The Red Jacket

Our town has a garage sale weekend every year. This year, my son and a friend walked around looking at the garage sales and just hung out for a while. L’s dad only had a twenty dollar bill and he handed it over (way too much, and the kid just asked for a ten).  I suspect that nobody asked me because they know I'm not as nice about handing out $.  Sometimes his dad just LIKES the way it feels to be able to do for his son what his parents could never do for him.  I don't mind.  I find it touching as long as I also have a chance to teach L to use it wisely.

This garage sale plan, by the way, is something L’s friend “El” comes up with, "let's walk around"; not L's type of idea.  It can make H. nervous sometimes, but I like to see L get out of the house.

Assuming that L didn’t spend anything for a slushy, he paid almost $9 for three articles of clothing. What a gyp.

(Just learnt that “gyp” is derogatory and is derived from gypsy… who knew? Isn’t it strange that these things take on a life that goes way beyond the original prejudice? I couldn’t have been using the word as an indirect insult to gypsies because I didn’t know there was any connection; now that I know, I guess I have to stop using the word.)

L overpaid for this clothing (by late Sunday afternoon garage sale standards). Still, two of the three things are really nice: well made, quality fabric, funky patterns. The third, however, defies description. But I’ll try.

It is a corduroy zippered shirt/jacket. The color is between red and burgundy: very bright. There are two square pockets on the front and the sleeves have a cuff and button. The most notable thing for me, though, was that it was clearly marked as a women’s plus size. My son had bought something designed for the overweight 40+ demographic… It was so ugly that the original owner had never even worn it; the tags were still new with an extra button in a little bag.

Well, I cut the tags out so that L could enjoy his new jacket – he would ne’er have to notice the truth. Next we threw it in the wash with the other two items (everything had maroon in it for some reason… perhaps all owned by the same large woman??)

L. said that the “t-shirt” was ugly, and the proof --according to L-- was that the guy who was running the garage sale “laughed” when he saw L carrying it.   I'm thinking that maybe the guy was laughing because he saw L buying all of his wife's (or his mother’s) clothes????

   The irony is lovely. … but you would have had to be here in this past year to see the unfiltered disdain my son has expressed regarding all things MO  – MOM, OLD LADY –   my clothes,   my taste,   my humor,   my lack of edurance/physical fitness,   my attempts to get him to clean his room. (ok ok - I am exagerating a tad.)  

Poor L. The jacket had lay unused for too long. When I got it out of the dryer after just a few minutes, the back had ripped in parallel lines. L wanted to repair it – and he tried it on to show me why it was worth it. I was completely successful in supressing my laughter.  I said we’d try to repair it – but the fact that there are parallel tears in the corduroy means that any repair will probably just force the next weak spot to rip. Still, I would so love to see L wearing that jacket. Maybe “repair jacket” should be on my to do list for today.

7 years of bad luck

Wow - today L and I broke a huge antique mirror.  Bummer.  It was soooo fricking heavy that I had taken it down from my dining room wall.  The plaster was breaking, and my husband's theory is that it was because of the weight of the mirror.  I don't know if the theory was correct, but the mirror was making me nervous... since I hug it myself-- I always wondered if one day it would come crashing down.
      After taking it off the wall, instead of putting it somewhere logical, I had set it against a wall, on the landing of the stairs which lead up to my room.  That wall is also the front of our house, so it's partly against the window and the curtain hung over part of the mirror... it made it too easy to ignore.
      So, today L blew up a balloon really really full and started making that horrible squeaking noise you can get by rubbing the balloon.  He knows I hate that noise.  Today it wasn't really bothering me too much, but I decided to play along with L.  I tried to take the balloon.  Then I got out a pin and threatened to pop it.  He ran up to my bedroom and I called out, "That's fine.  It doesn't bother me when you're that far away."  So, he opened the door to my room, and I went and hid behind another door thinking I'd pop the balloon when L walked by with it.  Only he was taking way too long to come back down so I slowly snuck out of my hiding place.  I realized that he had made it most of the way down the stairs and -suddenly inspired- I jumped out at him doing the "AHA" thing.  It was very very fun and funny for exactly 4.3 seconds.  I guess, with L so big and physically strong, I hardly ever rough house with him any more.  So, the situation, where I scared him and sent him running from me, was ridiculous (maybe nostalgic too?)
       Seriously.  It was so funny that when the mirror came down with this incredible crash, I wasn't even mad.
      We just got to work picking up the thousands of shards.  Then I sent L to his room to work on homework and I vacuumed for a solid hour trying to get the infinite tiny pieces.

       Now - a few hours later - I'm bummed.  I think I'm just tired.  L went off to a soccer scrimmage and I'm trying to look over a history paper he has to turn in on the first day of school.  (I'm not changing anything - just putting things he needs to look at -or punctuation errors etc.- in red.)
       You know, I think that's what has me sad.  School is starting and I hope he'll be okay.  It seems like I nagged him all summer long, but we're going to be scrambling madly for the next six days to wrap up all of his summer assignments.  He did learn a lot though - he thought and he read and he even wrote; he's just not as good at writing the finished product (and that, my friends, is the only thing his teacher will see on that first day.)
* * * * * * * *  
      OH, never said where the mirror came from.  The old lady across the street died about 6 or 7 years ago.  I still remember odd details: a different neighbor (Cheryl) coming to our door in the rain to tell me that the dead woman's  family had come and packed up the house, but there were a few things there that nobody wanted.  "Did we need a sofa?"  Ha ha -  I wasn't really in the mood, but Cheryl was so enthusiastic about it. I ended up lugging this incredibly heavy & UGLY sleeper sofa to my house.  As I picked up my half of it I almost fell back into the wall (in which I surely would have put a hole) - This family, all strangers to me, looked on in horror.  That day I brought the mirror home too.  It was beautiful, but I can see why nobody wanted to take it with them.  I always thought it weighed so much partly because of the backing/frame that was attached to it.  Now that it broke, though, I see that it was just super thick glass.
      Interesting, though.  Now I see that where it was etched (down the sides) - the etching was scratched out behind the glass and then the paint was applied (the paint that makes glass reflective).  I wonder if that technique is still used?  Going to check that out.  One of the etched side pieces survived, and I'll keep that.

Why am I going on and on about this.  I don't know.  You'ld think I was really going to miss this mirror, but I'm not.