New Shop Digs, The Pink Cabbage

Just a reminder from a couple of weeks ago of what the front of The Pink Cabbage looks like. Just spent the last three days moving out of our Frederick location and into the Cabbage. I'd been stressing about it for a while but it turns out it was really no worse than doing the DC Big Flea, except for the stairs and I don't have to go back tomorrow, pack it up, and move it again-yay! Mira, Mira Nene, I can be money smart. I'm returning the $65 in hardware for our new dresser and instead I painted it cream and put cream satin bows over the existing pulls, I'm quite pleased with my penny-pinching and the look!

Chandeliers, candy dispensers, and lots o' stuff, oh my!

We offer something for anyone and everyone...

...weird or normal.

I love my new lamp that I made out of an antique bank figurine with a funky Wally World shade.

These next few photos are of another newcomer, Tammy, who has Sweet Things, aptly named as you can see...

More newcomers, Aged to Perfection, three great women who in the blink of an eye turned this little pink nook into a little piece of paradise chocked full of goodies.

Mom doesn't need to read this one!

I wanted to share a lighter side of my musings from Anne Lamott's latest book. In one chapter she talks about the fact that she was the first one in her grade to get a bra. I felt VERY envious. I was second to LAST in my grade to get a bra. I don't know why my mother wouldn't let me get one, no one needed one, it was just a right-of-passage. My mom should have known I had wanted one for a very long time. I think I was about 10 when I first started stuffing my UNDERSHIRT. I mean like snow cones. She never said a word. I'm sure she was trying to save me from my own pathetic embarrassment but I was just trying to get attention I wasn't getting. I was a very late bloomer but that's no excuse. Okay so having reached the goal of bradom, I still didn't fill it with anything until my senior year of high school then I made up for lost time, ba-boom. I was always made fun of for being too skinny and also flat-chested, i.e. Carpenter's Dream, flat as a board and easy to screw. Only the first part was true. So I didn't date like normal other girls, the boys in school figured I wasn't worth the effort. But by the time I got my boobs in my senior year I was dating Aggies (the college guys) and was over the high school dating thing. Still skinny with boobs I still, of course, didn't appreciate it like the average teen, and now as a grown woman, I'd give my left nut for that bod now! So a few years later I met, dated, and married my first husband. He was in his senior year at Texas A&M and happened to take a class with a guy who was a year ahead of me in high school. Somehow they got to talking and Jim said I'd gone to Bryan High and Glenn said so had he and what was my name. So when Jim told him my name, that fannyhole Glenn Joyce asked, "Stephanie George? Is she still flat-chested?"! That was it, that's what he thought of me. Jim replied something like, "Umm...NOOOOO...I guess you haven't seen her in a while.". Glenn graduated the year before my maturity. I'm not bragging (I just hadn't thought of this for over 25 years and thought it was funny) but I was still about 100 pounds and wore a C cup; I was boobs on a stick. In fact once when Jim and I were on a camping trip at Lake Travis a drunk Fred Williams said in front of everyone, "I've never seen such big tits on such a skinny girl!". So, 30 years and 3 children later my body is very different and yet I appreciate my body (way more pounds, worse for the wear, more jokes about my weight just different ones, and my mother calls me a cow), my life, and myself more than I ever have. I think Oprah has really gotten to me. Thank you, Oprah. I was made fun of constantly growing up for being too skinny then as a mature adult for being overweight. I just decided a few years ago that I would not play either game any longer. The only solution is to be happy, that's also the best revenge. I've got my revenge...

Whew, that was close!

I told Paul last night that I was going today to apply for the job at Matt's school the principal told me was still open. It was for "lunch room assistant". This morning Paul asked me why I was applying for the job. I could have answered his questions in many ways, all snotty, of course. I could have said truthfully, "Ummm, you're the one who sent the job announcement email to me.". I could have said, "Because you complain about money all the time.". I could have said oh so many things. What I said was, "Ever since I was a little girl I've dreamed of wearing a hair net to work, to have huge, fat arms, wear a white uniform, and cook things that come in gigantic jars and cans.". Now I think I can get away with this mean sarcasm because I went to beauty school and was a hairdresser. Talk about stereo-type jokes. I was also a waitress for too many years. I've cleaned houses, hell, I've cleaned HIS pee off the toilet. Sorry I don't have a PhD. So I spent the greater part of the day finding the office, filling out 10 pages of application forms, and taking one of three of the reference forms to be completed by a "co-worker". When I got home there was a message on the answering machine from the principal saying the job had been filled. Disappointment and relief. Three hours a day, Matt's school, school at all (same schedule as the kid), $10 an hour... I was IN THE MONEY plus still some alone time. But, for an artist, that bad, bad four letter word, W...O...R...K, makes any self-respecting artiste run for the nearest bottle of Xanax. Because WORK is SUPPOSED to mean PAYCHECK. Huh! I'm a stay-at-home mom, take care of a too-big-for-me house, supposed to be a cook, am an artist, and have a shop. And still no money! Who do I need to meet with about this?

Which Leads Me To...

...I'm just finishing up Anne Lamott's latest book. I've enjoyed it reading it more than any other of her books because her last book, Plan B, I had on CD and listened to it several times over a year ago while I painted the whole interior of a townhouse. She reads her book herself and has this monotone voice which sounds like it wouldn't be appealing but it's a perfect match to her dry, rye humor. So as I'm reading this one I can hear her voice reading it to me, can hear her sarcasm, her deadpan honesty. My last post led me into this one as Anne is passionately against the war in Iraq and the president. As she talks about all the rallies and meetings and the heartwarming out-pouring of people coming to aide for others, caring both globally and locally, I was shocked by my feelings about these stories. As I pondered what she was saying, I was surprised to notice that I felt envious of her and also my sister who has a lot of the same experiences. I felt envious, I'm embarrassed to say, because I was thinking, "That's all they have to worry about-Iraq.". Please don't get me wrong, I know very well we all have similar daily worries and stress due to our fast-paced lives-I'm not talking about that part. And I'm not trivializing the war or all the wonderful, hard work that so many brave folks step up and do. I say it because of all the violence we are experiencing here in Baltimore and DC. I'm against the war in Iraq; I think we should get out a.s.a.p., should have never gone, never have lost a single person over whatever convoluted, inane reason we ever started it. IT IS A VERY IMPORTANT ISSUE. But what we experience here is not unlike a war zone, there are guns EVERYWHERE. Even my own 10 year old son was shot at while at our little park behind our home. It turned out to be "just" a BB gun but he didn't know that at the time. Of course, selfishly, I don't want this inner city violence to bleed out to the burbs but I don't want it to be anywhere. I'm a global thinker knowing very well that anything that happens anywhere affects everyone. No mayonnaise in Ireland. I know that there are many big cities in the U.S. that struggle with this problem (Balto and DC just happen to be in my face) but I also know there are a lot of places where they don't have to worry and agonize over this everyday. EVERYDAY there is another or others teen/s dead by guns, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, killers and victims. All the way to 12 and 13. EVERYDAY. There are rallies, meetings, town halls with the mayors, police, and citizens working as hard as possible to get some kind of lid on this. There's a legal curfew, more police, a new police chief, but still, open the paper everyday and there it is AGAIN. Some days I want to flee to Iowa, some days to Switzerland. My family begs us to move to Oregon. We love our life here in spite of all the warts. Most days I just vacillate between the war at home and the war in Iraq. In the meantime I'm working on getting a neighborhood watch up and running on our street. We are lucky to be pretty close-knit, we have great neighbors who care and look after each other, we all have the same basic desire, to keep our neighborhood safe for our children, ourselves, and each other. This is a quote my sis, Valori, sent to me a while back, so true... If mothers from the First World and from the Third World, black, white, yellow, Russian, American----if all would unite and tell the makers of wars that they will not tolerate any force that will undo what they have knit together so patiently in the womb for nine months, they could insure peace from generation to generation. ~Doris Donnelly

Mira, Mira Again! I Got Ink Again!

There is not much humble about me, I love having my picture and/or words in the newspaper. I guess I can defend such feelings by saying that I feel validated and heard. So here's the article that was in the Baltimore Examiner last week that set my fuse: P.S. If you can't read it, here is the link: http://www.examiner.com/a-895512~Walter_E__Williams__Liberal_views__black_victims.html Here's my rebuttal letter that was in the paper today. Paul and I "debated" my thoughts most of the time that I was writing this letter. He always plays the devil's advocate even though he agreed with me on some points. He thought I was misconstruing Mr. Williams' recommendations of a solution. The article steamed me at the get-go with his gun control stance, one I ponder constantly. "Guns don't kill people, people kill people", puleeeeeeeeeeeeeese. Throw a rock at me, take a swing, I'll take the odds. If you can't read this, here's the link: http://www.examiner.com/a-903145~Letters__August_28__2007.htmlThis is the only part that the paper edited out of my letter, I mean no prejudice here, just stating what I think is an obvious fact of irony:

Here is an excerpt from an article, Japanese Gun Control, by David B. Kopel (http://www.guncite.com/journals/dkjgc.html), (Mr. Williams sited Japanese-Americans in his article), “Gun control in Japan is the most stringent in the democratic world. The weapons law begins by stating 'No-one shall possess a fire-arm or fire-arms or a sword or swords', and very few exceptions are allowed. Gun ownership is minuscule, and so is gun crime.”. I find it, however, highly ironic that the Japanese make the video games that teach our children how to gun down others so well…