In Stitches

Yep, I've been away for a while. LOTS of stuff going on, including a six day mission trip to Mexico with no running water or working toilets. More on that later.......

But we got through Christmas ok. Day after, I was actually off, and decided to get some things done. AKA: look for something I sold that can't be located since the dh cleaned the house. Decided on a whim to check the basement, where I never put the purses -- they are all on a shelf in my selling room. Except THIS particular one. Went down the basement stairs -- on my butt. Yep, 14 steep stairs straight down to a concrete floor, and my body decided not to do it upright. Last time I did this, five years ago, almost to the day, I broke my elbow. That's a story for another day, but this time I managed to do it with no major damage. I was worried about my hand, but I just bruised it, and went about my day.

Except I still haven't found that purse.

So I gave up that afternoon, cause I still wasn't feeling great (I'm getting over pneumonia. Yeah, see ABOVE, where I said there is a LOT going on here.) Had to fix the freezer though, cause my 3 yo fridge keeps freezing up, leading to water all over my kitchen floor. Fixing it means I have to thaw out the ice from the floor of the freezer, which involves a lot of hot water, and chipping out the ice.

Except my hand slipped, and went straight into a little pan in the back, and sliced my index finger wide open. The result? I am now the proud owner of stitches on said finger, because although it wasn't that deep, it would not stop bleeding, because it was over the joint. Got to spend the afternoon at Immediate Care, waiting to get stitched, then go straight to work - late - and try to type with my finger all wrapped up, cause he didn't want me to bend it.

So I went in and took a bath tonight, to soothe my mangled nerves (drug seekers all weekend at work), and noticed that one of my stitches has fallen out. So if I tell you I'm coming unglued, it really is pretty accurate. Or that I'm kept in stitches -- that'd be right, too.

And so I decided to show something with gorgeous stitching. Went off to ebay and found this beautiful Vintage 50s embroidered cotton dress, in my favorite ruby red color. Grab it now, from vintage_studio, on the bay.

Foosball Table 'O Doom

I am on a cleaning spree. Selling, freecycling, or donating tons of stuff, so I can live with the hope of seeing my dining room table again. I've actually made a lot of progress, and can see my ebay room's floor again. Amazing, this purging thing.

And I'm making money for college tuition for the young 'uns, so it's all good.

But today, I was on the lookout for a couple of peignoirs that are going to Germany. They were in the ebay room, so while I was there, decided to move some other stuff to the NEW ebay storage room. Hanging racks, plastic containers, printer paper boxes for my patterns, and a nice set of drawers for some patterns -- it's a great place.

Except it's packed pretty darn full.

So while I was putting this stuff in there, I took the path of least resistance, and tossed the bags on the foosball table. The foosball table which was bought for Christmas three years ago, and probably hasn't been used in at least a year. And as I plunk these bags down, I felt a pang of impending doom. The vintage is taking over, I thought. Thought of my friend Jen, of Mom's Patterns, who has her own foosball table 'o doom. Well, actually, she calls it her foosball table 'o vintage, but same thing. Her foosball table hasn't been seen in at least a year, I'm told.

Maybe the companies should market these foosball tables as storage. Or maybe there should be a 12 step program for vinties, because any vintie will tell you that simply purchasing a foosball table is a huge red flag, and you'd better start admitting your powerlessness over the vintage.

But man, ain't it pretty? Like this FABULOUS vintage 40s peplum suit pattern, from Jen's store. This is the stuff that vintage dreams are made of. Dig that hat on the left -- and the jewelry -- and the little bag. Nothing to play foosball in, but I can wear it to my meeting, when I stand up and say "hi, I'm Lisa, and I'm a vintage-holic."

And yeah, I featured Jen's stuff yesterday too, but she's my bud, it's her pub night, and I heart her, so fuhgetaboutit. Jen's great. Buy her stuff.

Off to the northern regions for the daddio's 80th birthday, so no posts for a few days. Have a great weekend!

Mrs Gold, Calling Mrs Gold

I went on a cruise a few years ago, with my parents and my eldest sister. (I call her ELDEST, cause she's not my BIG sister. She's kinda shrimpy in the height department.)

Sister and I shared a room. Hubby stayed home and took care of sick kids. Yes, I STILL here about that, to this day, that I "got to go away for two weeks while (insert "I'm a hero/martyr/manly man in touch with my feelings type guy" tone)I stayed home and took care of your children.

Get over it.

Sister and I shared a cabin, and won at trivia so much that people stopped showing up. It was pretty hilarious. By the time we got off that ship, I think everyone knew us -- except our cabin steward. My sister's last name is Gould. Gould, as in sounds like a scary thing with a D on the end. My last name, in case you're a little slow on the uptake, is UTTER. Utter, sounds like Butter without the B.

Every day, our cabin steward would greet us, with his very limited English. Good morning, Mrs. GOLD, he would say. Good morning, Mrs. OOTER. It was kind of cute, and we always got a giggle out of it. If you said anything other than a greeting, he got a little lost, so we just stuck to hello. He was always scurrying around anyway.

The last night of the cruise, we tracked him down to give him his tip envelope. Imagine this poor guy's surprise when, after ten days on board, we hand him his envelopes, and he suddenly realizes that Mrs OOTER is actually Mrs GOLD, and vice versa. He looked a little confused, then his eyes got big, and we just started laughing.

It's not like my name never gets messed up anyway. Happens on a daily basis, actually, so it's no biggie.

So, I had a good chortle this week, when I was doing my shipping (sales are good in the hood), and realized that I had sold something to none other than LINDA GOLD. Not Gould. GOLD. That actually made me stop and laugh for a minute, then remininesce about fourteen days with no husband and no children(that alas, ended with a horrible sinus infection and a temp of 103, but hey, ya gotta pay the piper sometimes). Wonder if I'll be selling to an OOTER next week.

And so, in honor of my OLDER sister, Mrs GOLD, here's a cute, cute, cute gold sequined party dress, from my buddy Jen, of Mom's Patterns. Kinda reminds me of the metallic dress I wore all evening on formal night on that same cruise -- and didn't realize till late that it was on backward. But that's another story that will have to wait.

I Believe I Can't Fly

It's pretty well known by those close to me that I do NOT like to fly. I believe that God invented gravity with the specific idea of keeping ME planted firmly on earth. And I thank God every day for that. I really hate flying.

I have vague memories of my first flight, which was at the age of about 5. Basically, I remember running the the airport with my mom, and that's about it. We were going to Florida. I don't remember much else, except that people *dressed* to fly back then. You didn't get on a plane in jeans and a T shirt. Flying was an event, maybe once in a lifetime, and you dressed for events.

I dressed up to fly even into the 80s. I remember flying to a conference in San Diego with a couple of friends. Bought a beautiful white suit for the flight. I loved that suit. My friends thought I was nuts. Didn't see the point in dressing up to fly. I believe they were in jeans.

Now, dressing up for a flight involves making sure that I have my Xanax. Once a white knuckle flyer, I got over it for a while, but now I'm worse than ever. Had a full blown panic attack on a flight back from Seattle a couple of years ago, and haven't travelled sans my Vitamin X since.

Needless to say, I am not looking forward to flying to Texas next month. We're going with our church, on a medical mission trip. My own personal mission will be to not have a heart attack en route. A few years ago, we were flying back from San Diego with the kids. Hubby was sitting a little further up the way with the two younger kids, whilst I sat with the eldest toward the back of the plane. Coming down into Vegas, the plane took a BIG drop, very suddenly. Enough to make some people scream. Yep, I was one of 'em. DD said someone flew out of his seat, into the aisle, up where they were.

I grabbed ds's leg for dear life. He promptly pried it off and informed me that I was never, ever to touch his leg again. Yeah, he was in the wrong line when they gave out empathy. He thought the whole droppping out of the sky thing was great, and voiced his desire to do it again. I glared a hole in his brain and told him that he could be quiet. NOW. Of course, I was sure we'd be on CNN a little later, when the captain announced something about having a rough ride till we got to altitude.

At about that time, I could've used one of those diapers the astronauts use.

Our little family still thinks my fear of flying is funny, but I just take a Xanax, get out my boarding pass, and it's all good. Cause some of us are just meant to travel by land or by sea. And for those of you who prefer other miraculous modes of travel, check out this wild totally rad batwing sweater, straight outta the 80s, from Tribecca Vintage, on ebay. Cause, as Bill Blass always said, "when in doubt, wear red."

Afternoon Delight -- NOT

I was talking to my co-worker today, and we were discussing the weirdness of our job. Got on the topic of odd calls, and I think she may have me topped. Forever.

Let's set the scene: Lady calls. Calling about her 21yo son. The son is lying flat out on the couch, looking BAD. Mom is understandably concerned. There is wailing in the background, and a man's voice, also sounding quite concerned. She's wondering what to do.

Turns out that she and her hubby were enjoying the movie of the week, whilst the son was enjoying an intimate moment or two with his girlfriend in his room. He comes staggering out in what should be the afterglow, and collapses onto the couch, looking like death. Parents run to his side, and he admits to having taking some crazy over the counter thing called "Stamina." Mom wants to know what "Stamina" has in it. Who knows, but it sure wasn't a healthy dose of common sense.

Now, I ask you -- what 21 year old guy needs something called "Stamina?" I mean, really.

Must've hit him the wrong way, cause now he's lying on the couch all clammy and pale, the dad is taking his blood pressure, and the girlfriend is wailing like the Grim Reaper himself has arrived -- probably trying to figure out whether her baby daddy is gonna croak on her before she can get her clothes back on. And the mother announces that they have already called the girl's parents, to come and pick her up.

Definitely not your normal "Mom, I had a few too many, come pick me up" call. I'm thinking that the girl is probably in a convent now, with a diagnosis of Post-Coital Stress Disorder. The guy? Who knows, but I'm betting that he won't be doing any Cialis commercials anytime soon.

And you have to know my girlfriend to understand just how funny it is that all she can say, over and over again, is "oh my. Oh My. OH MY." Probably said it three dozen times. But what DO you say, when the Afternoon Delight goes bad? You tell me.

So, for those of you who like a little quickie in the afternoon, plan ahead. You want to be dressed for the moment, should your guy's Stamina fail you, grab this uber sexy slip, from Bellajadore, at Main Street Vintage Mall.

Kookoo-achoo

Flu season is almost upon us. FLU, for your information, does not involve vomiting. The FLU, for which there is a fairly good immunization, is coughing, fever, and a sore throat. A rapidly declining existence that rapidly progresses to miserability. If miserability is a word.

Cause the flu will surely make you miserable.

I, myself, have never taken a flu shot. I probably should, but the kids are homeschooled, and I work around a minimum of people, and we've dodged the bullet so far, so why do it? You watch, I'll probably be sick by this time tomorrow.

As for the stomach "flu" that everyone talks about.....I got home from work at 2am one night. Within ten minutes, the first kid was up, praying to the porcelain god. EXACTLY half an hour later, the next kid was up, but didn't make it to the porcelain god. Whilst I was cleaning up that mess and dealing with two spewers, the third kid started in. That's when I gave up the ghost and yelled for the hubby.

A kid erupted every ten minutes until 6:30a.m. It was the only night in my life as a parent where I never made it to bed. Absolutely miserable.

And at 7a.m., I started vomiting. And continued to do so for the next six hours. I finally gave up the ghost when I was laying in the tub to break a fever, whilst vomiting in the trashcan. THAT'S when hubby called the doc and got me some medicine.

And the whole time, the kids sat and watched Little Rascals videos that my mom and dad had given them. I'm talking watching the Little Rascals for an entire day, while their mother basically prayed that death would take her quickly and be done with it.

And to this day, the kids will, whenever the flu is brought up, say "remember that day when we were all sick, and watched Little Rascals videos all day long?

Yeah. I do.

Methodists gone wild

My mom was here a month or two ago. Came to town with my dad, for my mother in law's funeral services. Mom stayed in town for over a week afterward, God love her, to watch the young 'uns whilst we went on our (frantically rescheduled) cruise to Alaska.

Mom's pretty great.

Mom had a few days between when Dad left to go home, and when we left for the frozen tundra, so she kinda hung with us. Did the normal stuff, including going to church. Normal for Mom, cause she's a minister's wife, but not so normal in this case, cause she's a Methodist, and we attend a Presbyterian church. Oh well, she got to see how the other side lives.

Ma is used to having to learn the ropes of a new church, cause those crazy Methodists move all the time. You kind of have to learn the rules at the new church each time. what do people wear, dresses or pants? Who sits where? Is it ok to help in the kitchen, or are you infringing on someone's territory? That kinda stuff.

I personally don't care about the rules at our church, especially cause I haven't regularly attended for quite a while, and I'm not a rules person most days anyway. Hubby, on the other hand, attends at least one service every Sunday, and sometimes two, probably to pray for his wayward wife, but what the heck. I work weekends on a pretty regular basis, so it's not like I can go most of the time anyway. (Yeah, it's an excuse, but whatever.)

So Mom and I show up with the dh. We look at the bulletin and have to laugh, cause this week, the Presbyterians are singin' Methodist. First up was "Holy Holy Holy," which we sang all the time growing up, and which my elder sister always swore was about our socks. Mom didn't think she knew the second song, but I read the music and had to laugh -- the melody was "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing." Doesn't get more Methodist than a Charles Wesley tune. Afterward, Mom thanked our minister for the tunage after services were over. It gave him a laugh.

So Ma survived the Presbyterians. But now she's gonna have some 'splainin to do, cause we just got a DVD in the mail today, hawking the stewardship campaign at church. Interspersed amongst the fine things people said about the church, are clips of a service. A service where my mother is plainly visible, singing "Holy Holy Holy" with the best of the Presbyterians, whilst the choir marches up the aisle.

Our associate pastor jokes that his mom joined a Methodist church after her Presbyterian minister husband retired, and that she was always looking over her shoulder, worried that the Presbyterian Police would come and revoke his pension. So now I guess Ma better be looking for the Methodist Police.

My mother, I'm sure, will say that every good church needs a Good Methodist. And that it probably will be a more successful stewardship campaign, with the Methodists thrown in the mix.

And you know what? She might just be right.

So today, I had to find something that a Fine Young Methodist would wear, when undercover with the Presbys. Came across this cute Vtg 60s 70s Burgundy RUFFLE Secretary Mini Dress S/M, from Feathered Fawn Vintage, on ebay. Not that Ma could carry it off with her red hair, but if everyone is bowed in reverence, who cares?