My beautiful new wardrobe and an old story

The other day I posted "If they gave degrees in bargain shopping, I'd be a PhD" as my facebook status. I had just come in from scoring some amazing deals. Since I've lost weight most of my clothes don't fit very well and I've had to get some new stuff. But here's the deal, I don't have unlimited funds and I am incredibly cheap. Yeah, it's true. Although I will give you the shirt off my back, it is usually one I found on sale.

On Friday I went for a walk and decided not to take a purse. Just my debit card so I could buy a summer purse at the Goodwill boutique. I am not joking, they really do have a special shop, called Second Debut where they sell the Ferragamos and other fancy brands. On the way I stopped at a shop called Guild. It is a collective of artisans and others where they sell their goods. Everything from dishes with tattoo art to vintage clothing to jewelry. As if by magic I found the 90% off rack of new expensive clothing. I tried on a U2 shirt. It is brown and hand beaded to read 'I STILL HAVEN'T FOUND WHAT I AM LOOKING FOR'. ($140. reduced to $14.) I also tried on jeans/leggings/I don't know what to call them, in brown stretch ultra suede. They were $262. reduced to $131. and then to $26! Holy moly! They fit and looked good, only they were made for someone with very long legs and had zippers down by the ankles. I was able to turn them up without even going near the zippers. The sales lady told me to just scrunch them. Uh, no.

Today I cut about six inches off the bottom of the pants and hand hemmed them. Those pants look fine and I am very pleased. But now I have these cut off parts to deal with. Nice ultra suede tubes with zippers. I feel like I should do something with them. Maybe save the zippers... And suddenly I wished I could talk to Harriet. She would have some good ideas.

When she was in the nursing home we didn't have much to talk about so I would bring up stories she told in the past. Her father was a tailor and one day a lady came into his shop to have beaded cuffs taken off a suit. Harriet asked if she could have them and made her dolly a beaded outfit. When the woman came back to pick up her suit, Harriet's father called her into the shop. He told her to bring her doll. When the woman saw what she had done, she picked her up and kissed her. These were in the days they lived behind the store, and she was small enough that a fancy lady could pick her up.

I may have heard that story twenty times. Each time she told it her eyes would light up with remembered pleasure. She never did well in school and was held back. I think she was made fun of and school was torture. But she taught herself to knit using her mother's hair pins and could sew at a very young age. By the time she was seventeen she was the top earner at a beauty parlor because they would wait in line for her. She was good and she was quick. It made her feel good to support her family during the Depression. Her father, in his later years looked at her, a career woman, and at his other daughters, who were all champion cleaners, and said that maybe she was the smartest one. After being told she was a dummy for years, those words of recognition were soothing balm. In my opinion it was too little too late but she basked in the memory.

A few things come to mind. Have we told our children they weren't good enough? Have we told them how talented they are? Have we celebrated their differences? Can we recognize our own talents? I'm a terrific shopper. Sure that won't get me very far, or as they used to say in Brooklyn, that and a token will get you on the bus. But it is a talent. It allowed my children to go to school in an upscale suburb looking as well dressed as the rich kids. Now I just wish I knew what to do with these zippered cuffs. Mom, send me some inspiration. (I know this is heresy, maybe I will just throw them away. Shh, don't tell my conscience.)

Two Left Feet

I think I was forty years old before I learned a consistent way to remember left from right. Make a letter L with the left thumb and forefinger and, voila! That side is left. Children teach us so much, and some of it is useful and fun. I've also learned righty-tighty and lefty-loosey for screw tops and locks. Although locks can fool unless you know if it was installed for the inside or outside. But nine times out of ten, I can get the door unlocked the first time. (Small victories!) I had a hell of a time when I signed up for Girls Marching in the ninth grade, not reliably starting on the right foot. Still, it got me out of sitting at a lunch table with the boy who made my life hell. (He likes you, the vice-principal told me.)

I like to dance. I love to dance. I guess though, when it comes down to it, I am not the very best dancer. I didn't realize this until I started dancing with a variety of partners when I took East Coast Swing lessons. I am not alone, though. Lots of people can't dance, can't even keep a beat and some are show offs and some are fun and, and, and... what should be fun is stressful.

In college I went to dances almost every week. Bands would come up from the Bay Area to Quincy and we would dance at the Grange Hall. Sometimes we would get fooled by bands who kept changing their names. One week they would be advertised as Wild Turkey while in reality they were the same old Dripping Lips. (Oy!) I would go and have fun but hated waiting to be asked to dance. All these years later, I still hate it.

Last night I went to a Swing Dance with a big band at the Wabasha Caves in St Paul. I signed up through the Meet-up group Get Out Get Social. (It used to be called WONRO, Wearing Out Not Rusting Out.) Many of the people from the lessons were there and we had a little refresher lesson before the band started. I was determined to have fun.

If I could just relax and smile and dance, I had a pretty good time. But if I had to reassure my partner, or have someone criticize me, it wasn't much fun. People were pretty good about dancing if I asked them and, putting fears of rejection aside, I asked. I was kicked in the ankle by another couple, had my feet stepped on, and worse of all was banged in the head by the elbow of a tall partner.

On the plus side, I got a good workout, went beyond my comfort zone, only spent $7 for the cover, and  felt pretty in a swingy dress I found at a consignment store. I only stayed from 6 to 7:30 even though the band was scheduled to play until 10. I left feeling good, if banged around and looking forward to doing it again sometime. Practice makes perfect? I'll settle for fun.

Thoughts on music and society

I like to listen to books on cd when I drive, consequently I have a hard time keeping up with contemporary popular music. My son-in-law, John, maintains a wonderful blog where he reviews and links to music old, new, and soon to be released. It is called Purely Him, http://purelyhim.blogspot.com. Sometimes I hear something I love and don't have a clue who the artist is. So I plunked down $12. and bought the 2013 Grammy Nominees cd. There is a reason that these are hits; maybe overplayed, but something for everyone.  Guess what? I like Kelly Clarkson, Gotye, Florence + The Machine, Pink, Katie Perry, Fun, and the whole gang.  I even enjoyed Taylor Swift and Carly Rae Jepson. I am pretty happy with the purchase.

Yes, I am one of those people who really listens to lyrics and many resounded in my heart. I never knew that there were all these songs about the end of relationships. I remember songs about loving people or looking for love, but I don't remember all this honesty. Wow.

Now I know that Sting doesn't have a new record. That is Gotye. And what I thought was George Michaels is Muse. Then I heard a song that sounded like Bruce Springsteen. It was Bruce, cool! But then I started listening to the lyrics and I got mad. The song is called We Take Care Of Our Own. It is catchy and inspiring and full of jingoistic fever and totally full of crap. We do not take care of our own.

Maybe we come together in times of crisis and put up a good front for a couple of weeks. But we do not take care of our own. Ask Iraq and Afghanistan veterans who are waiting years for benefits. Ask Viet Nam veterans who are victims of Agent Orange. Ask the displaced in New Orleans years after Katrina. Ask the working poor, ask the young parents who can't afford day care. Ask struggling school districts.

How did we get into this state in the strongest Democracy in the world? How did we get a congress that is in the pockets of oil, drug and insurance companies? When did corporations get more rights than citizens? Why is unlimited gun rights more important than human life? Florence + The Machine suggests Shake It Out. Pink says Try. Kelly Clarkson maintains What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger. But Bruce, don't say We Take Care Of Our Own, because we don't.

I'm going to follow Alabama Shakes and Hold On.