A Price Above Rubies

Last Friday, a friend of mine turned 50. She's the kind of person who keeps in touch with everyone she's met, even after decades of separation. Two of her best friends, women who'd been the seasoned military wives when she'd joined them, late, as a new bride with two daughters from a previous marriage, flew and drove into town for the event. Listening to their stories, to their howls of laughter - and warm remembrances - made me (me, Bunny) close my mouth and open my ears.

What I heard was the echo of my 21 moves, first with my father then my husband, and it sounded a bit hollow. I have friends whom I've known since the ninth grade - we don't see each other enough, but we talk on the phone several times a year. I have my sister, who is also one of my best friends, as well as my favorite person to run to when I have a juicy story or a powerful rant. I have my kids, here, too. And two wonderful women who are my foils and co-conspirators and my inspirations (and I swear, when I think up good names for them, I'll put them in here!). And, of course, I have the Big Lug, who is my very best friend, my constant companion and love of my life.

Now, I know that I have a king's ransom in people whom I love, and who love me. I know this. I say a silent "thank you" for them every single day. And yet ...

Something strange happened to me at that party, but I didn't really feel it until my first yard sale on Saturday. I glanced over the stuff (displayed so much more artfully than my things had been) but I didn't turn and leave. I found myself, instead, talking with (and listening to) the young homeowner who was still opening boxes and sorting the linens (yes, I was early, even for a 7 am start). They're moving, you see, after only one year in the house - renters, thank heaven, so no tragedy with the mortgage - because the husband found another job in another state ... another universe compared to here because they were able to find a house they could actually afford. I bought a lamp for more than I usually would have paid, and left, oddly disturbed by the exchange.

I let Mama Angel lead me, drifting from sign to sign like some Icelandic saga character, not thinking - just watching for the opening, as usual. A couple of quick glances at small and not-in-my-taste yard sales later, I turned at a sign that said the sale was "awesome."

What was awesome was the kids who were running it - 19, college students all. The in-charge one had dark hair and dark lips, multiple piercings and a major 'tude - with laughter in her eyes. She majors in psycholgy but wants to add a second major, physics. According to one of the group, another female (who looked like a Minnesota cheerleader), the dark one is brilliant, and will change the world. I believed her. I also believed that the blonde would do so, too, subtly, with her photography (her major) and her quiet way. The others were male, liked the loud music throbbing on the car stereo more than they wanted to talk to customers, especially an old biddy pawing through a box (filled to the brim!) of jewelry, but they definitely provided comic relief since the girls didn't just give as good as they got, they determined the game.

Thirty minutes and $15 (two pairs of earrings, a bracelet, and two beautiful necklaces) later, I went home to join the Big Lug. We were going to see one of his pipe guys about some tobacco.

Once in town, the first place I checked was my favorite consignment shop, but it was empty of antique glass this time. However, a shop that had been simply a store front the last time we were in town was now open, and I saw sparkly things inside. I went in with a sigh of delight, and almost forgot about the gemstones that surrounded me.

The owner had just returned from Iraq - he'd spent "40 years finishing a 25 year enlistment." He told me about his wife, who'd started collecting jewelry 15 years ago - all the shiny things were estate and auction items. He spoke fondly of his kids, who range from 5 to 37 (second marriage, second family), and his 7 grandkids (one of whom is older than his youngest child - the aunt is younger than the nephew). He didn't talk about Iraq at all, but we traded stories of military life. And he gave me very good deals on everything I bought. In fact, I plan to go back this Friday, just to see if it was all a dream.

By the time we returned home, late in the evening, I still hadn't identified what was nagging at me, whatever had begun at the party. No, that took something this morning, when I was on a schedule - I needed to walk to Home Depot while my car was getting an oil change, just for two items, so that I could hit the thrift store that was going to open in twenty minutes before going home. That was the plan. Then I met up with an 84-year-old man who started telling me his story, too, and since it started with "my wife, who died a year-and-a-half ago ..." I could not walk away, did not even want to. And as we stood in the middle of the aisle between "Garden" and "Plumbing," I listened to him speak of his beloved of 54 years, of his time in government service, of his days at Indiana University (my father's alma mater), and his life before, growing up in Basra. Nearly an hour later, we parted.

And I knew. I knew what had been bugging me. For seven months, now, I've been focusing on cold cash, on assets and income, on savings and projected values. It makes sense - I've moved so much, I've had little security (financial or emotional) and it takes a stick of dynamite to tear an opening in my heart. But this week I remembered. I remembered that every thing I buy, whether it's jewelry, glass or mutual funds, has people behind it - not elves but people, people who designed it, who built it, who gathered it together, who sell it, who used it ... people who have problems and histories and lives and families and losses and gains and tragedies and absurdities.

I have been telling you my story. I want to tell you theirs, as well. This isn't "The Bunny's Yard Sale Finds Show." It's treasure hunting - and finding - and sharing the treasure with you.

From here on out, I will brave the technological labyrinth to post pictures in the margin instead of in the body. I will work harder to put favorite books and web sites up, to help both chronicle my adventures and give you something to play with as well. But, even better, I will do something I'm told I'm not very good at in general - I will listen more, and I will pass the stories along to you.

Because these people - these mad, wild, sad, wonderful, hilarious, wise people - are definitely the greatest treasure we will ever find.

All's Quiet on the Bunny Front ... Sort of ...

July 5th was in the holiday weekend, so pickings were rather slim around here. I did hit a couple of thrift shops - best find was a lovely silver and cinnabar (yes, cinnabar!) pendant, in the shape of a lotus blossom, for $2.99. Mostly what I walked away with, however, was unknown gems, minerals, and metals, classic speculation items that were inexpensive enough to warrant the risk. (You know, "learning curve" items.) Plus, classes have begun with a vengeance, and I'm already up to 28 billable hours a week (which is about 36 hours of actual work).

So, instead of shopping, and thinking more than I had to, I continued to clean the place up. I filled several boxes with more things - for the thrift store, I swear. Then The Big Lug joined in briefly, even saying he should have pulled his old bike, a decade-old 10-speed, up from the basement and out into the yard sale.

That's when it started, and I can't get it out of my mind ...

I'm seriously thinking about having another yard sale.

Talk me out of it.

Somebody? Anybody?

Please?

Dependence

Rabbit season.

Duck season.

Rabbit season.

Rabbit season.

Duck season - fire!

Ha, that Daffy Duck! What a dope! What a maroon! He thinks he's so smart, but he's the dumbest thing on the planet! You'd think he'd learn by now that trusting Bugs (not listening carefully, not reading the fine print) is just plain idiotic, wouldn't you? Well, wouldn't you?

Sure, because trust is pretty stupid, isn't it? I'm right there with you. Trust isn't my long suit, either. "Why?" you ask. "Does it matter?" says I. Most people don't trust easily, if only because of the society we live in. I don't even trust myself very much. But I have learned, the hard way, that I not only can trust, I have to.

Our culture has somehow made "dependence" the newest four-letter word. Admitting dependence of any kind is perceived as either weakness or status symbol, something to be "cured" of (or supposedly so). But it was only after Betty Ford admitted her addiction that we began the shift toward "dependence" as a substitute for the clinical term. ("How could someone like Mrs. Ford have something so unsavory as addictions, after all ... and how could I have missed my own little problem?") As usual, the spin we gave the word changed our perception of it, so that now, no matter the circumstances we won't or we can't depend even on the sun to rise. We have to stand alone (except for addictions). We must be skeptics, debunkers, cynics, or we're just not cool (except for addictions).

In my last post, I declared my Independence. Today, I unashamedly admit that I cannot and will not live my life by myself, for myself, and of myself.

Today, I proclaim my Dependence Day!


Dat dat da DA! On this day, at this hour, I, Bunny, announce the following:

1. I state categorically that I will trust both the Big Lug and Mama Angel (as well as her Boss) to love me, to support me, and to have - only and always! - my best interests at heart.

2. I assert that the ancient Greeks had the right idea when they said that the winds were reborn every day at dawn - no matter what happens in any 24-hour period, I depend upon the sun to rise and produce 24 hours full of unlimited possibility.

3. I affirm that I can bank on my own abilities and talents - and that I will get out of my own way more often than I step in it.

4. I pronounce (with great fanfare) that I know life will happen as it should instead of as I want, that it will be inconsistent and paradoxical - but I also declare that I will always believe the best of situations and of people first, and that I will have someone to comfort me and help me through if it proves otherwise.


No, I'm not going to turn into warm, fuzzy Bunny (any more than I can simplify that last sentence). But maybe, just maybe, I can shift my perspective - a bit, then a bit more. And, like the "spin" that eventually produces sea changes in our cultural thinking, the adjustments will create a slightly different reality, a whole new world for me to see, and see differently.

After all, everybody knows it's actually Elmer season.

Independence

We all make resolutions on New Year's Day, and we give thanks on Thanksgiving. We remember the dead on Memorial Day (or we're supposed to), and we celebrate giving during the winter holidays. I think we're ready to start a new tradition - Independence Day Declarations.

That's right. We need to make a list of all the things we've become independent from - which, by the way, means whatever we've gained freedom from, not things we've decided not to depend on. (That would be non-dependence, something based in pride and arrogance and pain, which is a sucky way to live.) I even propose that we don't stop with what we've already done, but declare things we're going to do in the next year, too! After all, the Founding Fathers declared Independence before they actually fought and won it!

I'll start.

1. I declare myself shed of the tyranny of the circumstances of my life - it's all about attitude!
2. I declare independence from slick advertising, from the Joneses, from the life the media and all the lies around us say we should have.

3. I declare myself free of the bondage of credit cards and payday loans, and from "high-end" anything (that I don't find at 80% off).

4. I declare myself emancipated from the clutter that stifles, from the laziness that prevents home-care, and from hanging onto bad choices from the past (the ones that won't let us move forward!).

If we could find half the cajones that our forefathers had, and tear ourselves away from "conventional," from "expected," and from "the new American Way," we could be free.

Because true freedom - to be ourselves - is worth any price.

Speculators

Have you noticed how many different entities are (apparently) the cause of the current economic downturn? Banks, credit card companies, mortgage companies ... the federal government (devaluing the dollar by overspending), the state government (overspending), the counties (ditto) ... the Fed (for not regulating enough), the FCC (for not regulating enough), the FBI (yes, I really did see that) ... unscrupulous buyers, unscrupulous lenders, unscrupulous decorators ...

Everyone is getting blamed for this except the actual cause - The American Way.

No, not the charity (that's the United Way) but the concept - a chicken in every pot, a Lexus in every driveway, and the Constitution-given right to the pursuit of happiness. You know - wealth, even if you don't have it to start with.

I'm not against money - that would defeat the whole purpose of my quest - and speculation is indeed the way to get it. Every time we buy a house, a stock, or any other non-consumable item we are trading a liquid asset (cash) for another, more solid one in the hopes that the elves will grow our pot of silver into a pot of gold - organized gambling on a global scale. And there's nothing wrong with it! Everyone who's anyone has succeeded because of it!

It's when we go into the deal with a pot of lead and expect the elves to become alchemists, or when we walk in with silver (knowing it's trolls at the helm) that we get the straw instead of the gold. And we know this! The Great Depression was all about "leveraging" - the foundation for a house of hay that blew down with little more than a hearty guffaw from the Big Bad Wolf. The turbulent 'sixties and the deprivations of the 'seventies was because we built and overbuilt like there was no tomorrow after WWII. And the "Oh-My-God!" 'eighties led to the "Where's-the-Ramen?" 'nineties.

Don't expect (much of) a lecture - this is commiseration, not judgement. I've rolled the dice more often than I've rolled a T-bill, and I have the callouses and debt to prove it. But I had an "oh-crap!" moment this weekend, and I'm still feeling the reverbs today. It had to do with a little pink stone.

Here's the backstory ... hunting was pretty
good on Friday - an estate sale in the morning yielded some pretty jewelry and a bunch of signatures on a "farewell" thing, while a trip south (I really am stretching my wings!), armed with an internet search and a nose that told me to drive twenty miles farther down a state highway instead of the interstate, gave me some of my better finds (the gold chain, moth pin, rock bracelet, turquoise ring, and sterling cake server). By Saturday I was pooped, and as hunting was good at only one yard sale (onyx and sterling ring, silver bracelet, and a bead necklace) I knocked off early and veged out - the Texas trip had finally caught up with me.

Those were good. Sunday was the problem. In the past two weeks, I have learned that all Goodwill stores are not created equal. The only one I'd visited here was more Dollar Store than happy hunting grounds (which they need to be where they are, trust me), so Sunday I decided to visit more of them.

In one, I found The Ring: a polished pink stone hot-glued onto a craft-store adjustable form, cranberry pink, intriguing. And for $2.99, what budding rock hound could resist? I bought it, went home, and headed for my black light, where it fluoresced orangy-red. Hmmm. Nothing in my book really matched that combo of stone color and fluorescence. So I pried it off the mounting, peeled off the glue, and looked again. No fluorescense at all, except in this one place ...

Okay, must be the polish. I took it to the kitchen and tapped it with a hammer - I swear, it was just a tap!


You saw that coming, didn't you? Yep, pink dust.

I believe that it was a "reindeer stone," very brittle (duh) but also quite collectible for a rock hound. Or maybe raspberry quartz, very flawed (so broke easily) and also kind of cool. Now it's pink crumbs.

I speculated, I was foolish, I lost my asset. But how much did I really lose?"

Enter the geek.

Tap tap tap

I spent under $40 this entire weekend (on things that may or may not appreciate in value). That pile of rock powder is, essentially, nearly 8% of my "investment" for the period.

Tap tap tap

Wait, one necklace (not shown - already given away) and one ring are gifts, and a piece of marquetry (not shown - glued in place) is mostly for decorative purposes ... so, really, that pebble was ... tap tap tap ... 11% of my potential assets.

A pretty big loss for such a small stroke of a hammer. Or "just" a leverage on a buy (with a small margin) of oil futures. Or a house "flip." Or an equity cashout. Or a credit card buy (knowing that I will have the business to pay for it later). Or just about anything else that many of us call - or once called - "speculation."

So there I sat, Sunday evening, and I realized I'd scheduled a replacement window estimate for Monday knowing that I have neither the cash nor the hard-and-fast income in the next six months to pay for it. And Monday, when I wanted it so badly I could taste it (all $26K of it - top of the line, two extra holes, etc.). Yes, it will increase our equity. But this kind of thing is not the speculation that earned Carnegie and Buffett their millions - hubris and greed are ingredients for a cake of Titanic proportions.

Been there, done that, got the blood sugar to prove it.

Will I get the windows done? Maybe - no bells and whistles, and only when I have the cash. Will I continue to buy? Will I be able to?

I'm betting on it.