Thrift Store Show and Tell: Lady Diana Edition

I don't spend much time thinking about my own death, but I've realized one thing.

Charlotte, I know you'll be upset when I die, but please don't put my face on a t-shirt afterwards.

No one wants that.

I Know I'm Old Fashioned

But it seems like you'd save yourself a lot of trouble if you just didn't go in there at all.

Thrift Store Show and Tell: Shiny Edition

When I was a kid, I'd tell other kids that I was colorblind, and the first thing would they ask is, "Really? You can't see color? What color shirt am I wearing?"

I'd have to explain, "'Colorblind' means I don't know what color you're wearing."

As if on cue, their next question would be "Okay, well, what's your favorite color, then?"

That's when I'd lean in and quietly confide, "I like... shiny things." For effect I'd pause two full seconds before whispering the words shiny things.

Although that's a fun comeback, it's also true. There's not much color in a sparkle, but there's a lot of impact. I like the shine of chrome, the glisten of brushed aluminium, and the depth of polished brass. Copper can cast quite a gleam, too.  I'm pretty sure this attraction to shiny things is why I'm drawn to vintage items. There's not much call for chrome in today's disposable world.

I picked up this old Coleman cooler for five bucks at the H store, and I like it for the same reasons I like my old Bug. I enjoy the metal construction, the faded paint, and all the chrome trim. Although it was initially filthy, I cleaned the paint with rubbing compound, and buffed it out with car wax. Most of the rust on the chrome was erased with 0000 steel wool.

I know these old coolers aren't as efficient as their new counterparts, but you can't mount bottle openers on Styrofoam.

Although this $10 desk chair is mostly black, it has cool metal accents on the legs, and it looks pretty darn manly.

I picked up this Marantz stereo receiver for 8 dollars, and I love the faceplate's design. I like how the lettering across the top jumps from a swoopy cursive to a bold lowercase font. We then move down to thin uppercase lettering only to proceed downward to fat, lowercase across the bottom.

Best of all, The Best of Hall and Oats has never sounded better through my speakers.

Knowing my style, Daphne pointed out this lamp in a Valley Junction thrift store. I think it's a pretty great lamp for a guy's room.

But do you know what's ever better for a guy's room? That classic, rotary phone that looks cool, but isn't hooked up - no calls to answer for this guy. Awesome.

PS. The "vintage" caller ID box next to the phone is also not connected to anything, and that's my idea of a subtle joke.

Thrift Store Show and Tell: One Nightstand Edition

Char's not the only one finding fun deals at the H store. Last week I scored this nightstand. Its style is reminiscent of my dresser, but the wood tone and design isn't exactly the same - which is why I like it.

And I wasn't the only one who liked this nightstand. Two women pointed and winced when they saw me walking it to the counter, and another approached me and whispered, "I was really looking at that..." I don't know if her intention was to complement or to accuse. Either way, it's not my fault if those gals don't know the rules of thrift store shopping.

Time to go home, put on my nightstand tee shirt, and celebrate!

What? You don't believe I have a nightstand shirt?

Yeah, you can call me a dork. I'm cool with that.

Related link: The Rules for Thrift Store Shopping

Peg + Cat plus Spinal Tap

The three little pigs' amp was broken in today's episode of Peg + Cat. Luckily, Ramone was there to fix it.

He even made the amp better than before. Now it goes to eleven.

Which, as Nigel can tell you, is, "One louder."

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"Toy" Boxing with McDonald's

I don't understand the toys fast food restaurants include with their children's meals. I know they are promotional products for movies and TV programs, but if you are going to call them "toys" shouldn't they have a hint of fun? It's like the designers aren't even trying.

For example, who's this guy in the bathrobe, and why does he keep threatening me with his supper plates? 

I think a lot kids want to go to McDonald's because they can get a toy with their Happy Meals. I also think a lot of kids leave McDonald's severely disappointed.

One time Charlotte received a lantern.

Seriously McDonald's, have you ever actually met a kid? Who thinks this is a "toy"?

Thanks to Des Moines' newest thrift store, Charlotte doesn't have that problem anymore. If she wants a kids meal toy, she doesn't even have to consume 500 calories to earn it. Hope Ministries opened their new Encore Thrift Store on Merle Hay Road, and Char and I pass it on the drive to daycare. Often she exclaims with a pointing finger, "There's the H Store!"

The reason she gets so excited to see the H Store is this container. It's genius!

What's inside the container?

"Toys". BUT, Char gets to choose the "toys" she want to take home. That way she cannot be disappointed, because she handpicked each one. Plus, you get about twenty "toys" for a buck. That's almost worth your dollar.

Time to get started. 

In the end, this was a dinosaur day. We came home with a herd. Char was also pleased with the tiara. (I snuck in a hockey puck for myself. I think it'll make a cool drink coaster.)

Not all the "toys" Char picks are complete, but she doesn't know that. If you mix and match, you can come up with cool "toy" mash-ups. Here's a Burger King Simpsons stand from 2001 with a recent Wicked Witch of the West  from McDonald's.

They look pretty good together.

So, here's the afternoon schedule when I have Char to myself because Daphne's working.
1. Drive home to let Maggie (our dog) out to potty.
2. Watch an episode of Peg + Cat on PBS.
3. Let a barky Maggie back in the house.
4. Go to the H store, and dig for gold.
5. Go thru the McDonald's drive-thu and order a Happy Meal.
6. Be disappointed with the new "toy", but have a picnic in basement with all of our new "toy" friends.

So far this has happened four times, and everyone was happy. The only drawback?  We now have our own box of "toys".

Oh well. Right now, these are a few of her favorite things.

Didn't See the Signs

Yesterday I woke up with a nervous stomach. That's not new, though. I've been waking up with a nervous stomach for about eight weeks straight. I guess that comes with the territory when you are living in one house and trying to sell another.

I have written about selling my late mother-in-law's house, and I've talked about moving into our new place, but I've been afraid to say anything about selling our old house. The deal has been so fragile, and I've been holding my breath so not to break it.

The first time we tried to sell our house we tiptoed around trying not to make a mess that might turn off a potential buyer. No dirty dishes were left in the sink, you could bounce a quarter off the bed sheets, and we stripped the walls of all personality. To make the house look bigger, we loaded half of our belongings into a storage pod, and waved goodbye as a truck took our stuff to parts unknown. We reassured ourselves that we'd just saved a lot of packing time when the pod was delivered to our new home.

We didn't know the housing market was about to take one of the biggest nosedives in years.

In the end, I think only three couples actually visited at our house, and none of them considered making us an offer. To add salt to the wound, we had one open house where no one came, not even the realtor - she opened the wrong house to the public.

Six months after listing our house Daphne was three months pregnant, and the pod was back in our driveway waiting to be unloaded. Talk about feeling defeated.

But four years later the housing market in Des Moines was booming. We put our house on the market in late September, and four days later we had an offer. The buyers agreed to our asking price, and the only stipulations were that they wanted my eight-year-old mower and a closing date before the end of October. Offer accepted! We signed the papers as quickly as possible.

Then two days later the government shut down, and so did their FHA loan. The buyers couldn't buy our house, but since we signed their paperwork, we couldn't sell it to anyone else, either. We were stuck in a realty limbo. We were also told that house sales really slow down in the fall, and every day the elected officials in Washington fought and pouted, the knot in my stomach tightened.

Then the buyers went to get a traditional bank loan, instead. Yea! And they were turned down... twice. What? But then they got a large monetary gift. Yea! But they had to prove it wasn't from drug deals. Huh? Throw in the termite and house inspections along with two banking holidays, and the closing date kept being pushed back. Three times the signing at the bank was put on hold.

Just thinking about it makes me a little sick. Whenever a storm rolled through I had two roofs to worry about. When I'd see a firetruck lit like a Xmas tree, I'd pray that it wasn't headed to either of our neighborhoods. We had two basements to flood, two driveways to shovel, and two house payments to make. Excuse me while I go throw up.

When I wasn't driving over to take care of the yard, I'd be driving over to check on the "For Sale" sign in our yard. I kept hoping to see a big, red "Sold!" sticker plastered over it. Even a small triangle marked "Pending" would have been encouraging. But for 55 days that sign remained unchanged.

Then yesterday, at 2:30, the sign was yanked out of the ground and tossed into a car's trunk. When he came over to our home around 5:00, our realtor said this was maybe the fourth time in a 30 year career that he didn't get to put a "sold" sign in front of a sold house. He then handed us a check from the bank.

We were officially one-home owners.

It still hasn't sunk in. This morning I had the inclination to drive by to make sure we're okay after last night's rain, but I don't have to go over anymore. In fact, the new owners don't want me there. That's a weird thought. In one afternoon an albatross became forbidden ground.

I shouldn't say albatross. When we were the buyers, we were overjoyed to leave our cramped apartment behind, and that house treated us well. Although we outgrew the place, we loved it. We always repaired what was broken, and every year we made improvements on it.

Our realtor told us when he was at the bank, he got a glimpse of the young couple that purchased our house. The buyers were there with their parents, and everyone was glowing with excitement. Apparently our old house is a huge leap from wherever they were living before. He also said that they weren't locals; they needed a translator to help them with the language barriers.

That's where this all clicks together. When she retired, my mother-in-law left a very high position at Well Fargo Bank to work at Lutheran Services of Iowa. She no longer wanted to help a corporation; Deb wanted to use her skills to help people and families in need.

When I realized that a lot of the families Debbie helped also needed translators, I wondered why I was ever worried. This was always going to work out. She was seeing to that.

Thanks, Mom. This sign's for you.

Why I Hate Josh Groban

October's over, Char's Halloween candy is almost gone, and the Jack-o'lantern collapsed into itself over a week ago. That stinky guy got discarded like an empty Snickers wrapper.

Now Thanksgiving is right around the corner. I love this holiday because like Christmas, it's all about family. But unlike Christmas, Thanksgiving comes with little expectations, and the only gifts you are supposed to share are edible. There aren't any "secret turkeys" that leave unexpected presents on the table, no one risks life and limb hanging Thanksgiving lights from the roof, and radio stations don't play the greatest Thanksgiving hits ad nauseam. In fact, I can't think of one Thanksgiving song.

Tonight I asked Charlotte where we should have dinner, and she requested, "That place with booster seats, the chips, and the merry-go-round." I was stumped, but Daphne speaks better Charlotte than I do, and translated "merry-go-round" into "El Mariachi", a Mexican restaurant near our house.

And that brings me to Josh Groban. After dinner and on the way home from El Merry-Go-Round, Daphne popped in Josh Groban's Noel Cd. Immediately Char and Daphne began singing along with "The Little Drummer Boy".

I like to sing in the car, but that's because no one else can hear me. And because most of the bands on the radio don't have very good singers, I can sing along and not feel too bad about my meager skills. If I can't hit a note, I just think that's because I'm not auto tuned.

But when I'm pared against singers like Josh Groban, I have to admit defeat and stay silent, especially if my family is in the car. The guy can really sing. If I try to sing along with Josh, Charlotte admonishes me, "Dad, be quiet!" Ouch.

C'mon. It's not my fault I don't have this guy's talent or training. I just want to join in the fun, but he sets the bar too high. Jerk.

I can't be the only guy who hates trying to compete with these professional crooners at Xmas time. What we need is a popular Cd of Christmas songs sung by a guy who's good, but kinda crappy, too. You'd enjoy listening to him work his way through the classics, but you'll silently be thinking, "Even I can do better than that."

That'd be waaay better than listening to Josh Groban showing off. He's like the kid that got everything on his Christmas list, and he can't wait to point out that you didn't.

Hot Buttered Cholesterios

Back in '82, salt and butter were considered honest staples in everyone's diet. I sure miss those days.

For years I was greeted by the smell of Hot Buttered O's when I got home after school. My sister was always making these. To speed up the process, she melted the butter over the Cheerios in the microwave. I wouldn't recommend that. Cheerios can get funky in the microwave, and strangely they can get really small. Like ten times smaller than their regular size.

It's the opposite of what happens to you when you eat them buttered and salted.

"Deana's Big Dreams" in Less Than Two Minutes

It's band concert season again, and that means quite a few daddy-daughter nights for Charlotte and I. That also means we'll be hitting McDonald's a few times. Yea!

Unfortunately, the toys that come with the Happy Meals are notoriously bad. Usually they're just three dimensional advertisements for movies Charlotte hasn't heard of. "What's that?" is a typical response when I open and assemble the "toy".

So, I was surprised to find this book when I unpacked her Happy Meal last night.

The story's not bad, either. The last page even has a surprise. Here, Char wants to read it to you.

And Charlotte.

Count Blessings, Not Bags

When Charlotte doesn't want to do something, she yells, "But I hate that!" We're trying to get her to use a different phrase, but I think it's hard for her because I often use the word "hate". Actually, I use it too much.

For instance, I hate it when...

I wave back at someone who wasn't waving at me.
I forget to shake the bottle, and my hot dog or hamburger is squirted with "mustard water".

I put on clean socks, and then I step into water that was spilled on the bathroom floor.

I eat a cookie with a raisin that was disguising itself as a chocolate chip. (What a dirty, sneaky raisin.)

I am trying to go to sleep in the summer, and I have to keep flipping the pillow to find the "cool spot".

I misinterpret "How's it going?" as a real question instead of a simple greeting.

I try to parallel park. 

I floss my teeth and find evidence of a meal I ate two days ago, "But we had steak on Tuesday..."

I see an inch long hair growing out of the top of my ear. "But that wasn't there yesterday! Was it...?"

I am asked to read a high school student's poetry (professional poetry is bad enough): 

        My death went unnoticed
        You couldn't save me
        Black is my heart
        Veiled is my soul
        Darkness surrounds me
        Surrounds me forever

That poem was written by an upper middle-class kid who drives a bright, yellow Honda. If you only read the first letter of each line, her poem is "MY BVDs".

I had intended this post to begin with a humorous list of pet peeves, and then I'd move onto something I really hate, and that's yard care. 

But when I see news reports about what the typhoon victims are facing, and then I think about myself stamping and yelling because our maple tree dropped several bags' worth of leaves on the ground... I get embarrassed.

Thousands of people lost their lives, and I'm angry about spending a couple of hours outside getting some air and a little exercise? Not only am I acting like my three year old, I'm on her maturity level, too. Time to grow up, Dad.

Bug Update: Bump and Grind (part 3)

I went back to the VW graveyard on Wednesday to see if I could dig up a few more parts. This time I brought in my camera. 

Here's what was left of the car that grudgingly gave up its bumper last week. Not much left there.

Speaking of bumpers, the driver's side of this one is missing its chrome guard. It's in my garage.  So is the horn that was attached behind the guard. I can't believe those rusty bolts turned free without breaking off. Maybe the bolts knew what was coming, and they were happy to be saved from that fate.

When I said I had to climb over cars and dangerous debris to look for parts, I wasn't kidding. This place is a vicious obstacle course. After the recent rainfall, it was also a mud hole, but I couldn't let that get in my way... the things we do for love. 

This time I was on the lookout for original sun visors, a headlight lens, and a trim ring for a headlight. I could use a better front floor mat, too. Like a Honda Element, early VW's only used rubber mats for the floor. Mine has cracked into three pieces.

In the above photo, do you see those chrome hubcaps on that Karmann Ghia? 

You don't? Let's zoom in, then.

Behind those hubcaps is an early 60's Beetle. After breaking off some intruding, tree branches and flipping a rotten mattress out of the way, I was able to open a door and poke my head inside. The floor was covered with a layer of oily sludge, and the air was stale from dead leaves. But the car appeared to have decent sun visors and a solid floor mat. Time to go in.

My jeans got soaked from sitting on the wet sponge of a seat, and the soggy headliner drooped into my hair. It was gross, but the rusted screws holding up the rear view mirror and visors turned out with ease. I guess the news about their future had spread back here, too.

As you would imagine, the mat was filthy.

I didn't want to bring home all of that dirt (and disease?), so I stopped by a car wash and gave the mat a thorough blasting. It cleaned up pretty well considering where it had been.

Since this mat isn't all there or the right color, I'm going to glue my current mat pieces on top of this one with spray adhesive. In my car the mat will look the same, but won't slide around beneath my feet.

I like the irony of this sticker.

Here's the rest of my spoils.

It's dirty, but heater hose on the left is in great shape, the round horn beeps when hooked up to a 6 volt battery charger, and the sun visors will be cleaned more and sprayed with vinyl dye to match my interior. The windshield wiper blades were taking refuge in a dilapidated Bug's glovebox, so I'll put them in mine for the vintage vibe. But the chrome bumper guard is only slightly better what I have on my car now. Again, one shiny part in a field of rust looks awesome, but when compared to what I have at home, it pales. Context is everything... still, I'll install it.

Like last week, the owner only wanted to charge $15. He told me he and his wife had recently discovered they had inherited this land from her grandfather, and the city of Des Moines wanted it cleared out. Sadly, his wife's grandfather died 15 years ago, and that's why all these cool cars and their parts had been left to rot. Within a few weeks this lot will be empty.

I'm glad I was a step ahead of the car crusher this time, but I'm sad I didn't get more time to mine this field for more VW gold. Like the floor mat, there's so much there that could be creatively recycled. At least I get to keep a few parts alive, but I won't be dancing about it this time.

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Hey, Why Isn't She Angel 1?

When we picked up Charlotte after Sunday School, I could see from the papers she was holding that Zacchaeus was the topic of this week's lesson. Do you remember the song?

Zacchaeus was a wee little man
And a wee little man was he
He climbed up in a sycamore tree
For the Lord he wanted to see...

So I asked Charlotte, "Who did you learn about today in Sunday School?" 

Char answered, "Zucchini." 

I choked off a giggle, "You did? What did Jesus say to Zucchini?"

Char replied in all seriousness, "He said, 'Zucchinni, you get down!'"

I also learned that due the small number of girls in Char's Sunday School class, she will have a speaking role in this year's Christmas program. Charlotte is going to be Angel 5. Here's her line:

The last time Char was in front of the congregation, the glass bowl holding the gluten-free, communion wafers almost went flying across the pulpit. Luckily, our new pastor has fast reflexes. 

We've already been practicing at home, but after Char's first church performance, I can't see this going according to plan. Actually, with a three-year-old, there is no plan. 

Maybe I should put a pillow under the church pew, because that's where I'll be hiding this Christmas.
 link 

Makes Me Want A PBR

I'm pretty excited about our new house's basement. In our old house I had one room for myself, but here I have a whole level. Time to decorate (rubs hands together).

I've been on the lookout for stuff to hang on the walls, but I'm not sure what I'm looking for. I just know I want it to be cool. And by cool, I mean original and eclectic. Cheap is good, too.

I think this framed photo of Willie Nelson nails my requirements.

Is it original? According to a sticker on the back of the picture, Willie II was entered in the "On My Own Time" photo contest in 1985 by a West Des Moines photographer. No way you are going to find this 30 x 20 poster for sale at Wall Mart. Check.

Is it eclectic? Check out the patriotic guitar strap, and the trucker hat, and the hole in his instrument. Check, check, and check.

Was it cheap? Yep, Goodwill only wanted $5.99. Perhaps the low price was due to the weird smudge in the upper right corner. I don't mind the smudge.

Willie looks pretty good hanging over my vintage stereo setup.

In case  you didn't spot it, that's my eight-track player on the second shelf. And yes, I do have Willie Nelson 8-tracks.

He's a perfect fit.

What do you think? link