Preteen Girl Books

Day 178: Preteen Girl Books

I'm sitting in my parents' living room with my eight- and five-year old nieces. Evie is singing a song - from Frozen, of course - while Roxanne dances. Roxanne is wearing a sparkly black and pink tutu, and Evie is looking fine in pink polka dots. There are rules here, courtesy of the theater manager, Roxanne. No electronic devices (I got grandfathered in). No lights (except the stage lights, also known as the track lights on the ceiling). Evie knows all the words and movements from Frozen. I remember very well sitting and watching her sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider over and over, her tiny hands climbing up into the air and fluttering down to the ground at the end. And years before that, listening to Emma sing The Fox Went Out on a Chilly Night (none of the words were comprehensible, but she knew them all).  Now Roxanne is serving refreshments: imaginary tea from a brass teapot. The teapot contains books of matches, as it has since I was a child. I believe my mother's parents brought it with them to Canada from Scotland.

Perhaps later tonight, these girls (and their older sister Kaeli, who is not here tonight) will enjoy these books. They were Emma's, but not her favorites. I hope she comes home for Thanksgiving. If she does, I don't think she'll miss them.

Headless Torso

Day 178: Headless Torso

Venus de Milo? Amputee? Murder victim? This headless torso is one of our odder belongings. Emma got it from a costumer. My daughter actually did use it to alter a black blazer in preparation for auditions in Chicago last year. Later, she used it to display her chintz and satin prom dress, the gauze skirt pooling around the stand like froth beneath a waterfall.

It has moveable parts. You can puff out its chest, or give it a poochy stomach, or fatten up its hips, or enlarge its breasts. It can shrug its shoulders. It can do the twist.

My sister deserves this headless torso. After all, she's taken multiple sewing classes. She's meticulous. She irons her seams. Her scissors are sharp. Her needles pierce.

Besides, this thing gives me the creeps.

Clothes That Didn't Make the Cut

Day 177: Clothes That Didn't Make the Cut

This is the pile of clothes that we took with us in the car to Muncie, and that Emma wisely culled from her collection in the hotel room the night before move-in day. She was trying to strike that perfect balance between having enough to feel secure but not so much as to feel embarrassed. There are one or two shirts in the pile that she never wore, but for the most part these are stretched out of shape, torn or faded. Now that I am trying to be more focused on controlling the influx of stuff, I resolutely integrated none of these into my own wardrobe except one soft orange t-shirt from one of her last shows senior year. 

I feel a little nostalgic, thinking of that final night, though mostly lately when I think of Emma, I'm just pleased. She seems happy. I guess she chose well, not just her packing list but her program, her school and this next stage of life. Whew. And - woot woot!

You may have noticed that this pile of stuff was not selected today to be gotten rid of, and in the interest of full disclosure, there is about a month's worth of stuff piled up in the basement and our bedroom closet. I intend to get rid of it all, next time the football game is away, because it's just too much trouble to run errands on a game day. Rich is starting to notice that there are piles on things around that I haven't really gotten rid of. Soon, soon. 

But even though I have a lot of stuff in piles and boxes, I've still let go of it. The basement is just a staging area now for a bunch of things I no longer really own, a place for errands waiting to happen. 

Soon, soon. 

Purses

Day 176: Purses

Every woman (and a few enlightened men) is on a perpetual search for the perfect purse. (I can hear your protests: not EVERY woman. Poetic license.) It should be big enough to fit everything you need, but not so big that things get lost in the bottom. It should have a select few pockets placed such that they assist with organizing, but don't hide things. The strap should be the right length - for me, that means long enough to wear hanging from my shoulder and across my chest, so the bag rests on my hip. It should be cute and au courant, but timeless enough to be worth the price. It should be leather so it lasts, a quirky yet pleasing color matching both brown and black shoes. It should be all things to all people. 

I've never found it, but I keep looking. This one doesn't fit the bill. (Sorry, Jess!) Nor does the homemade felt one underneath. Nor do the two little woven baskets and the little zippered bags. 

Still searching. 

Bowling Pin

Day 175: Bowling Pin

There are many things I don't miss about having little kids. I don't miss sleep deprivation. I don't miss having to pee but not being able to leave the room. I don't miss trudging along behind an inquisitive two-year old on a slow walk around the block to prevent him from running out into traffic or putting cigarette butts in his mouth. I don't miss elementary school spelling worksheets (I mean, who needs to spell any more?). But most of all, I don't miss birthday parties.

More specifically, I don't miss Chuck E. Cheese, that den of running, screaming seven-year-olds, flashing, pinging video games, and crazed adults in weird mouse costumes. I don't miss Zap Zone, Jump City or Buhr Pool. I don't miss laser tag, paintball or mini-golf. And I don't miss the bowling alley, where conversations are shouted into nearby ears like front row seats at a Bob Seeger concert. Birthday party locations and headaches go together like - well - birthday cake and ice cream.

I also don't miss spending $100 on cheap plastic party bags that the little guests will never use. Or $150 on less cheap party bags that the little guests will still never use. I don't miss dogging the kids to write thank-you notes. I don't miss last minute trips to Toys R Us for those birthday parties we forgot we were invited to. I don't miss worrying about whether we've invited too many kids, or left somebody out by mistake.

The one thing I do miss about kid birthdays: birthday cake. Cake really takes the cake. I like everything about birthday cake. I like baking it: usually a Duncan Hines yellow cake with chocolate frosting, but sometimes a completely-from-scratch carrot cake with cream cheese frosting, celebrant's choice. I like singing happy birthday, a little off-key with poor harmony. I like to see the special light the birthday candles cast on the smiling face of the birthday girl. I like watching the birthday boy try to blow out all the candles. And I like seeing everybody scarfing down and loving that cake.

So long, Colonial Lanes bowling pin with the smeared-off happy birthday wishes. 

Spare.

Me.

Wool Coat

Day 174: Wool Coat

This wool coat belonged to my sister's much-loved mother-in-law. Suzanne was an artist, and I am the beneficiary (in the purist sense of the word) of her extensive collection of needlepoint wool as well. And no, I will never get rid of the needlepoint wool. Perish the thought. 

This coat is wool of a different sort, less useful to me, though perhaps more useful in a general sense. It came to me by way of a naked ladies party I had a couple years ago. It is a very high quality coat, Calvin Klein navy wool with leather patches at the elbow and big wooden buttons shaped like little barrels. It is a little outdated, but not quite outdated enough to be retro. I wore it once. The pockets are shallow, and my cell phone fell out in the parking lot as I was getting out of the shuttle at Dunning Toyota. (That's another heartwarming story that ends with some random person going to great lengths to return the phone to me by way of my mother.) I never wore it again.

A high-quality warm coat like this is one of those things that makes me muse about stuff and poverty and distribution of wealth. Like, is there a homeless person in this county who is at risk of dying of exposure, who might benefit from having this coat? A coat which has been hanging unused in my basement for at least a couple of years? And if so, how can we match up people who need stuff with people who have too much? Especially given that a person without a coat also probably doesn't have a cell phone, or access to a computer, or access to any kind of communication network that might start the needed stuff flowing in their direction.

Or is that not what poverty looks like here in Michigan? Maybe the homeless have coats, but the coats are a little outdated (like this one). And if you're poor, does that mean it doesn't matter if your clothes don't make you feel cute? I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that if you're poor and fifteen years old, you still want to look cute. And if you're 50, hey, maybe you can be a little more philosophical. But. 

Let me just say it.

I'm in favor of a living minimum wage.

Light Fixture

Day 173: Light Fixture

This charming light fixture and its twin have been casting a dull glow in the kids' bedrooms since we bought this house eleven years ago, and probably for five decades before that. The wires connecting the fixtures to the ceiling were  covered with crumbling black paper, and of course there is no grounding wire. 

Why did I get rid of the old ceiling fixtures just a few days before Emma moved out? I replaced them with ceiling fan lights, which cost only $40 each and which have significantly improved the climate, lighting and general modernity of the rooms. It took Sam and me less than an hour to replace each one. I should have done it years ago, and yet, there was no real catalyst. Perhaps just filling my thoughts with a project, to distract myself from her going away. But as I've discovered time and again, new stuff doesn't really fill the holes in your heart. 

Still, it is nice to lie on the bed in the guest room, directly under a nice, cool breeze. 

Here's a fun fact: there are no Energy Star ratings for fans. Which means you really don't know how much power they use. Maybe they're worse than air conditioning, and all this sweating and lolling about we've done has been to no purpose. 

Question: am I cheating by "getting rid of" these old fixtures, when I was really replacing them with something new?