Bittersweet

I've always rolled my eyes when people use the term "bittersweet" as in "retiring from this place feels bittersweet." Yet as we gear up to buy a bigger house, I do feel this crazy mix of excited and sad.

How great will it be to never have to clean teen gunk out of the sink before brushing my teeth because she will have her own bathroom? To have enough space to revive my hobby of buying mid-century chairs and lamps?! To have a home that's Ours, not Mine? Maybe the yard will get enough sun for tomatoes and zinnias.

And then again, I get pangs every time I merely walk to Ellwood Thompson, or Avalon, or Mongrel, or For the Love of Chocolate, or Coppola's. Have I mentioned that I have been shopping at Bygones since I was about 16 years old? Damn: how spoiled is it to have all these wonders -- and more -- moments from my front door? Ukrop's, our regional grocery, may get sucked up by a bigger chain -- or it may be rumor. Either way, the Carytown one is nice and small. I feel overwhelmed when I shop in the massive suburban ones, any one of which may be closest to our new place. And I actually love the only quasi-functional baggers at C'town, and the bizarre mix of unfortunates and Windsor Farms housewives who shop the early morning discount bins with me. Surely no Northside store will provide such comforting weirdness.

Even as I dread these losses, the irritants resurface. Step-teen complains about the homeless people she has to walk by on the way home from the bus. Drunks (aged, poor ones; foolish college boys) shout in the back alley at 3 a.m. The kids the lady two doors down babysits ride their bigwheels endlessly up and down the block, shouting; or they beat up the ivy by by my front steps. No, with all that crap, it's not worth putting an addition on the house.

And so here I am, waiting for a junk removal company to take away the long-dead washer and dryer, and for the Realtor's photographer to come in and be shocked by how messy it still is. Is it his/her job to hide all this junk, or should I? Have you really thought about those pictures: no trashcans, dish drainers, cat food bowls, toothbrushes, boxes of tissues in sight.

Information Wants to Be Free



I found this grade school notebook while cleaning. Click on picture to make it bigger and readable.

So many questions arise: Did I come up with that brilliant explanation of library rights, or were we copying sentences? What was sentence two going to say? And then there's the rest of the notebook: a few pages along, under the heading "Two Cities I Have Been To" is the useful information "The city I was born in is Philladelpha Penncilvarny." Then a new paragraph, "My brother was born in the city of Richmond. We have been in Richmond a lot. My father works at a hospital there."

I Am a Packrat

Sheree e-mailed in response to my comment on her blog to ask if I had a book from my childhood. Here's the proof! I recommend the Tutti-Frutti-ice Sparkle, Perfect French toast, and Raisin-oatmeal cookies.

As for jello salads and presenting food on lettuce, I refer you all to Mr. Lileks and the Gallery of Regrettable Food (I own the book; it was Dan who threw a party based on it). For a delightful popular history work that has lots to say about the role of iceberg lettuce and molded salads in American foodways, I recommend Fashionable Food (now, that's a volume that I own but can't seem to find).

In other news, despite my lingering cold, we did slip out for just an hour to participate in the Great Backyard Bird Count. We saw 15 different species in and near Fountain Lake. In our own yard, in a period of an hour and a half, we had:

• carolina wren 1
• house sparrow 7
• junco 12
• mourning dove 2
• white-throated sparrow 1

The count continues tomorrow.

Reading: The Parable of the Sower, Octavia Butler
On the Muzak at Target: actually, it may have been coming from something on display in electronics -- "Blister in the Sun."