Instant Karma

I know I've said that I didn't want to go shopping for fear of bringing more stuff into our temporary digs, but I've had a good reason to be out there this week: Grammy Attack.

It's also been a good excuse to check out the local shops. I've been making the rounds of the stores and trying, with no luck, to find the fancy paper store. I'm not sure if Fresno has more than the Hallmark Cards. Hallmark used to be the best, but they've lost their market share, in my book.

Anyway, I went into a children's store yesterday, in search of the little unique laignappe. The store was well done; pretty, cute, but very, very loud.

They were playing rock on the stereo, and I don't mean Rock A Bye Baby. More like Rock Me Baby All Night Long. And not because I have colic.

They had lots of cute things, though, so I kept shopping, feeling only slightly icky when the female on the stereo started moaning about how she "adores your touch, every move you make is magic every night" etc., etc.

Now I've adored some babies and the touch of their little hands grabbing your finger is indeed a thrill, but I don't think that's what she meant. And ewwwwww. In the kid's store?

When I was ready to pay, the young woman behind the counter couldn't hear my question over the music and I had to lean in and repeat. I decided it was a perfect moment to mention the music.

"That's a strange song to have on in the children's store", I said with a sweet smile and a laugh in my voice.

"Oh, do you think so?" she said with a look of surprise , her eyes gazing upward as she started listening to the music. When she tuned in and heard the words, she blushed. It must be loud background noise to her all day.

"Well, we sell older kids clothes, up to size 16, and that's what they listen to now."

She went over to a long counter across the back wall to run my card and get the wrappings. The name of the store was spelled out in big, metal letters that hung individually on the wall above her head. They were slightly vibrating in time to the bass.

Just as she stepped back to bend down for more paper, one of the letters vibrated right off the wall and crashed to the floor, a mere fraction from her head.

"Oh my gosh!", we both exclaimed.

"Are you okay?", I asked.

"It didn't hit me", she replied. "I can't believe that fell off of there!"

I do know when to keep my mouth shut, so I did.

But I left the store wondering about what she had said. If that's what kids were listening to now, how did she think they found it, through their fillings?

Here's an idea, kids listen to this because someone is bringing it to them, not the other way around. You're not playing it because they demand it, they're demanding it because you're exposing them to it. Constantly.

They hear it because she was playing it, because some parent gave them money to buy it, or parked them in front of a TV that was selling it. Because every adult in their world made it easy to hear, everywhere they went. All the time.

I'm not by any means a rock and roll hater. In fact, I love it. There's nothing like it to make you feel full of life and energy. As an adult, I even like a suggestive lyric now and then. And I'm not suggesting that the store play some syrupy muzak of "This Old Man."

But if our kids are hearing sexual content, not to mention violence, in each and every place they visit, live and play, no wonder they're bored and jaded and overwhelmed and angry. The adult world is in their face every minute and they can't escape.

They can't escape to the empty lot in the neighborhood, the creek at the end of the block, the tree house in the woods, or even unattended in their own back yards.

Or even in a store that sells tiny booties and little hats.

And by the way, someone who wears a Childrens' Size 16 is not really all that old. Let's give the poor kids a break.

The Big Fresno Fair

Sunday afternoon we went to the BIG FRESNO FAIR. That's how they say it on the news. Even the city map says Big Fresno Fairgrounds.

Was it big? Yeah, kind of.

We tried to go there several times last week. On Thursday , I purposefully didn't eat much all day because what is the Fair without corndogs? And ice cream on a stick? And roasted corn?

Then something came up and we didn't get to go on Thursday. Same thing on Friday. so I was really, really hungry for junk food by the time we got there Sunday afternoon. It was all good, except the ice cream, which was not Fair Worthy. I took a few bites and threw the rest away. No sense wasting junk food points on something that isn't shamefully delicious. I did tell the roasted corn guy not to dip my cob in the huge vat of melted butter, (that sounds funny) not so much out of nutritional saintliness, but because it looked soggy. A little would have been nice, but not an oil slick's worth.

The Fair was also the toughest test of my resolve not to eat beef. I've done really well with that, and haven't had any in months. Despite the "no renunciation without aversion" clause, I didn't feel very averse. Big Bad Bob's BBQ smelled really, really good.

I didn't have any problem feeling averse to the fried chicken sandwich on a Krispy Kreme donought. It might actually taste good, but if it does, I don't want to know. It sounds awful and I think it's best if it continues to stay that way.

Fresno is in the Central Valley of California and it's a huge agricultural producing region. I read in today's Fresno Bee that 80% of the world's lettuce comes from here. This is also the home of Sun Maid raisins. So there was a pretty good produce display.

I've always loved the Home Arts and Ag parts of the Fair. Each year the Home Arts section gets smaller and smaller and the exhibits less and less skilled. I don't think very many people are learning to "put up" (can) fruits and vegetables any more.

We did get lucky enough to see a woman doing a demonstration spinning yarn. It never ceases to amaze me how people think these things up, whether it was the first person to think "hey, I know, I'll take the fur off this animal and make yarn out of it" or the first person who figured out how to make a microchip. How do they do it?

The best thing I had at the Fair was a fruit water I bought in the produce building. They had clear, plastic barrels with different kinds of fruit juice mixed with water. The choices were many; lime, pineapple, jimaica, watermelon, strawberry, and several others that were not familiar. I had the watermelon and it was wonderful. Very light, not too sweet, nothing added. And at $2.00 for a big glass, it was the best bargin there.

We looked at the animals, but most of them had gone home. The little pygmy goats were the cutest, and since the newborn baby lambs were very, very sweet, it was a close contest. Chris was disappointed no pigs put in an appearnance. They probably boycotted since Fair officials so crassly labled their area "Swine". How can you be your best when someone is calling you a swine?

It was fun, but very, very crowded. So after a couple of hours, (and a second corndog) we called it quits. Our car was several blocks away, and we were in an unfamiliar part of town that we hadn't seen on any of the Chamber of Commerce material.

Our walk was uneventful until we passed a fellow sitting on horse back on the lawn of the Fresno County Behavioral Health Dept. He was back under the trees, and the waning moon cast shadows across his face.

At first we thought he was police or a Fair official, on guard against badness. But in the , moonlight we could see his big Stetson, his multi-color, striped shirt the only color under the dark trees. He was sitting as still as a statue, staring straight ahead. He had a tiny smile on his face.

"Howdy", said Chris as we passed.

The horseman dipped his head in a little nod and continued to stare off in the far distance. He looked a little loopy .

Just another day of our new lives in our own personal Big Fresno Fair.

***

You already know I'm half crazy. This will confirm it.

Styrofoam Head for wigs that I got from my parent's garage sale for Chris to put his Stetson on.
Stetson
Small jewelry box (from my sis)
Candles (3)
Small back pack
Lavender from Yellowstone for the linen closet
Small desk top size fan
Do umbrellas count as clothes?

Every time I open a drawer or a cabinet, something uncounted stares out at me.

I don't know why this list thing is working on me like it is. I dread the arrival of all the stuff in storage. I wish I had the courage to pick a few things out of all that stuff, and walk away from the rest.

I looked at houses yesterday, but haven't seen "the one". So I won't have to deal with the rest of the things I own for a while.

I do miss my tan Diesel tennis shoes, though. They're comfy and go with everything.

My Yoga Home

In the search for normalcy, I hunted up a yoga studio and went yesterday. It was Anusara style, which was the same type that my teacher Stacy in Laguna taught. She was one of my favorite teachers and I probably made the most progress I've ever made in her class.

I never did get to the point where I could get up in a handstand by myself, though. She tried everything she could think of, but it just never happened. I was able to hold myself up there when I got there, which was progress from my first few attempts. The first time I got up into handstand, my shoulders and arms would only hold me there for mere seconds. Eventually, I could stay there for several minutes, if someone would spot me while I flipped my feet up over my head.

I should have started yoga back in 1980 something.

Ansusara is a flow type of yoga where there's no pause between poses. It's a little strenuous, but fortunately, yesterday's class was a little slowed down. Thank goodness.

Twice last week I dreamed I could do The Wheel, a pose that is a modified back bend, all by myself. So I was motivated to find a studio.

If you haven't been to yoga in a week, it isn't the class that's hard. It's the day after that's tough. Today I'm sore and cranky.

I'm grateful I can walk into a yoga studio, anywhere in the world, and feel instantly at home. Blessings, blessings blessings from yogis everywhere.

Wal Mart: The Ultimate List Tester

Ever since I wrote the last entry about the things we brought with us, I've been kind of obsessing about the list. It probably isn't all that interesting to anyone but me, but if I ever document my gypsyness, it will come in handy.

So it's been bugging me that I keep seeing things around here that didn't get on the list.
If you're going to do an inventory, it has to be ACCURATE.

It also seems a little deceptive to my 1.5 readers. Here I am claiming to have moved here with those items and those items only, but there's more! Things that didn't even seem big enough to make the list, but there they are, attached to me like Velcro.

In the spirit of complete and transparent disclosure, here's my addendum.

One small, blue vase. It has a flower in it beside my bed.
2 Placemats
4 Cloth napkins
Broom and dust pan
Iron
Cleaning supplies
Mattress pad
2 Decorative pillows
The Mexican blanket that is usually in my car
Tool box
Box of paperwork/files
Shoe shine box
Tiny St. Joseph statue (resides on the kitchen counter since 1995)
My piece of petrified wood that has been in my kitchen window sill every place I have lived since (I think) 1971.
Basket that holds bills, etc.
Cork screw
Travel mug
Ice cream scooper
Manual can opener
Colander

And I'm not counting the individual pieces that make up "the computer", like printer, mousepad, speakers, keyboard, etc. etc. More and more individual items.

As I mentioned, Kitty is now an indoor cat. No more days of roaming around her front door, chasing butterflies, stalking blowing leaves, and sleeping in the sun in the lawn chairs. No wanting to enforce boredom, we bought her some toys, and a carpeted stand that has a little tray on the top that she can sleep on in front of the living room window.

Now the apartment has pet stuff scattered around.

Ususally, I'd rather stand in a center traffic island and breathe exhaust than go to the Wal Mart. But the one lamp in the living room just wasn't enough. We read, and reading requires more than mood lighting. Especially since D.H. likes enough light to land jets or perform surgery when he reads.

Where do you go for cheap, disposable stuff? Wal Mart, of course. So I went there.

As tempting as another shower rack and a new laundry basket were, I stopped with a $10.00 , disposable floor lamp. No wonder monstrous container ships arrive here every day with more and more and more and more things.

On the way home, I drove past a Big Lots. Depsite knowing better, I stopped there, too.

While looking at their cheap, disposable stuff, I found one of those big Italian style posters you see everywhere. The ones in bright colors with circus characters eating spaghetti or drinking champagne on them. It was 50 cents. 50 cents!

I bought it to put on the mantel and have some color in the white, white apartment.

Like metal shavings to a magnet, objects attach and the list grows.

The idea of traveling lightly through the world seems to be in direct opposition to the need to feather a comfortable nest. The amount of things I've left behind in the last few years as we've roamed about the country could, and has, set up several other houses. I've trimmed and trimmed, keeping only the most sentimental or practical things that make up our home.

Of course toting around hundreds of pounds of books isn't very practical and only slightly sentimental.

Strange town, new people, none of your familiar things, forces you to find some other way to feel "at home".

Darling, darling Husband sitting in his chair, reading the paper in full light, watching Monday Night Football while some lasagna is baking in the oven and smelling oh so good is a good start.

We may not know where we are, but we're always at home with each other.