From gluteal cleavage to breast cleavage. Oh joy.

I joined the Great American Apparel Diet and pledged to not buy any new clothing for myself until September of 2011. That's an easy one for me. However, my oldest daughter likes to mix new with vintage. This sent us on a recent trip to the mall.

I visit Denver's Cherry Creek Mall on occasion and head straight to Anthropologie where I put on tunnel-vision glasses until I'm in the sales closet just to poke around at upscale bric-a-brac or indulge myself with the purchase of a scented candle. Afterward, I scout about to see what the Anthropologie store designers have been up to.

But this time, we went into other stores in search of a few needed additions to my daughter's wardrobe. What I saw was terrifying. What are we doing to little girls? Why is retail attempting to push them out off the cliff of childhood? Why would anyone run from childhood? For many of us, it's one of the best times in our lives. Do little girls need to dress like they are going to a rave?

I pulled out my soapbox and sat on it for awhile with my head in my hands and thought.

For over a decade millions of women have tossed aside those “mom jeans” and fallen into the short-waisted pant. I will admit, when worn properly, they are a little flattering to the figure and can take a large rump roast and give the illusion it’s a smaller serving.

Note I qualified that with “when worn properly”. Not until a few years ago did the fashion industry offer any mass solution to help women hide their coin slots (butt cracks, that annoying "gluteal cleft") that short-waisted pants are promised to feature when left uncovered. Women became vending machines of a sort.

I’ve worn short-waisted pants and still do. It’s a break from wearing men’s button fly 501 Levis. Back in the years of coin slots I found an online store offering body suits with the snap in the crouch. Dressed in a classic, black, ballet neck bodysuit I was safe and I could use it as underclothing with a sweater or blouse. No matter how far I bent over, even if I decided to stop, drop and do a few yoga sun salutes in the grocery store, no one was going to deposit a quarter in my posterior, unlike the woman below. Is this what we really want to see in the frozen food section? Perhaps if you're on a diet you'll forgo that Sarah Lee pound cake because you just lost your appetite.


So for years women walked around breaking two basic fashion violations, don’t show your undies or your butt crack. Many women were in coin slot (aka "appliance repairman's butt") denial, believing theirs was not showing while being appalled by everyone else's. And for years we were stuck on crowded escalators with an exposed butt practically shoved in our face.

I guess a couple extra quarters inserted might eventually pay for a latte. But – let’s be honest, you think a barista is going to want to take money I literally pull out of my ass? Talk about dirty money.

One day in a store I was thrilled to find a body suit and pulled it out of the rack only to discover it was thong bottomed! In my world, a thong body suit is an oxymoron of fabric. And, let’s be honest. Thongs are literally dirty. Many doctors don’t recommend them because they are known health hazards. Perhaps The Surgeon General should take up this one. I'll bet it would parallel the whole history of the cigarette industry and another Insider would step forth.

Have you heard? There's a new take on tight jeans, the "jegging". My prediction? The new jeggings of today are the old “stirrup pants” of yesteryear. Jegging? What marketer came up with that name? It sounds like an insult. “Yeah, he wouldn’t stop jegging on me so I just stood up and left him with the tab.” Jegging has a Wikipedia entry if you need. Oh, and don't worry, they do come in acid wash.

Several years ago the fashion industry finally - en masse - released longer tops that could be tucked into or pulled over the coin slot. Finally.

Well not really. American fashion merely substituted “gluteal” cleavage with breast cleavage. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. Granted blatant breast cleavage has been around for a long time, but it was saved for events like Oscar Night. Now it’s everywhere, everyday, even in middle school - and if they can pump them up - in elementary school.

So the coin slot traveled up the body from the butt to the boobs. And we continue to break the most basic of fashion rules like don’t show your foundation (bra) and dress in context (i.e. breast cleavage is not appropriate in a middle school Health Science class).

Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that the majority of t-shirts are a double if not triple swoop on the chest line? And they’re sheer. We’re told that they’re for “layering”. But, it’s genuinely difficult to find anything that covers more than the double swoop unless it’s a turtleneck or a crew neck. So do we layer low cut tops with low cut tops so that we purchase two tops and still have cleavage?

Cleavage is the new a national fashion crisis. We see it nearly everywhere. Why does a 7th grade girl need to show cleavage (with aid from a push up bra) in American History? Does she think it’s going to wake our Founding Fathers from their eternal sleep to teach the class? Sure, schools have dress codes, but this is so out of line administrators would spend every minute of the school day writing up violations if they where to fully tackle this. Which reminds me of a tackling dummy. A lot of tiring, often futile work.

Where's the class in this? That's right - full of boys not paying attention.

I’ve an idea. It’s a turnstile of sorts. A person walks into this contraption and both back and front gates close, the person must stand in place, a life-sized model of a hand on a lever swings down and performs the “hand rule” check. (I image this hand to have a clown glove-like appearance to signify how ridiculous this has become.) If the person does not pass the hand/finger/quarter/marble test, then the back gate opens, wild sirens and buzzers blow and the child’s not admitted into the school. Perhaps we could get Dan Castenllaneta, the voice of Krusty the Clown, to shout, "You're shirt's too low, go home and change kid!"


When you go to the mall you're subjected to the latest trends. Here today, gone tomorrow. Lather, rinse, repeat. Many are flat out ugly and not flattering to the most svelte of figures. I guess that’s because they want people to eventually throw those clothes away with a giant, “What was I thinking?” and journey off to the mall to replace one catastrophe with another.

When you go to the thrift store, you see decades of fashions and you can pull the best from each decade and build your own style, not be a fashion zombie and have to shudder ten years out in the future because you fell for the jegging.

Hey fashion industry! Can you stop making fools out of women?

How about you design scissor-cut crop t-shirts for men and make them the rage, the only shirt men can buy! How about something that accentuates and pumps up the air in that spare tire? How about a new line of cosmetics for men that present an honest red neck? Okay, I will admit the mens shoe industry is making millions off of "sport shoes" that look like something Neil Armstrong must have worn and probably cost the same as Armstrong’s NASA boots back on a certain day in July 1969.

The Great American Apparel Diet

If you’re a true lover of reuse, I encourage you to go on a diet that you cannot fail. Promised glory!

You’re laughing right?

It’s The Great American Apparel Diet and it started on September 2, 2010. It’s a year-long pledge to forgo buying new apparel from the conventional retail market. (You have wiggle room with foundations and socks/tights).

To be honest, I’m embarrassed I just learned about it. I will swear that my pledge is retroactive to September 2nd and far beyond.

Here’s how they explain it:

“The Great American Apparel Diet, what is it? We are a group of women and two men who have decided to go on a diet of sorts. A fast really. We are completely eliminating “new apparel” from our diets for one year. Yes, the next time you see us sporting new tags it will be Sept. 2, 2011. Sound easy? Well think again. This is going to be a stretch for most of us. You see, like most women we are attached to our wardrobes in some form or another. In fact buying a new something-or-other is as natural as a dark chocolate pick-me-up. We all have our reasons for embarking on this project but it all gets down to this…who are we without something hip and new in our closets? We shall see.”

Visit the site, The Great American Apparel Diet. If you are not a full convert of thrift, I understand some reluctance. At least review the site, there is a very funny support group in constant discussion. If you just try, I promise it will change the way you think.

To be clear. This is not anti-retail. This is smart and resourceful retail. Think of all the items that go unneeded and unused in homes across America. If they were tossed into the market, our shopping would be stronger and a bit more economically sustainable. The retail market at large could easily be a salt and peppered mix of new and reuse. If we were to significantly up the percentage of reused product in the market, we'd be lowering the carbon foot print of our shopping. On this, please refer to an opinion I wrote some time ago for The Christian Science Monitor, "We count calories. Why not carbon?"

Join already! Either dive in or get those toes wet. Just try.

Retail Remorse

We’ve discussed the Flinch Point, Closet Thrifter, Environista and – my favorite – Snake Eyes.

Since the yard sale, I’ve been stuck in the doldrums of Retail Remorse. Like Home Buyer’s Remorse, I’ll eventually get over it. I hope.

As I stared down 15 years worth of stuff from the kitchen, living room, dining room and basement; a guilty feeling crept upon me. I was edgy and annoyed. It took awhile to name this feeling. It’s Retail Remorse.

I’ve always dipped into thrift stores and resale shops, even as a child. When I was eight or so, I bought my mother a pin from the local thrift shop. I swore it was diamonds. Diamonds for 50 cents!

Some five years ago, I took the full plunge. Now, it’s a rare occasion that items – aside from groceries - from a conventional retailer are carried through our front door.

My one guaranteed conventional retail purchase is a quality-scented candle; it’s a deeply appreciated indulgence. I sporadically go to Anthropologie to the sale section to find a candle on sale, and it’s always marked above my Flinch Point. But, it’s a luxury item and I know that. I also check out what the store designers are displaying and sometimes mimic it in my home. What irony that their glorious displays are made from simple items: Mason jars, empty wine bottles, pipe cleaners, wire, sticks, paper, and –get this- white plastic drinking straws. Juxtapose the cost of these beautiful displays against racks of dresses priced $180 and up. My definition of great style is extracting the extraordinary from the ordinary. One cannot purchase that.

A funny thing happened this week. I went to Anthropologie, but there were no candles on sale. Sigh. The visit was not a total waste, I did make note of the gorgeous chandelier constructed from giant bundles of long sticks hung about one large, clear light bulb. It was inspiring.

I moved on to the nearby thrift only to pull a new Anthropologie candle off the shelf for $2.99. That’s two dollars below my Flinch Point. It’s Yuzu Peach from Illume. This really happened, no exaggeration. In a similar story I bought a vintage inspired Banana Republic jacket with its original price tag of $99.99 dangling next to the Goodwill price of $4.99. On the way home I stopped at a major retailer to purchase a $9 tube of mascara and, well just read the post, “What’s the bait and where’s the switch” because this story gets weird and disturbing for the consumer.

As I stared at the items all in queue to be toted out the front door for last week’s yard sale, I felt sick at heart. Sick because I saw how the conventional retail market had hypnotized me. Looking at all the stuff set for the yard sale, I saw waste. Granted it was nice and pretty but there was no argument, it was waste. At least it was waste for me, perhaps a need for someone else.

Years before I went full on thrift, I shopped sales. Let’s take the Pottery Barn that used to reside in Denver’s Cherry Creek mall near my home. I’d visit that store once a month. Like Anthropologie, I’d head straight to the sale area. Only I wasn’t out to purchase one luxury item. I would buy not out of a need but because I was led to believe I was getting a steal. The reality? I wasn’t purchasing the item. I was purchasing a deal. Deals are great, if they are of use or need.

I’d been fooling myself, thinking sale shopping was smart. It can be. But, often we are led to believe that we are coming out the winner by walking off with a 60% off item that will not have use. Enter Retail Remorse.

The shoppers at the yard sale were getting deals. But, I heard more than once, “This is a great price and a great item but do we need it?” That’s smart shopping.

Godspeed all thrift shoppers! Common sense is on your side as long as you focus on a need and not, as Dr. Suess called them in The Lorax, a thneed.

Post Script:

Our above the stove range microwave caught an innocent item on fire. At five years old the darn thing is toast. In our current economic state, we cannot afford the hefty cost of a new one. So, I purchased a small counter top microwave for $15 at Goodwill to meet our need. I do not appreciate planned obsolesce, as discussed in the post “Built to last? Don’t think so!” Once again this makes me think of the 60 year-old refrigerator still chugging out cold air in my grandparents basement serving as back up to the latest model in the kitchen that is probably just a few years old. That little fridge was built to last, not built to fail.

Reflections on a Yard Sale & The Acquisition of Stuff

The Golightly’s yard sale was a success. To my pleasant surprise all visitors were cordial and didn’t attempt the vicious low-ball on price. Perhaps it was because we varied our music from Miles Davis Kind of Blue to Billie Holiday’s Songs for Distingue Lovers to Stan Getz and Bebel Gilberto. You know, keep it mellow.

Or, perhaps it was because all shoppers had to “pay the Piper” as Little Pie sat at her post as money collector. In addition to playing money collector she also sold her sets of homemade pastel pies, book lanterns and a few mason jars of specially selected buttons from her collection. It was a very long day and she was in the throes of it the entire time. What a trooper.

Upon reflection, most of my learning happened the week of pricing. It wasn’t that I learned more about product information or online values, I learned more about The Acquisition of Stuff.

As a family, we're very good about keeping our clothes closets clean. We just were not aware of all the stuff that had collected in the home at large.

Here’s a few things to consider so that you need not end up with stuff you don't need.

Just because it's on sale and a fantastic bargain doesn't mean you need it.

Newlyweds and new parents buy picture frames. Loads of them. After a while photos are taken down. If you fit into either category, get thee to the thrift store and save but also have some awareness that you might be purchasing more than you really need.

With silent auctions now a popular fund raising method for the PTSA’s about the country, I learned that I don’t value the items that come home from such auctions. The one exception is a beautifully framed class sketch of Piper’s Kindergarten school garden. That is a treasure and it hangs above the fireplace mantle. But most those items were bought out of a sense of duty. Given all the work it takes to acquire auction items – and I know because one year I rounded up $5,000 of stuff – I think I’d just rather write a check. How I wish schools would be elevated to the level they deserve when it comes to government spending. Our PTSA raises a lot of money each year and the majority of it seems to fill budget cuts.

When you move from one home to another, don’t just put stuff away to be done with the move. Yes, there is a pressing urge to finish the damn job. Moving is very stressful. But, as you unpack items while standing in the new home, consider if it’s still going to be of value. Ideally it’s best to purge items before a move. But sometimes, whether or not an item will work in a new home cannot be determined until it’s in that home. I had items from our former home shoved in the backs of cabinets from our old home. Ugh, we moved to Denver in 1998. One can have a yard sale before and after a move.

If it hasn’t seen the light of day in a year and it’s not an heirloom, it’s gone.

Take caution on items you intend to save for your children’s children. Mr. Golightly had a huge stash of such items. When seeing the complete pile, we realized we were hoarding items for our grandchildren that we don’t even know if we’ll have. We hope to but there’s no guarantee. Pile was purged with a few meaningful items tucked away.

Often times when you buy a new item, the old goes down in the basement. Na-uh. It’s off to the thrift store! Purge! Be free!

Toss emotions aside. You may have an emotional attachment to an item, like how I love the beautiful solid brass candelabra that hold’s seven candles. But, it really doesn’t work in our home. Poet was so excited to see it and thought she could use it in her Halloween costume, until she attempted to carry it. It weighs more that a meteorite I’m certain and it's really too big to hold and not look like you just might topple. Once you let go emotionally, you become motivated to sell.

Watch out for piles. They can clog you up. [Wink.] I had piles of table linens. When we purchased our dining set from an estate sale, I failed to purge the linens to the old table. It was difficult to open and close the buffet drawers. Not now!

Don't feel bad about abandoning unfinished projects. So what if it didn't come to completion. It happens. Be rid of the guilt and dump the supplies, chances are good that this project will be finished by another and you'll have less clutter.

When you finish a phase, clear out the equipment. Before the girls, Mr. Golightly and I ate sushi at home. We had time to prepare the fish and roll it. The making of it was as important a ritual as the eating of it. One of my kitchen cabinets was full of sushi serving supplies. Thankfully not any leftover fish.

I am very glad that we did this. The week leading up to it was not fun and I was a bit grumpy, partially because I had all this stuff and felt rather, ugh, stupid for acquiring it and the constant price checking on EBay gets tiring. But, I feel cleansed and have a nice chunk of change that I took to the bank this morning. And, I know there are a few people in Denver who found a few items they needed at a fair price.

If you have any purging tips, please share in the comments. If every household in America purged, just think of how full the re-use market would be! Perhaps so big, it would crush new products for awhile and the country could stop taking on water. This stuff has led us into debt, let's not allow it to sink us.

Confession

This post was not scheduled to run on September 11th. I was very surprised to see it up this morning. It must have been some technical glitch; all indicators tell me it is to run 9/12/10 at 1AM. Maybe it was a cosmic thump. Regardless, I do not wish to diminish the profound significance of this date.

So I write this intro in response to the people who lost their lives and their families on this date. I believe that all the victims and their families of the tragedies want us to feel love and compassion on this day. I’m certain that if they could, those who lost their lives would tell us to love, to reconcile differences, seek commonalities and work for peace.

So on this day, please do something kind for a stranger. For in these times many of us need assurance that we are valued and people care. If you wish, please write what you chose to do in the comments. If you continually give to those in need, please share what you do in the comments.

This post is about hard times.



See that house? That’s Dorothy’s blowing into Oz.

Well, the Golighty’s happened to be in Oz that day engaging compassionate listening tactics with Wicked Witch of the East to figure what made her so red-eyed mean. Just when she was about to pounce on her personal, “Aha!” moment, that house, also called The Great Recession, landed on all of us.

Tis a shame. Oz was about to one up their population of good witches. The Witch of the East was going to mend her ways. Then a house landed on her. At least she died a better woman.

Two years later we’re still stuck under the darn thing. No matter which way we dig, we don’t see light. We are lucky we didn’t meet the same fate as Witch of the East.

Now I know for a fact, other houses sailed across the skies of Oz that day and every day since more continue to fall upon unsuspecting families. We are not the only ones stuck under the weight of this economic crisis. There are a couple, oh, million other people with us – all suffering on many levels.

What is carrying us through this crisis? Thrift before this mess and thrift during it.

Hope helps too, but some days that hope hides under the bed and doesn’t want to come out.

I try hard to fight off the encroaching bitterness when Congress hems and haws on critical things like COBRA assistance or unemployment benefit extensions. Send ANY legislator my way that says the paltry unemployment insurance makes people lazy and I’ll serve up a hearty “what for” to that person. What the Feds and the State seem to think a family of four can live on without aid is a joke. Maybe by 1950 standards.

I’d like to see a politician try and live like that. Maybe it could be like that reality show, “Undercover Boss”. I think we’re all laughing at the thought of the “Undercover Senator” waiting six hours for his/her number to be called so he/she can simply SUBMIT the one-inch-thick application for Food Stamp Assistance and go back to waiting the waiting to receive the appointment date to meet with a caseworker which could be two weeks out and will, require another number to be taken to wait to be called. Or how about waiting six months for a doctor’s appointment?

See, a few years back, we thought we were living right and smart.

We paid off our credit card bill each month.

We maxed out our 401(K) contributions.

We forwent cable TV. Not only do we have more active lives but also we are not subjected to the pounding of commercials designed to create Want.

We bought a home within well within our limits. I fired the first realtor. He kept thinking he could bump up the price by showing me a suite with a fiberglass monstrosity with seven jets that shot water into the bath. He even thought I’d drool over a three-car garage. How wrong he was.

We lived as a one-car family for the first seven years of our marriage. Had to buy the commuter car when Mr. Golightly took a job 20 miles north. We’re a mile south of downtown Denver and Mr. Golightly used take the light rail or jump the bus. He arrived at his office in 20 minutes, door to door, with no traffic worries or parking concerns. This was the first time Mr. Golightly used public transportation and he quickly grew to like it, a lot.

Not only is a car a heavy thing to carry around but it’s a heavy expense. Few realize it but a car can be likened to a child; it needs healthcare, life insurance, day care (parking fees), sustenance and some people even put a roof over its roof. That commuter car is being donated in about three weeks for we can no longer afford it’s insurance and it’s become a money pit. I’ll be glad to see it go and keep my sights on possible a job opening downtown so we don’t need another economic addition to our family. Maybe we can go back to the life we loved so many years ago. Maybe. Something’s gotta give.

Most of our vacations were spent resourcefully exploring our beautiful state of Colorado. With the exception of the northwest corner, we’ve been all over on old mining roads and have seen amazing sites with such beauty you gain every bit of confidence in a higher power, no matter what you wish to call it.

We felt we lived a rich life and paid little for it. We don't care what The Jone's are doing. They can have a plasma TV, I don't want it.

I come by the name Golightly honestly. My childhood can be labeled a wandering one. I went to many schools, had many addresses. So, possessions weighed few. This continued into my twenties when I moved every year, mostly to explore new neighborhoods. In Chicago I lived in Hyde Park, several locations in Lakeview and Old Town. In Boston, I lived in Allston and The Fenway. I never had a car and loved public transportation. The company I worked for in Boston subsidized my monthly T-Pass. I paid $11 a month for transportation. When I wanted to get out of town on the weekend, I rented a car for the price of one city parking ticket.

However, we have not always been so wise and things were not always so economically painful.

I confess when we married in 1995; I was a Mighty Consumer, as was Mr. Golightly.

And even worse, I was in Mighty Consumer in Denial. I shopped the sales. Shopping sales is great if you don’t focus on how much money you’re saving, thinking it means you can buy more. We’ve all heard it, it’s a well-marketed mantra for many, “Save more, spend more”. Sale used to be my favorite word. I laugh at it now.

Until I married Mr. Golightly, I’d forever lived in rented apartments and was not aware of a behavior home ownership and staying put can quietly engage. That’d be accruing Stuff because you have a place to chuck it, whether it’s a garage or a basement.

Stack having children on top of home ownership and, wow, do have we a situation for the collection of Stuff. Mounds of it either tossed with out care or neatly organized in plastic bins.

Wait. Let’s toss in one more factor to my collection of Stuff. Thrift shopping. Yup. When you’re a born again thrift shopper or a newbie, it’s easy to fall into a trap. The barrage of fantastic items for such fantastic prices is overwhelming. So happened to me about seven years ago and I remained in that condition for a year or two.

Without the seasoned wisdom of thrift, there is no awareness there will be more cashmere for $4.99 than imaginable flowing through the thrift store. The idea that you can be really picky about purchasing a cashmere sweater or Cole Hann shoes for $4.99 just doesn’t seem natural, so the born again/newbie often buys with a joyful abandon and unknowingly falls into a trap of Stuff.

Take all the new thrift back to the house and if it doesn’t make the closet, chuck it in the basement or garage. It’s worth $100 more than you paid for it, you can’t toss that!

Well, you can.

Fall is coming on and I’m about to swap out the closets and purge the clothes that no longer fit Little Pie and any clothes that just aren’t being worn. My overarching goal is to purge less each season, which would mean that I’m shopping wisely. Last April I posted, "The path to fashion enlightenment" about my spring purge. It felt great! I was basically ready for spring and summer with beautiful clothes I love and had no need for more. My seasonal donations to the thrift store are shrinking. Our clothes closets are efficient, tidy and the clothes are all worn, not left hanging unused for months or in some people’s cases, years. Below is a recent photo of Little Pie and I in Georgetown, CO in fall attire pulled early from the bins under our beds. The total cost of BOTH our ensembles is $30 - not including panties and socks. I've a good feeling my family won't be wanting clothes for fall or winter and this is a very good thing.


Now, I confess there’s been a sleeping demon in my life. It recently awoken and reared its ugly head.

After receiving another bill in the mail that I’m borrowing money to pay, I think I might of hit some sort of rock bottom or maybe I short circuited. We need money. In a state of total frustration and a need to be cleansed, I emptied the kitchen cabinets not of food but of implements.

I confess that there are items in my kitchen that haven’t seen the light of day in over 10 years. How could that be? What else is in my house that has been of no use? Served no purpose?

I feel a fraud. I feel I’ve been dishonest. I feel angry that I’d fallen prey to accruing this Stuff. Or I feel sad that people spent their hard-earned money on gifts they felt obligated to give for a birthday or holiday, and it sat unused. How I wish I had that money that was wasted in my fist right now. But simply put, that ain’t gonna happen.

So I donated more items to the thrift stores. I feel an obligation to donate to maintain the healthy cycle of reuse. You know, the give when you take concept? Hmm. I think many Americans need a lesson in that simple concept. We cannot take and take and take and take and expect there to be something left. Duh! No matter how it’s done, we ALL have something we can give. Problem is we seem to be running short on those people these days. Why is that?

I’d been so focused on the bedrooms; I had forgotten a whole first floor and a whole basement. Yeah, the books are prominent. But, they’re used and every Golightly values them. Oh yeah, there’s a garage in the alley too. Well, the garage isn’t too much of a mess considering it holds our camping gear in bins, ready to roll for an impromptu get-a-way. Mr. Golightly’s workshop is there too. It’s a mess. That’s because we’ve not put the items we’ve been using for projects back in their proper place. We’re using the items in the garage. That makes me feel a little better.

Mr. Golightly and I’ve been talking about this inventory of Stuff and we’re thinking, due to our economic situation, we need to break with Golightly tradition for just one day. We’re still talking. I’ll fill you in with our conclusion.

Oh, it’s also a little known fact The Wicked Witch of the West has a big beef with me. She knew about her sister’s intention to mend her ways. It’s been cropped out of this photo, but there was a PS to this message in the sky reading, “You too Golightly!” In the words of my family’s matriarch, I answer back, “Like Hell I will!” I’m carrying my bucket of water with me wherever I go and I am not afraid to use it.

Come! Let us go back!

The Thrift Culture Now interview in the post below put me to thinking outside the thrift store.

It’s not rocket science but it’s a bit amusing and disturbing. The forward-looking folks, pursuing healthy economic and environmental practices, are actually looking back.

It’s frightening how this “Use it then lose it” culture in terms of human history is but a blip in time. But this tiny blip has done and continues to do great damage.

The majority of us have no awareness as to how new this the “Use it then lose it” culture is. It’s like the child who grows up in the dysfunctional family and thinks all families are that way. It’s all they ever knew. Unless they do some hard self-reflection (an often painful process) and work for a change (one that usually involves a fight because rarely does any one else want to change), things will remain dysfunctional.

If I could escort my great grandmother, as a young woman, to today’s grocery store and show her the shampoo/conditioner/styling product section I’d have to revive her with smelling salts and not because of her corset. Born in the 1880's she studied Elocution at a women's college and was known to be a lady. But I'm convinced that she would fall out of character, turn to me and say something like, "What the hell do you need all this stuff for?" I somehow don’t think she would feel like she landed in the glory land of hair product.

Know what she probably used to wash her hair? Baking soda. From what I’ve learned it’s actually better for your hair.

This is a woman who kept a book to record her spending. Not her receipt spending but itemized spending. If she bought sugar, she noted the amount and the cost. She was well off. By today’s standards people would think she’s crazy to be in her financial position and write how many pounds of corn meal she purchased in a book. But, I think it’s crazy how most people don't even reconcile their credit card statements. Is it denial?

Assuming you know it’s definition - the word is almost as dead as Latin – elocution may sound archaic and pointless. But, take away all the entertainment electronic gizmos in the house and sit down and converse with your family or roommates. Might go well for a half an hour. But, eventually you’ll be in need of a person versed in the art of conversation and would welcome a poem or story. I love listening to stories that transform into a journey: the voice, the intonation, and an appropriate pause make it so. Let’s face it; America’s Next Top Model and professional wrestling are replacing the art of storytelling in America. Yesterday a kid made fun of my daughter for watching PBS. I imagine the shows he watches are empty in content, as as empty as the calories in the food he ingests. And he’s making fun of her?

Let’s face it, there are few great elocutionists left in this time. Along with our spending habits we’ve become sloppy with words. Not only that, but we are not trained in the art of gathering them together in our mind, we just spit them out with no care for consequence. Sad that we do the same with our hard-earned money. The perculiar thing is we are often taken aback by the response; we’ve either offended someone or we’re broke.

Aside from this, we are terrible listeners. So bad, that the self-help industry has made grocery bags of cash writing books on teaching us how to listen. Obviously we still don’t get it because those books are still on the shelves. Perhaps the mere purchase of the book makes people think they’ve done their duty.

We do seem to think a purchase can transform ourselves into something we are not whether it be younger, more attractive, like we have more hair on our head or chest, sexier…it’s all a bit silly.

There have been studies that suggest our flash culture is re-wiring our brains – not for the good. Understanding there have been many studies, "The Shallows: This Is Your Brain Online" caught my attention on NPR. This piece also mentioned "Is Google Making Us Stupid" a piece in The Atlantic by Nicholas Carr. Carr took the subject and wrote a book on this subject, the title being the title of the NPR story.

I suffered a brain injury from an auto accident. One of the first things I noticed was how painful it was to watch TV and certain movies. The get-as-many-scenes-in-a-short-amount-of time method gave me headaches. It left me distracted, confused, and unable to remain focused. Yeah, I was recovering from a head injury. But don’t tell me that you don’t feel that way at least twice a day. Concentration is critical. We will not problem solve if our minds are turned into a manic mess. Nor will we create for as soon as an idea appears, it will be replaced by a new thought. I’m not certain the young minds of today have the bandwidth for a story. I’ve seen it on shelves and it makes me angry, “Five minute fairy tales”. What!?!?! My daughters and I have read books at bedtime for hours even to the point where I’m fighting to stay awake as I read and Petite Poe is demanding “Read!” because she is so involved in the story.

Of course we’ve made great strides in Civil Rights and Women’s Rights and bringing to light many bad behaviors that must change. But, perhaps there is a value in the past that we have forgone, thrift.

As you go about your day, look at the items you encounter and ask yourself if a person 150 years ago would appreciate them or find them pointless. No doubt my great grandmother would appreciate the clothes washer, well maybe not because she did not have as many clothes as I. But, I’m not so certain she’d think a shine serum for her hair (especially given the cost) or a bubble bath that may contain skin irritants would not be so wonderful.

What actually provides an honest comfort or need? Hold those things close and dump the rest. The world will not collapse and you will not be a bad person if you do not buy a new bedding set because fall is coming and your house must show that in with a celebration of autumnal color. Want fall colors? Go pick some bittersweet and put it in a clear vase – one that is not seasonal. They make seasonal vases now.

I’ve written about my great grandmother in the past, the post was “Six Baccarat Tumblers”, a story about how being thrifty doesn’t mean you must be cheap and have junk.

Now that I think more about visits with her as a child, I don't believe she even owned a television. A visit to Mamaw's was like time travel and I'm so fortunate so have had that experience. She told me stories. One of my favorites is one when she lived in Chicago and was in the fabric section of a department store (Marshall Field's I would assume) where the fabric bolts were kept in huge drawers. My grandfather, then a toddler, climbed out of his pram and into one of the drawers and all the women in the department store went on a frantic search. One of those stories that wasn't fun at the time but, funny after it was over.

I lived in downtown Chicago in my twenties. When they remodeled the State Street Marshall Field's, I frequented that beautiful store and wondered. Follows is a rendering of what the store would have looked like around her time.

The Tiny Home Movement

A friend Ms Gently Used produced this segment on PBS's Need to Know, Living Large: A look into the tiny house movement.

Do take the 10 minutes to watch the segment. It's inspiring; it really is. Ha! And many Americans would think the Golightly home small at 1,800 square feet. It fits us just fine.

My only dilemma with a tiny home would be what to do with my childrens book library. I plan on being the grandmother who reads to her grandchildren someday. Things are changing so fast, I want my legacy to have books land in little hands.

What is a Thirft Store Convention?

I wish a thrift store convention were a gathering of stores and followers for a week at some swank hotel in San Diego on the harbor. Apron Thrift Girl and I toss that idea about. For certain there’d be fantastic forums, featuring, How to buy quality clothing – it’s not all in the brand or Product Re-purposing to accompany the urban crafts movement. I’d love to host a forum on Snake Eyes. We could design programs to become a Thrift Master.

Imagine the consumer enlightenment. It could bolster in a new age, a revolution turning away from our current Economy of Crap, an economy saturated with stuff we don’t really need, stuff that's only purpose is to meet quarterly projections. It’s kind of like an Economy of Nothing but comes with a heavy cost in dollars and carbon.

Thrift conventions are posts demonstrating the various paths to incorporate reuse into a consumer’s life. In short, these conventions feature items you need not buy new so you need not waste money, resources and energy. You can live a little lighter.

There have been many posts on the conventions of thrift. Unless there is an accompanying story, we delete the original post and add the photos (which have more meaning) with captions into to the slide shows on the left bar of this blog featuring: Clothing & accessories, Home & Entertaining, Kitchen and Children. Photo captions tell the story.

Take some time to view these slide shows. You’ll see beautiful completely outfitted place settings for under $5, fine jewelry for a few dollars, new clothing for 5% the retail cost…

Below is sampling of what you'll find in the growing slide shows. Enjoy.

Thrift Store Conventions: Jewelry Part 2

From the eclectic,

to clip-on vintage,


to the Bohemian,


to refined exotic,


to the truly re-purposed,


to something wooden and fishy;


All for under $10 dollars. Style is in the eye of the beholder and not in the a fat pocket book or some department store case.

Thrift Store Conventions: Jewelry Part 1

From fine costume necklaces,

to more more refined tastes.

From sterling,

to turquoise,

to cinnabar,

to sets,

and trends. All for under $10.

These necklaces bought at 50% for $3 each.


More to come in the next post. Jewelry is too easy to thrift it practically lands in your hands. For other ways to incorporate thrift into your life visit other Thrift Store Conventions on the Contents section in the left column - the Tabletop post was a huge hit and was picked up on other blogs all over the world.

Legendary Thrift

I appreciate and enjoy receiving emails from readers. They come in all contexts. This particular email landed in my in box after the former post, “A Tale of Two Rings”. It’s a similar story with a different ending, more humorous than mine.

Such serendipity makes me wonder if there is not a higher power orchestrating this giant game of thrift.

Grinny writes:

My husband and I married after dating five months. We just wanted to be married and didn't care much about ceremony. He wore a suit he already owned with a tie that I never cared for.

In fact, I thought the tie was downright ugly.

Fast-forward five years and our oldest son is attending vacation bible school. The school had a little store of donated goods where the children could pick prizes.

With the coming of Father's Day, requests were sent out to donate “manly” items the children could to give to fathers as gifts. I happily donated the mentioned tie – without a peep to hub.

Unbeknownst about the tie or it’s history, of all the choices, my son picked the infamous "wedding tie" to give to his dad on Father’s Day.

I had to come clean. This tie moved back into my husband’s closet, twelve years later. He has never worn again. Good thing hubs has a forgiving sense of humor.

Great story Grinny.

Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Golightly is Yogi Berra incarnate. Of many head-scratcher sayings, he often tells me to, “Go so you can come back”. I used to translate that to, “please run your errands now so you can come home and watch the kids”.

But I have to wonder if “Go to come back” has a more cosmic significance. Perhaps my ring and Grinny’s husband’s tie needed to go so they could come back modified in meaning to build a better story.

We can call such stories, Legendary Thrift. If you have one, do tell. I can be contacted by clicking on the Contact Section in the left column.

Now I must go so I can come back.

A tale of two rings

Mr. Golightly and I celebrate 15 years this June. It took only two dates to put us together after some talk on the phone. The first date tail-gated a conference I attended in San Diego for my job out of Boston. Yes, I fell in love after a week-long conference earning certification in disaster recovery. Ironic, no?

The second was at his home in Colorado. I figured we would discuss the possibility of me relocating to Denver but, he proposed. Two weeks later on May Day of 1995, I flew in and took up residence with Mr. Golightly in a little house in Boulder. You’d be surprised how fast one can pack up and move a life when motivated. My friends in Boston thought I was nuts. But time has proven I made the right choice. And, my close friend who introduced us is now my sister-in-law.

We’ve been through a lot in those 15 years and we’re fortunate to be frugal and fortunate to thrift. The Goodwill Store on Broadway at Archer in Denver actually settled a tiff. Really, it did.

We have matching wedding rings. The designer in Arizona calls them water rings. Brushed 18kt gold, they are cut to look like water flowing around our fingers; simple and elegant.

For our 10th anniversary Mr. Golightly bought me another ring, a mate to my wedding band. It was sterling with five 24kt gold squares. To be frank, I didn’t like the stark geometric contrast to the flow of the water ring and often didn’t wear it. Over time this grew to be a bit of a tiff between us. It sucked in unrelated annoyances and we digressed in maturity as we, ugh, discussed the wearing of this ring.

Eventually Mr. Golighty tartly asked for the ring back and I tartly obliged. I never knew what he did with it. I wasn’t about to ask. Sour grapes.

The day of our 14th anniversary, I was at Goodwill with Thriftfully Modern Mommie, spending more than I should. It’s hard shopping with Modern Mommie. She has such a great eye, she literally throws clothes at you and they’re a perfect fit and darling. After being whacked by three dresses and two skirts, I had to start dodging, begging her to stop. I’m not exaggerating. We’re terrible in the thrift store. Fortunately we’re also funny so we’ve never been bounced. Odd to run from gorgeous dresses priced at $7 but I try to avoid a total purchase that rivals the cost of department store jeans.

I always search the jewelry counter upon checking out. One finds incredible pieces at the thrift. (Some day Mr. Golightly will photograph some of our finds.)

My Snake Eyes honed right in on it, the ring I’d given up months before. Funny how it looked different in the jewelry cabinet. All the mess we’d put into that ring was no longer there. Goodwill transformed the ring into something else. I tried it on to confirm it so and purchased that ring, $10 above my Flinch Point.

I wore that ring, along with one of the smart dresses Modern Mommie chucked at me, on our anniversary dinner date. I gesticulated all through dinner and felt I was bordering on developing a new sign language until he finally noticed around dessert. He was shocked and - for a moment - speechless.

Goodwill has a fast turn around. Apparently, he’d given up the ring months before. Odd that it took so long for it to hit the floor. Odd that it should show up on our anniversary. Call it serendipitous. But, it happened and now the ring makes for a great story and brings only laughs all because it came from Goodwill.

As I put my hand in his I told him, “You dropped where I shop.”

Built to last? Don't think so!

Planned obsolescence. According to Wikipedia: Planned obsolescence (or built-in obsolescence). is the process of a product becoming obsolete or non-functional after a certain period or amount of use in a way that is planned or designed by the manufacturer. Also known as Designed to Fail.

Designed to fail. We are buying products that are designed to fail. Lovely.

Most of us relate this to appliances. A refrigerator cops out after a few years and we’re told it would be cheaper to replace it than to fix it. Are repairmen paid to say that? This makes me untrustworthy of higher-end appliances. Should I fork over fifty percent more that ultimately earns a mere extra year of product life? One extra year? Wow, I’m turning cartwheels. Maybe an Easy-Bake Oven is a better deal.When the Golightly’s lose an appliance, I am instantly zapped back to my grandparent’s basement where a refrigerator from the ‘50’s sits, minding its own business, chugging along like WALL-E (see Pixar). My grandparents use it to hold overflow from the fridge upstairs, replaced many times. This little fridge holds a queue of hams that my grandmother bakes for families in need. She probably bakes over 400 annually. Although she bakes more cake, so the house smells more of cake. Really. There sits the fridge, nearing 60 years old, cranking out the cool air, working as designed. It’s has a likeness to John Henry, though it doesn’t die. I always hate that part in John Henry. If that fridge ever goes down in the line of duty, I believe it will deserve Taps.

We know that planned obsolescence is great for Wall Street but is hard on the planet and our pocket books. Actually, I don’t see how this benefits the consumer in any way. The retail machine probably says it “increases opportunities” for consumers. How many choices of clothing do we really need? Especially when it comes to a greater cost both in money, pollution and waste over time?

Here’s something to think about. The fashion industry has been producing items of planned obsolescence for decades. We just don’t make the connection when we throw out clothes, because they are a lot easier to toss than say - a washing machine. We all know when it comes to fashion what goes around comes around. So acquire a quality pair of pointed-toe and square-toe black dress shoes. Take them to the cobbler for repair. Please tell me you know what a cobbler is, I'm not talking pie.

Cheap clothing may seem wonderful at discount retailers because it’s, ugh, cheap. It hardly lasts. The same thing happens at the higher end, too. Years ago, I bought a darling empire waist t-shirt at a very posh department outlet store for $38. I loved the design and it was very flattering. The original price was over $140 and the t-shirt lasted one summer when it started to wear holes in the fabric. I saved it, in hopes that if I ever take up sewing, the garment is ready for a sturdy reproduction(s).

So what has this to do with thrift? The clothing racks at the thrift store provide a direct comparison of what was produced to fail (whether it be the garment or a supremely trendy style) and what is not. Whether it’s the fabric, the quality of construction or the overall look, the shopper at least has a chance at buying an item that will last.

Many people ask me what brands to buy. I really don’t know. I recommend that shoppers really dig into the bins and racks. If you do, I promise you will learn a lot about clothing – largely because quality is no longer recognized and vendors prefer shoppers keep a blind-eye, ignorant to fabric quality (blends, thread-counts) and construction (adding binding).

A fine example is my famous sturdy black dress, bought for five dollars last spring. It was hand made, nearly reversible to the point that, in my mad dashes to get dressed and downstairs to the morning elixir of coffee, I wore it inside out for months! No one noticed, but many complimented!

Why should we knowingly buy a product that’s designed to fail? Would you enter a marriage knowing it was designed to fail? Buy stock in a company set to fail?

As mentioned in the previous post, I swapped out the fall/winter wardrobe for spring/summer. My annual goal is to have fewer items to donate with each rotation. Fewer items translate to smart shopping. I was really happy to see a lot of my favorite dresses again. They’re timeless. After all was squared away, I realized that I don’t need anything this summer, well maybe a few solid t-shirts. Overall, I am content and love my wardrobe. Even the swimsuit!

I donated: Two dresses, three pants, two skirts, one sweater, two pairs of yoga pants, two long sleeve and three short sleeve blouses and a purse. Whoops, scratch the purse, Petite Poe snatched it. Little Pie’s contribution was more given that she had grown out of many items. Some of those items were hard to part with because of the memories they evoke. But, I’m giving away the garment, the memory will stay with me.

And yes, after I swapped wardrobes, it snowed. Not enough to stick but enough to make it too cold for a sturdy little black dress – for now.

The path to fashion enlightenment

Tis time for a powerfully important ritual performed twice a year. Time to exchange the contents of my closet from fall/winter attire to spring/summer.

We live in an old house, which generally translates to small closets. Many consider this a ding against the house value, but I don’t see it that way. Small closets force me to alternate seasonal wardrobes from closet to under-the-bed storage bins. Though I do have an odd superstition, leery of pulling out spring attire because Denver weather has multiple personalities. Yup, I alone could irritate the Snow Gods to bring on three feet of white stuff out of spite, just by pulling out a sleeveless linen dress. Perhaps a press release of my pending transition as a forewarning to local weather forecasters might be a good idea. In the meantime, the Yankee Clipper and Radio Flyer sleds remain on full alert and the snow shovel rests on the front porch. Maybe after Mothers Day they can be relieved of duty.

The process of seasonal swapping commands me to inventory the haves and determine needs versus wants. Giant, walk-in closets don’t require that seasonal exchange. Not unless it becomes so packed one can no longer enter it. Besides, forced entry into such a closet comes with serious threat of clothes blindness where one can be inches from the door, but not able to see it thanks to giant clothes drifts. These giant closets should come with a giant warning label or OnStar communication system. This is America, no doubt it has happened, some poor woman stuck in her closet for days. It will never make the news because who wants to admit that?

This process encourages me to treat clothes with respect. Afterward, there is a brief period of mending a seam or sewing a button. How many Americans still do that? How many own even semi-stocked sewing boxes? If you have time to watch corny reality shows, then you certainly have time to mend a few clothes. Besides, these acts have a meditative quality. I find that American culture is losing many simple acts that help us pause, relax and appreciate something. Why? Because when we appreciate what we have there's a big possibility we won’t want more.

Mostly, this process keeps me fiscally responsible. If I have to shop, it's done with greater wisdom and knowledge of my needs. Items I purchase blend with my wardrobe. I don’t buy cheap, trendy clothes that require me to buy more clothes. Ever done that? If you do, just return the offending item and forgo the unnecessary expense. What I buy will be worn.

This process keeps my wardrobe honest. Items unused for two seasons - unless it’s something unique - go to the thrift store. Many American closets are packed with closet filler. What is closet filler? Items that still have the tags on them that have been hanging in the same spot for years. Closet filler distorts perception. There are many Americans who have huge, fully stocked closets supporting hundreds of ensembles, but the owner wears the same seven-day attire. Weird, no?

We’ve been in our house for over ten years. The goal is to reduce the spring haul to the thrift store. Why? Because that means I’m getting to be wiser in my retail choices. The same process is performed with my daughters. Our thrift donation largely comes from Little Pie’s wardrobe, items that no longer fit. My clothes filter down to Petite Poe which in turn filter on down to Little Pie and eventually end up thrift.

My wardrobe is becoming more and more timeless. I believe there’s a misconception of what is (and is not) a timeless wardrobe. Many people equate "timeless" with a conservative style. Trust me, I don’t dress conservatively. A timeless wardrobe is built with a solid foundation of quality clothing. For starters, there’s the little black dress that can go from beach to a fine restaurant depending upon the shoes and how hair is styled.

I’ve come to realize (and it’s a painful realization of how fast time passes) that many of my clothes where purchased after graduating college in the 90’s. Yup, I have gorgeous, timeless summer dresses from the 90’s that still receive compliments.

A wardrobe needs tending, mending and thought to become timeless. Once you achieve that state of fashion enlightenment, the forces of want (and suffering from the onslaught of tacky yearly and seasonal trends) are forgone. The bank account gets added protection too. Fashion enlightenment is better than any strongly fortified fashion insurance policy.

Maybe soon I can tackle Mr. Golightly (he's been insanely busy) for a photo shoot of my twenty-year-old items mixed with thrifted items and you can tell me whether I look like an old maid or whether these clothes are indeed timeless. Some of my older wardrobe was bought in the lower level consignment shops of Chicago's Gold Coast and Boston's Newbury Street.

Please, I dare you to look into the deepest, darkest recesses of your closet. It’s a brave thing to do. Do you like what you see?

Post Script: I kid you not. It’s been raining today. After I posted and went to my closet the rain turned to snow, it's too warm to stick but sheesh! Damn the torpedo’s! Spring has sprung in my closet! I don’t care if I wear sandals in the snow, they’re gorgeous sandals!

Save more does not mean buy more!

An unsolicited email from a major discount retailer appeared in my email in box and the re: line read “Fab Frugality” citing free shipping on women’s clothes.

What? Frugality and chain retailers are like vinegar and water!

No doubt the masses will blindly follow and think they are joining the new frugal movement. We’ve become a society that establishes personal identity by literally buying into a “movement”. Frugality, the new black!

The reality? It’s a sad, distorted marketing campaign; veiled consumerism. Frugality, by nature, completely goes against the basic tenets of consumerism. Don’t buy into marketed frugality!

I recently heard a car commercial daring the view to become an original and buy their car. Add to this that I probably watch two to three hours of network TV a week. We don’t even have cable. I’ve no idea what other nonsense is being brainwashed into the minds of the couch-bound, cable-watching consumer. Part of me is curious and the other part is afraid I’ll get so angry that I’ll spontaneously combust.

I once heard a radio show on Frugality talk about a half-off bookseller only to conclude that one could take the money they save and buy another book or go out to lunch! What? Consumerism loves that kind of thinking! Save more? Spend more!

Word up! When practicing frugality, money saved is just that – money saved! Not money spent because you saved. There’s a big difference in philosophy, practice and bank accounts.

Let’s do something simple. Let’s pull up frugality on Dictionary.com:
-economical in use or expenditure; prudently saving or sparing; not wasteful: a frugal manager.
-entailing little expense; requiring few resources; meager; scanty: a frugal meal.

Now, think about it, does buying more because you saved money fit this description? Maybe some times but not all the time. And, I’d say that that small percentage of some times would apply to an item that is a necessity or will be bought in the near future.

Let’s go back to Dictionary.com and look up original:
-arising or proceeding independently of anything else: an original view of history.
-capable of or given to thinking or acting in an independent, creative, or individual manner: an original thinker.
-created, undertaken, or presented for the first time: to give the original performance of a string quartet.

Is there anything original in buying a car based on a TV commercial?

Sheesh! I guess it won’t be long until chain retailers will attempt to entice us to literally buying into their notion of sustainable practices and buy their products.

Ugh! My head just fell into my hands in disgust. Not long after I wrote this, an email just came through from a chain-retailer engaged in supremely unsustainable practices attempting to market sustainable products!

I’m off to take my frustration out in my new raised bed vegetable garden built of re-purposed wood and hardware. I’m prepping the soil and pulling out the rocks. Good thing the rocks I need to be rid of are in my garden and not my head! The more I live, the more I believe that consumerism just dumps retail rocks in the heads of the innocent. Give your head a shake. If you sense there might be any rocks, pound your head like one does when they have water in their ears and get those rocks out.

If you're new to The Thrifty Chicks and agree with this post, you might have interest in an our Op Ed written for The Christian Science Monitor, We count calories. Why not carbon?

Time Out

Recent stress is taking a cognitive toll on my energy. There are plenty of thoughts for me to write but, these days, I've a lack of energy. I call these days Bad Brain Days and I don't pay bills on a bad brain day because the bank will probably call and ask which amount did I intend to pay, the numerical or the written?

This was the initial post to our sister blog Mommy Golightly. It might help explain my Bad Brain Days. Please read, there is some critical advice in it.

Living in the present is an essential part of a balanced and healthy life. I’m not always in the moment but I sure aim for it and miss sometimes. After this auto accident, I can say I hit the mark of being in the present more often than not. Every night at tuck in, I thank both my daughters "for another day," then I kiss them and wish for more days, months and years. I can wish for tomorrow but I really have today.

I did not truly understood the importance of taking wonder in the present until I was in a serious auto accident coming home from the grocery store on a quiet neighborhood street. Had I been in my husband’s compact commuter car, I would not be here to write this story.

The Story That Changed Me

No person wakes up and thinks, "Hmm, after I read the Sunday paper, I’m going grocery shopping and will be on a quiet neighborhood street around noon so my Pathfinder can be hammered by Four Runner driven by a fledgling driver who will run a stop sign at such speed my car will be airborne, roll, and land upside down perpendicular onto the opposite street.” People don’t write those events in their daily planners. But that doesn’t mean they don’t happen.

It happened to me one beautiful Sunday around noon in the fall of 2003. Right before the 17-year-old hit me, behind the left front tire, dangerously close to the driver’s door, I was thinking about what a beautiful shade of blue the sky was and how at peace things felt. I was excited to give my daughters two white pumpkins purchased at the store.

Didn’t I see him coming? Yes, about a half a second before impact. I braked – hard. When people are running stop signs in neighborhoods with trees and gardens blocking the view of corners and they’re driving really fast with no intention of braking, one cannot see them coming. They just appear.

There were four fortunate things about that day: 1) I was alone. My husband and two daughters, ages two and four, were safe at home. 2.) I didn’t die. 3.) There was a witness behind me and came to me right away. Though much younger than me, she nurtured me like a mother and I cried like baby. 4.) The ambulance, fire department and police were on the scene before I even understood why they were there.

I was traveling less than 25 miles an hour, slowing to meet a red stop light on the next block. After impact, the boy’s Four Runner hit the corner curb and sheared off the front right tire of his mother’s car. I crawled out from under my car onto a field of shattered glass to look for that other driver and determine if medical attention was required. It was hard to see because of the blood running into my eyes. The other driver was nowhere to be found. With airbag deployed and not one drop of blood on it, it looked a freshly made bed of white sheets where perhaps I could lay my aching head. I felt like a ghost hit me.

They put the kid in the ambulance with me for observation. He cried the entire trip, “I’ve only had my license for four weeks and now I’m going to lose it! How will my mother get to work tomorrow? She’s going to be so mad at me!”

In the ambulance strapped down on the gurney and immobile, I practiced Lamaze breathing to stay calm. “I’m glad my babies weren’t with me,” I told the EMT. He smiled, patted me gently and said, “Me too.” He was very sincere. How do EMT’s remain sane and stable after pulling mangled children from car accidents? Bless all EMT’s. They have my deepest respect as do firemen and police. Next time you see an ambulance or fire truck racing past with lights on, whether you're a man or woman, blow them a kiss and wish them Godspeed. Okay, if you're a man and don't want to blow kisses then salute them. But be assured, if they ever save your life or someone you love, you'll want to kiss them.

I never heard from the boy or his parents and later learned that the police officer on the scene failed to check a simple box, “injury accident.” Why he didn’t, I don’t know. Maybe he felt sorry for the kid. Maybe he forgot. Had this box been checked, this kid would have been mandated to stand before a judge. Instead, he paid his ticket early and received a lesser charge. His ticket was under $100. Once the judge learned about this, the officer was reprimanded. Seems everyone paid dearly but this kid, who walked away with a sore thumb from the air bag.

The kid's parents escorted him out of the ER while I was in x-ray. They walked right by my husband, waiting to learn of his wife’s condition. They offered no words of solace or concern.

So began my convalescence. My husband burned through vacation time and then onto three months of FMLA taking care of our daughters and taking me to countless doctors appointments. Life stood still and painful.

My first diagnosis was muscular damage in the regions of C3 and C4. This took years to fix. Soft tissue damage is very slow to heal and often triggers unhealthy cycles of overcompensating muscles. I wore a jacket several times a week that sent electrical shock pulses to try and strengthen these muscles. I did therapy, acupuncture and took painful cortisone injections to the base of my skull where I could actually hear the long needle going into my head. Mind you I don't usually have any problems with needles but these were different, medical shive is more like it. This cycle of muscle weakness caused headaches the crept up from the back of my head and over the top to my forehead. I called them headache caps but I couldn’t take them off.

After all that I can say, I love acupuncture.

These headache caps were nothing compared to the post concussive headaches from what my neurologist told me was a Mild Traumatic Brain Injury, an MBTI. He admitted “mild” was not a fair word. It basically meant that I didn’t need to go into an institution. MBTI’s are receiving more medical research with more soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan with them. Not certain if they issue Purple Hearts for them. If not, they should for any person with an MBTI will tell you they’d have rather broken their arms and legs. Bones heal faster than brains and muscles.

For a few months I couldn’t read anything more than a headline, couldn’t follow movie plots, couldn’t even cook soup because I’d forget about it until I smelled the scalding pan. I think one of the saddest things happened six months after the accident. I went to my daughter’s spring recital. I managed to sit through it and tell her she did a great job. Then I raced home to throw up and get ready for the pending headache hell. Watching a group of beautiful first graders sing was too much for my brain to manage. I couldn’t watch snowfall with out tossing my cookies and going to bed for hours with a headache. For several years, nausea was a major indicator that a headache was on its way. So I left little parts of me all over town as I raced to get home before completely incapacitated.

That’s my story. Months later my dear friend Ken of 21 years asked me, “What have you learned?” He wasn’t patronizing. He was curious and sincere. And, he was the only one to ask.

When in chronic pain with two to three serious post-concussive headaches a week and most your time either in bed, at various doctors appointments, or some kind of therapy, you don’t spend much time reflecting. And, depression creeps in as you lose the capacity to do the things that once gave you joy. I’ve always felt reflection is critical to a healthy life so I answered Ken’s question. Follows is roughly what I wrote and I think much of it pertains to living in and having a deep appreciation for present.

Fundamental Advice

1. The state of shock has no emotion and has no sense of time.
2. A simple mind is not a stupid one.
3. What you are today will not be who you are in a week, month, or year.
4. Appreciate your health; aside from love and a safe place, nothing else really matters.
5. Multi-tasking is overrated.
6. What’s the rush?
7. Value the everyday routine. You’ll dearly miss it when it’s gone. I cried the first time I did laundry and folded my girl’s little clothes.
8. At age 36, I finally accepted that I am an adult. I’d been a responsible bill paying, tax paying, home owner and mother of two for years. However the completely selfish, adolescent whines of this 17-year-old along with his total ignorance as to what he did to another person put to rest all of my previous objections of accepting full on adulthood.
9. I have an internal guidance system. It’s my voice but it’s not me and calmly directs with the simplest words of in life-threatening conditions. “Lock your arms to the steering wheel, push back into the seat, you don’t have an airbag. You’re going to roll, be small. It’s over. Get out! Get out! Get out! Go find the other driver.” My rear view mirror was level with the heating controls; all but two windows were shattered; the driver’s front side was like crumpled aluminum foil with flaking paint chips and there was this little tiny space left for the driver. I was covered in radiator fluid. The drive shaft was bent. Doctors and physical therapists cannot figure how I came through without any broken bones. I told them, “I drink milk.” I do and always have. Below is a photo of the front of the car near the driver's side.

Practical Advice

1. Unless secured, groceries become weapons in a roll over. A soup can wedged open the back window of the Pathfinder. Groceries were all over the car and street.
2. Insurance claims adjusters can act with unconscionable manners. The kid’s mother’s insurance adjuster attempted to dodge reimbursement of our daughter’s car seats, mandated by state law. We had three seats for a whopping $300. “Seats are a standard item in a car. We do not reimburse standard items,” and they expected us to suck this hook, line, and sinker. That’s when we hired an attorney because we knew these folks, though they did not contest fault, did not have our best interest at heart. It wasn't personal. It was business.
3. Research and buy the safest car seat you can find. This is not an item you run over to the store to pick up, like milk. I understand car seats can become annoyances and feel causal. Looking at those empty car seats upside down in my mangled car taught me how important they are.
4. From the very beginning, be prepared to drive again. Don’t let a fear of it even start to simmer. I remember looking at my mangled car and thinking, “Damn! I have to drive again.” Immediately accepting that did me world of good and saved me from a lot of future anxiety, something I really wouldn’t need when I had a mountain of recovery ahead. This can become an overwhelming fear; a fear so huge it gets in the way of just living.
5. Slow down at right of way intersections to give yourself a shot of catching a stop sign runner. I’m not attempting to induce a fear, just an awareness.

Comic but Relevant Advice

1. The kid who hit me called me a “lady”. Ladies have set blue hair, wear coats in the summer, and smell like mothballs. Thanks KID. Your were a KID and behaved like one. You were a minor who abused your privilege, not right, to drive.
2. It’s a big bummer when you roll into the ER on a gurney and all the attending physicians are younger than you. Aren’t doctors supposed to be older than their patients? I thought that was a natural law like gravity.
3. I was taken to the nearest hospital, the public hospital. I was the only patient not handcuffed to my bed. I was so proud!
4. Don’t try to be tough. You want drugs. When offered, take them. Nobody’s going to think you a better person for turning them down. You will have enough hell to manage besides physical pain.
5. I have two guaranteed methods for weight loss. 1) Be your own general contractor on an eight-week kitchen remodel. 2) Suffer a brain injury. I dropped 20 pounds in a little more than a month. The injury closed down the part of my brain that said, “Eat!” And when I finally did eat, my stomach had forgotten what to do with food and it was painful.

In Retrospect

Exactly what happens at 16 or 17 years of age that creates a pressing need for a teen to drive? Parents, I understand you are tired of playing chauffeur. I am a mother who chauffeurs; I get it. Those three years of changing diapers was tiring too. But that didn't mean that I made my daughters sit on potties all day because I was sick of changing diapers. Years of constantly explaining why they couldn't have everything they wanted was tiring too. But that didn't mean that I caved in and gave them credit cards to buy things on greed, ignorance and impulse.

I fear 16 and hope the driving laws are raised to 18 by the time my children are of age to drive. My children will be more at risk of dying in a car crash when they are teens than they will be for catching West Nile Virus. But, what does the media focus on? Of course I have my opinions on teen driving based on experience and, based upon my experience, I feel very entitled to these feelings. I'm not certain why, but I do not believe we take that act of passing the keys with the serious nature that would be wise to accompany it.

After all that I have lived through, I have learned to take a step every day. Some days, it's very tiny step, minuscule. Other days, it's so huge I felt like a flew. Most days, it's just a step and that is good enough because it is movement. My movement feels a bit lighter on this planet and that makes me understand my fragility but it also makes me strong. Most of all, it makes me Mommy Golightly.

Below is a photo of my daughters ages six and two on a family vacation exactly seven days prior to the accident. They are feeding chipmunks. My youngest was a bit nervous, but intrigued by these "monkchips."