields. Instead of trying to control the world I've been daring it to knock me down - and accepting when it does. And instead of guarding my heart I've been forgiving and loving and showing it as if there's no tomorrow.

But there is a tomorrow, and it's terrifying and funny and prickly and wonderful.

This whole month, something has been niggling at me (gently, with a bit of a quack). I have a class of younger kids, middle-schoolers instead of high-schoolers, bright and quick and trying to work on their test scores so they can shine at our local magnet school. "Arcane" came up on a synonym practice set. Most of the students picked "magic" as the correct answer, but, of course, it was "mysterious." We got to talking about books, and I told them something of the world and characters who have been haunting me for over two decades. They listened, rapt, then asked where could they get this book. I told them it isn't written yet. "Why not?" they asked.

A simple question. Flattering, too, since they said it with a cry of "unfair." I started to make the usual excuses, the usual hemming and hawing ... but I couldn't do it.

"Why not?" I asked myself.

This whole week, I've been reading Fantasty & Science Fiction magazine, catching up on the issues I've let build up in my "to be read" box. Why did I hide them, box them away, when I love reading them so much? No clue. But as I'm losing myself in these fabulous, imaginary worlds, all I can think is, "I want that."

Then, just a few days ago, I met a fellow teacher and writing junkie at the local Starbucks. She told me she plans to write "seriously" when she retires, and I, the mentor and cheerleader extraordinaire, said, "why wait? Why not now?"

Cue echo chamber.

The final hammer fell yesterday, when I got my class schedule for the Fall - enough to pay the bills, but not enough to make me as crazed as I have been all of August. (Oh, and did I mention that the final summer paycheck will be just enough to sustain us, if I bank it, through the leaner Thanksgiving through New Year time?)

Could Mama Angel be any more obvious? And could I truly be that stupid not to have realized it before?

Maybe I did. Maybe I - myself - built up to this, the hardest leap of all. Maybe I subconsciously built a road I have to follow. And maybe by putting it out here, for the world to see, I will actually grow the pair of big, hairy ones I once had, write a story - any story, dammit! - and send it out to a publisher, just because I can.

I think I'm starting to figure out that the idiot I need to proof against is me. And that's a very liberating thing.

Money Matters

Saturday started well. I woke in plenty of time to do my morning pages (brain dump) and make it to a local community yard sale. (Once a month in the summer, elementary school parking lot, not usually great things but who knows?) Anyway, second spot was a nice, older woman selling off fabulous shoes and so-so jewelry, but one little (seriously tiny) thing caught my eye. I thought it was a stray earring, but it was a very small lapel pin (or tie tack?), in the shape of a bee. It's cute. I asked "how much," and she said, "ah, take it, from me to you." I thanked her enthusiastically (did I mention it's cute?) and helped her finish setting up. I looked for something else to buy, but the shoes were all size 8 - my Xena-Bunny boats are almost 10's. Ah well. Slipped the bee-thingie into my coin slot (empty) and moved on.

One sterling bracelet (for Head Trip's boyfriend) and a milk glass water dispenser (from a set) later, I headed to the car. Before I left, however, I pulled out my loupe and took another look at the bee. In baby letters, on the tiny stem, was "14K."

Uh-oh. I should pay, right? I should at least go back and tell her. But then what? How much? What was the weight? The aesthetic value? Neither of us even knew what it was (tack or pin?). Should I ... could I ... simply accept the gift?

Yeah, it's true what they say - Lutherans own guilt; Catholic and Jewish people just rent it. It took me two hours to first justify (it's not more than a dollar or two, anything I offer her now would be a cheat) then excuse (well, it's not as if it would pay the rent) and then, finally, accept what had been given to me freely, a magical gift of hope. My glimmer was now a full-blown anticipation-storm, and I asked Mama Angel to hang around the nice lady for awhile and let others see how special she - and her things - could be. (Yes, they really were fabulous shoes!)

The rest of the day went well. I ran across a scientific scale ($7) that weighs in just about any measure known to man (still haven't set it up), and, better, I found a woman selling off odds and ends from a failed shop, some of which was gold jewelry. The jury's still out on this stuff, especially since something in the cache turned the ammonia cleaning water yellow, but if it's all okay I spent $40 for about 7 grams of 14K (not counting the bee) - more singles than pairs (for the Big Lug), and lots of clutch-backs for spares. If it's not, well then, I've learned something - either way, I'm planning a trip to my jeweler friend to see if (if) I can get some extra cash for my trip to FL next month.

It says something about my new level of money maturity that I thanked my angel anyway, for either a $40 triple windfall or a $40 lesson. (Very Lutheran, huh?) But it says more that within a few hours I realized the Big Lug's wonderful plan to help stimulate the economy (since we have money and so many others don't) might be getting a little excessive, but I wouldn't know since I hadn't balanced the checkbook in over a week so I didn't know just how stimulating he'd been. (Breathe!) So, this morning, I spent my cereal time entering receipts ... add here, subtract there, is that a six or a zero? ... and let's just say I've not been terribly careful with the money this summer. Not in trouble, or anything, but not exactly ... plump in the pocket.

Money matters. Keeping track of things seems so boring, but it's necessary, for mental health if nothing else. And, truthfully, money matters. It might be just a stream of electrons in a computer, not really anything solid but simply a transfer device, but it's important and should be treated with the respect it deserves - on some level because it can make or break us, but mostly because, well, I'm having too much fun with it.

I really don't want to stop.

But maybe I do need to ... yield a bit more often.

Especially since ... did I mention finding my first solid gold watch on Friday? ...

A Glimmer

"Nibbled by ducks" my ass - the Universe has been hurling hardballs for weeks, and I've been bobbing and weaving and ... okay, a little bit of crying. Illness (mom), horrible money issues (kids), job stress (me and the Lug), and job-hunting stress (me) are all just the tip of the iceberg. I was sick last Saturday, the only day I've had for any decent treasure hunting this month, the only day I could blow off steam the best way I know. The day was beautiful, too, perfect for yard sales: cool, dry (mostly), just a hint of a breeze ...

Ah, well, it didn't happen. Nothing like that happened. No treasures, no relief, not even yardwork - nothing! Yet somewhere in the last 24-hours things changed. Not with a whimper (though I was voicing plenty of those and, I think, plain got tired of them) and not with a bang (none of that, either, more's the pity) but with a shout.

No, not the quack of a duck but the earthy, angry voice of Lt. Dan (Forrest Gump) holding onto the top of the mast in the midst of a hurricane hollering "Is that all you've got?" to the winds. Yeah, that was me, blast it, maniacal laughter and all. And, this morning, the worst that happened is I spilled coffee on my favorite white blouse.

Coincidence?

Then, because I had the time to finally catch up on my, y'know, life I mixed the trip to the vet (prescription dog food for my 16-year-old Terrier) with a sidle into the thrift shop in the same complex (not the one I usually go to - this one's a consignment store). Anyway, I spent $30 and am now the proud owner of a pretty 14K cross (about 2g), and what I thought was just a cheap pair of smoky-quartz-like earrings with 14K backers, but, if I'm not mistaken, are the real thing. Not a fortune, to be sure, for my $30, but two or three times that just for the materials is a definite improvement.

Hardballs have turned into Nerf balls, and the darkness that's hung over my head like Pigpen's dirt cloud might just be lifting. It's not much, not a bonus check or a great novel or a two-dollar diamond or a visit from Desperate Landscapes. But these days, frankly, I'll take all the glimmers I can get. And I'll keep the GPS location of that hollering mast in my Nuvi.

Multitasking

I am not, by nature, organized. This week has been a sad trial to the little skill I have in that area. Yesterday, in fact, I sent a packet of much-needed paperwork to the corporate office - the old address of the corporate office. I was upset, but I am calm now, even though I'm simultaneously printing out copies for a tutorial later today, fixing lunch and snack (I'll eat out at dinner, thank you very much), and pulling coupons for Border's together for between people (desperately in need of Statistics for Dummies). You see, I went for a long, very fast, walk after my embarrassing mistake but before I began my mad romp through my weaker areas. Before the walk, I'd be losing my mind. As it is, I smell so bad it's distracting me from my lack of talent.

My world is fun, isn't it?

No time, no time ... just spent a week learning the language of resumes, especially government resumes. Still have to get the supplemental crap in, the stuff that tells them what I know - you know, the stuff that's already in the resume but that I have to lay out in plainer language because the words on the resume don't make any sense to a sane person.

Why, oh why, doesn't Rosetta Stone have "Fed-speak?"

Calculating

I had my first encounter with a purposely misleading piece last Saturday. No, that ring I picked up a few weeks back doesn't count - I haven't had it tested yet, so I don't know for sure. This tale is actually one of deliberate fabrication ... and an honest man.

I've lived in my house since 1993, and in all that time, though I'd seen a nearby civic association advertise periodic sales, I never went to one - it was only 13 miles away, but around here, 13 miles might as well be 13 million. I went to my first on Saturday. At 7 am it was already Hell soup, so, after finding a parking place (not easy!) on the street, I walked into the roped-off lot where they had it, saw 15 vendors or so, and figured I'd give it a quick circuit before trucking off to find whatever was really clogging up the streets with parked cars.

In the first booth, a woman was selling many household things, even a few nice prints, but only costume and silver jewelry. The second had sculptural pieces and some good men's stuff - not good enough for the Big Lug, though. But the third ... ah, the third had watches. Vintage watches. Mostly men's, but several women's, and lots of pieces (watches with no bands, bezel with just crystal, bands with no watches), all ten kinds of beat up, but with potential. Among them, tangled with my treasures, were chains, old earrings, even cuff links. Looked like someone had bought a box lot at an auction and was selling it "as found." I gathered several promising snippets, sorting and organizing as I went - a stud without a mate (wait, found!), a chain to hang on the lid (glance, 1/20 GF), a stray stem and crown, another chain (glance, 18K), half of a -

Hold the phone. 18K? 18 freaking karat? Yep - a filthy, s-link, nasty piece of work with a tag that said, "18K, Italy."

My hand shook. It was heavy. I glanced at the pair running the show - one was young and ingenuous, one old and busy with a loupe in the open door of their van, which was, as yet, not completely unpacked. So I indicated my pile (mostly women's pieces, one watch with no band for the Lug, and the chain sitting above it) and asked the younger, "how much for all?" and he said "twenty bucks." I pointed. "Including the chain?" His smooth brow puckered, and he held the item up for (I guess) Dad's okay. "That's base metal," he said without hesitation. I started to correct him, but he'd already gone back to his study, shutting me out, and the younger threw it in with the women's stuff. "The man's watch is an extra ten," he said apologetically.

I looked everything over, my brain churning. $20 for the watch bits (the better to mad scientist with) was fair, but the Gruen was a bit steep. Yet if the chain were gold, it would pay for the lot ... but not assuage my guilt ... unless I pulled out my blue plastic thingie and could tell them they were giving it away ...

What the heck. I left my loupe in my pants, said "yes" to the bits, and "yes" to the Lug's watch, too.

When I turned to go to the next booth, I was so astonished by the sudden, panoramic view of the rest of the vendors - I was on the top floor of parking garage with three more levels, and 50 or so per level - that my avarice and greed took a temporary hike. After all, I'd figure it out later; the Elysian Fields was just steps away!

I wandered, talked to vendors, even bought a few more things - another watch (which doesn't work, either, but it's fabulous), a pool cue, and an ashtray stand for the Lug. And I purposefully didn't look at the chain. But my math mind was beeping away independent of any potential morality play ...

The price of gold is $954.48 per ounce. (Troy ounces, of course, and jewelry is rarely a full ounce, so I think in grams.) 31.1 grams in a Troy ounce ... is that Panelled Grape? ... round it, divide it, call it 30 bucks a gram. (Okay, I looked up the price when I got home - lately it's always just 30 bucks a gram to me.) So if it's 18K that's 18/24 of pure gold which is ... common factor of 6 ... 3/4 ... and it's heavy, heavier than my bracelet, call it 12 grams ... wow, look at that woman's hat! ... no, 10 conservatively ... so if I sell it through my direct link to the foundry, I'd get ... 10 grams times .750 times $30 ... $225.00.

I didn't get palpitations, I swear, because I wasn't going to get myself worked up. He'd seemed so sure.

Anyway, I spent nearly 4 hours there instead of 30 minutes, fell in love with the feel of it and the spectacle of it (I love flea markets!) so I know I'll go back. Then the Big Lug and I went on a bit of a road trip to find a can of his favorite pipe tobacco, the bits and chain all in the back the whole way. (He told me the chain felt too light ... my greedy girl wanted to slap him.) Once home, however, I put the thing in some ammonia-water, scrubbed it all up, and found ...

A gold tag on a dull, steely chain. Yep, the stamped ID was gold, but nothing else was. And it was obviously put on after the fact by some devious, calculating creep out to cheat someone - probably the box lot person.

The man who sold it to me, however, wasn't that creep, nor anyone of his ilk. Dad could have pulled a con. Shoot, Son could've seen it a mile away and ignored Dad - I know for a fact I have no poker face - but they didn't. And now I have a memento, an object lesson, and a teaching tool, all in one.

It was a pretty good day.