Spencer Morgan Auction

Auctions are such fun. Last weekend I spent a couple of hours at the Spencer Morgan Auction. This auction was a live Ebay auction as well as accepting live bids from those in attendance here in Lubbock. This was the 2nd weekend in a row that Lubbock had an auction that earned national (international?) attention.

Earlier that day I placed bids via ebay on a few items. I actually won/purchased one item that I'm so excited about. See above! The exact age is not known but this is a very old polychrome round bottomed pot, probably Hopi indian. It has swirls scratched into the glaze that are believed to represent a starry night.

Henry Darger

I was made aware of Henry Darger maybe 6 months ago and watched a film strip online. You may or may not have heard of him. Anyway for the last week there has been some fascinating and some heated discussion about him on an online art group. Some think he was a pedophile while others think he had no knowledge of the female body, died a virgin, and lived his life through his fantasies. (in his amazing paintings he often bestowed penises to the little girls)

Here is a link if you want to read a bit about him. I am fascinated that this little old man died without anyone knowing of his obsessive and creative genius.

http://www.saraayers.com/darger.htm

Peaches

The aroma, fragrance, scent of the peaches led me to the bin in the produce department. Knowing I'm not much of a fruit eater, I carefully selected only two peaches that were round, deep gold and blush in color, and just slightly soft to the touch. Two weeks later I pulled the barely recognizable peaches out of my refrigerator crisper and tossed them into the trash. That is how it usually goes with peaches in my world.

Juggling many tasks and responsibilities in a day makes me impatient. And so, I'm often impatient. This week has been packed with grandkids, errands, bill paying, and so on. I probably do less than many people but my evenings, after 5:00, are simply reserved for being home. I don't think that is a conscious decision so much as a comfortable habit.

Anyway, I hadn't seen Mom and Dad all week but talked to them everyday. I sat aside some time in the afternoon to see them because I wanted to and needed to. I called Mom at 1:00 and told her I'd be over shortly with a Subway Club, 6 inch, on white, toasted, with tomatoes, peppers, onions, american cheese and ranch dressing. That is Dad's favorite. Mom had just finished her cereal so I knew I didn't need to bring her lunch.

We had a nice chat while Dad ate. I played with Willie the chihuahua, who is always insatiable when it comes to play. I began to feel the impatience building when Mom and Dad both wanted to take an old clock that had belonged to my uncle to a clock repair shop. And they wanted to go get peaches at an orchard out east of town. As my husband would later say, they have peaches at United. I've already described what happens to my market peaches. Glancing at my watch I saw that almost an hour of my budgeted two hour parent time had passed. I encouraged Mom and Dad to pick up the pace, we loaded the clock, put out the dog, and left the house.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the address of the clock repair shop. To our surprise and my delight it was not in a retail center but in a lovely old home near 34th and Avenue Q. The lady was gracious and came out to the car to meet us and led us into her home. She introduced us to the Mr. and told us some about the home (built in 1928) which they had purchased and remodeled a few years ago. She led the way and I followed up to their workshop on the 2nd floor. We worked out the details of the clock repair. The woman was so friendly and charming and the house such fun to see (I have a thing about homes - particularly old ones that have been redone) that I was GLAD to have taken Mom and Dad on this errand.

Next, came the peaches. We drove out east 50th Street and as I began to quiz Mom and Dad about where exactly we were heading, I felt the impatience creep back. The budgeted time was almost up and they really didn't know exactly where the peach orchard was located. Hmmmm. We chatted as we drove, looking at a few prarie dogs in fields along the way. Mom said it was a dirt road on the left. Dad said we should just watch for a sign. Sure enough, just ahead on the left was a big sign that said PEACHES. We turned off onto the dirt road and saw many cars parked on the edge of the orchard less than a quarter mile off the mail road. There were people walking everywhere and a table where they would weigh your peaches and take your money. A homemade sign said Freestone Peaches, 80 cents per lb. It was about that time that I realized this wasn't a fruit stand where we would buy peaches, but a place where we were to pick our own. Hmmmm. It was 98 degrees outside and there was another sign that said Watch Out for Wasps. We all got out of the car and walked toward the stand and I soon realized, as did Mom and Dad, that regretfully the peach gathering would be more than they would be able to do physically. We talked to the orchard owner who told us to feel free to eat all we wanted while picking peaches. I picked a couple of small beauties and gave them to Mom and Dad. They took the keys and went back to the car while I picked.

Although I started out with a hint of frustration, I truly enjoyed picking the peaches. It grew on me...what can I say. I had about 6 peaches in the bag before I decided to eat one. I plucked a pretty one and bit in. The peach was super sweet and juicy and warm from the sun. I gathered another half dozen from one tree and then saw a tree with some loaded branches on the next row. The heat and fear of wasps receded to a quiet corner of my mind. I was one with the peach trees. :-) Let's just say that I could have picked more than the two dozen or so I gathered but I knew Mom and Dad were probably ready to go. I ended up using an hour more than my budgeted time but felt happy and just didn't care.

The next day I took my m-i-l and Mom back but the orchard had closed. Pylons were placed at the access of the dirt road so we didn't get to gather more peaches.

The outing on Friday with Mom and Dad led me to think about things that are worth hanging onto. Old clocks, traditions like picking peaches, and spending time with family. I'll start perusing the 'fresh produce' section of the classifieds - wonder when the black-eyed peas will be ready?

The Devil Wears Prada

I am reading this novel now and hope to go see the movie this weekend. The book is a great learning experience for me in regard to high fashion since I favor bargains at the Avenue, TJ Maxx, and local thrift stores. The novel is not so much of a learning experience when it comes to wicked women bosses. Granted, Miranda Priestly is a gross exageration of the women I've worked for but I truly believe two of my former supervisors had the same heart and soul (or lack thereof) as this character.

Wicked Woman Boss #1 - I could title it The Devil Wears Sleeve Protectors. You know, those long plastic sleeves with stretch at the cuffs that a women with 'expensive' clothes could slip on over her designer suit or silk blouse so as not to dirty the clothes with ink. When she walked through the office, service reps sat up straighter, smiled through their pain, and trembled. WWB#1 was tall and thin (of course) and had brunette perfectly coifed hair. She took long graceful strides and her shoulders rounded forward slightly...I can only hope it was the beginning of a big osteoporosis hump. She was a beauty - I'll give her that. Striking even at...perhaps 50 when I worked for her 25 years ago. Her lips were shapely but thin, the better to sneer with.

Wicked Woman Boss #2 - I could title it The Devil Wears Brighton. I can only remember her wearing velvet or floral or plaid with lace adornments vest and skirt sets. Her clothes were obviously expensive and she always had the right shoes, usually Brightons, to go with every outfit. When she approached my desk her posture canted forward from the waist in what I think of as attack mode. She always approached me while I was sitting at my desk because she liked looking down on me as she berated me. She was petite and thin (of course) and had brunette hair. I'm beginning to see a trend here. Are any Wicked Women Bosses full-figured gals? Hmmmm. And as with boss WWB#1, her lips were thin, and often curled into a smug sneer.

I must say in my own defense, because some would think I probably did something to deserve such treatment from WWB's, that in both companies I had other supervisors who liked, appreciated, and maybe even adored me. One wrote me poems everytime I made it to the top sales board - which was often. And one became a life long dear friend.

Based on my limited experience I think I should offer a warning. If you go for an interview and the boss is a woman between the ages of 40 and 65, who is slim, brunette, has great fashion sense and thin lips, then don't walk but RUN for the nearest exit.

Senses and memory

I heard a song today that really took me back to my days of "making the drag" in Abernathy in the 60's. What senses can transport you to a day long past? The smell of fresh corn brings back memories of shucking and silking bushels of corn on the carport when I was a kid. The scent of carnations reminds me of my grandparent's funerals when I was little. Avon's Hawaiian Ginger fragrance reminds me of a date one summer in college. The taste of a Harvey Wallbanger with Galliano liqueur brings back memories of my early married days, living in a cool apartment in Altura Towers. More than anything though, sound in the form of music can take me back.

There have been studies that link increased learning/memory to music. That is how I taught my granddaughter her phone number when she was a tiny girl...by putting the number to a tune. She in turn taught her little sis the phone number via the same melody. Context -dependent-memory has been studied and music has been found to be an important contextual factor. (http://www.alamomusic.com/threads.htm)

So think back...what song transports you back to junior high, high school or college? For me, my introduction to pop music in Jr. High centers around Petula Clark's Downtown (1965) and I Know a Place.

In High School there was a lot more variety but I'd say that the song I heard today, Wedding Bell Blues by the 5th Dimension, can transport me back. I remember "making the drag" and listening to that song, feeling lonely and wondering if I'd ever get married. The songs from my college days were many but one key tune (ha) was Melanie's I've got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates.

So what song transports you to where? Leave a comment if you have a song or a few that transport you.

We All Fall Down

As I mentioned in my Jack Rabbit June post, Dad has already had a fall since coming home from the hospital. Thankfully it was an easy fall and he caught himself on hands and knees. Mom was able to encourage him as he got up and into bed. But this, Dad's illness and being his primary caregiver, has been so hard on Mom. She has demonstrated surprising strength and endurance but the trips to the hospital in June took their toll.

For months Mom has had pain in her left leg and hip. On Saturday it was so bad that she had to use the walker and brother John took her to the doctor. They took xrays and nothing showed up so he determined it was muscle strain and prescribed a strong pain killer. Still, she has been unable to get comfortable or sleep. And has had horrible pain. So I took her to the doctor today and he examined her carefully and reviewed the xrays. He believes this is inflamation in her hip joint and that the pain is radiating down her leg. He gave her a cortisone injection.

I am grateful that I have the time to do this now...be with the parents more. I'm just so ready, as I know they are, for there to be a time of relative well-being. And I'm grateful that my m-i-l, Jean, was able to supervise the children while I took Mom to the doc.

My knees aren't great and I have had times in the last month when I have worn a brace on my right knee. I have purchased a recumbant bike and hope to become a dedicated stationary cyclist. A dear friend had to have an angiogram last week and will have a knee replacement next week. (I am envious of the tall potty seat she has at home in anticipation of her recuperation) All these things, and a few other health challenges that family members are facing, made me think of the nursery rhyme, "ashes, ashes, we all fall down." And figuratively if not literally, that has been very apparent lately.

Jack Rabbit June

June 2006

June was my first month away from the job at Texas Tech. I loved my time with the grandkids but also really missed my friends and colleagues and the job at Tech.

My Dad's window at Covenant hospital looked out on the grounds around Texas Tech's Credit Union. Mom, Dad and I enjoyed watching and counting the jack rabbits on the grounds. Day one we counted 13. On the second and third days I visited the count was above 20. I couldn't stand it. I had to see them up close and personal. So one evening just before dusk I drove across 19th Street and slowly cruised down the deserted streets around the credit union. Jack rabbits were everywhere. Some would just hunker down, their whiskey brown eyes bulging, as the car idled past.

Seeing the mangy looking creatures up close reminded me of visits to Gail when I was a kid. Gail is a tiny town in Borden county, population maybe a couple of hundred. Big Daddy lived in a big old two story house just outside of town. He ranched and farmed a bit and barely survived but loved his land. We went riding around the ranch in his old pickup every time we visited. On one visit the grown-ups also hunted jack rabbits. Us kids all piled in the back of the truck. Big Daddy was driving and my Mom and her brother (or was it my Aunt?) rode up front. They had a 22 rifle. One of the folks would whistle really loud...the kind of whistle I've never mastered...when they saw a jack rabbit on the move. The old jack rabbit would stop in his tracks, twist his long muley ears around, listening. And then the shot would ring out and the rabbit would usually hop, spin, run a ways and die. The folks went and picked up one of the dead jack rabbits and tossed it into the back of the pickup with us kids. Up until then it had been a fine sport. But seeing the blood and mustardy yellow entrails spilling into the pickup bed pretty much ended the fun for me.

On my drive by the credit union, the only shooting I did was with a camera. I wish I was a better photographer or that I'd had a better camera. But I am glad I captured a few images.

Dad was in the hospital for just over 3 weeks. His first few days were idle days, time needed to take him off his coumadin so that he could have surgery. He had a shunt put into his brain that will drain excess fluid away. This was done in attempt to help the condition, likely NPH, that has plagued him for the past 3 years. He has had severe weakness, dizzy spells, falls, shuffling gait, and problems with thinking and remembering things. After the surgery he spent just over two weeks on the 4th floor west rehab. The staff there, particularly the OT and PT folks, were wonderful. I believe that even if the surgery didn't improve Dad's condition, and the surgeon only gave us 50/50 odds, then certainly the intensive therapy gave Dad more strength and stamina. Unfortunately, we could not see the jack rabbits from his window in rehab.

Dad is home now and has had one minor fall but seems to be doing some better. I remain hopeful that his condition will improve to where he can be more active and self-sufficient and happy.