Follow by Email

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Oh Brandon; How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...



Sadly, the city shows evidence of my seven year desertion.
Four.
Count 'em, four of my precious thrift shops have closed their doors since I moved away.
Incredible, that I single handedly supported all that thrifting for my ten year stay in Brandon.
Well, okay. I give myself a wee bit too much credit. I would be amiss not to mention that my equally compulsive side-kicks have also left the city of our young adulthood, no doubt to graze greener junk shops elsewhere.
So, with one faithful scrounger beside me, I hit the two remaining downtown junk shops.
With glee.


But good things come to she who does or doesn't wait. The thrifting came to me.

I met up with BBNM and her sister; who gave me the world's most gorgeous chenille. It is thick. And luxurious. And smells faintly of liniment, reminicient of the backwoods Low German chiropractor of my youth. I regret to inform you. I cannot cut it. Not yet. I was too busy sleeping beneath it, about five seconds after arriving back home to my plastic house in Hoo-Ville, happy and feeling complete with all my chicks roosted again beneath my wings.
I also had the marvelous privelege of finally meeting Fancy. Who some of you will "recognize" from comments over at Bags4. Even lovelier in person. And ever so helpful. And did I mention adorable?
And Krista. An acquaintence from back in the day. We had some pretty deep stuff in common back then. And now? Now we share a passion. For women who survive against impossible odds.
Between performances of "Sanctuary; Hope For Darfur" at the Centennial Auditorium, hob-nobbing with old friends, new friends, and fellow Darfur impassioned citizens, I had the joy of driving to Rosa-the-pioneer-woman's rural abode. All that chenille, thrifting, hob-nobbiing, and Starbucking had energized me to romp a little with their latest family member: Rambo the Baby Steer.
I'm thinking of gettin' me one of them.

Meanwhile, it was easy to work up an appetite for MB's horse poop cake.
Well, I don't think she actually called it that, I may be paraphrasing a little.
What a joy it is to feel that Life is a package brimming with (non-consumer) wealth and possibility. That there couldn't be enough time to take in all the people who live with authenticity, vulnerability, risk, and generosity. That there is no end to living creatively. That all the garbage we get decieved into culturally is not what is valued in the people whom I love.
Grateful am I.

No comments: