Trashed

So this morning, we're up and about early because my brother's sold his house to move out of the country.  This means that they had to be on a plane Sunday morning and there was just those few nagging things that had been left to the last minute.  Some of my duties, being in the Kingdom of Suburbia, is making sure I'm a good sibling, being as the only one I have left of blood is half-blooded, and just left the country for at least the next few years.

So, other than random looting of what's left behind (Arrgh!), there's cleaning to be had, chucking to be had, and with these plans underway, it's time to stop for breakfast.  

We go down to Ye Olde Shipley's (If you're from Houston, it's Shipley's.  Sure, there's a few Dunkin' Doughnuts, and the occasional Krispy Kreme, but mainly...Shipley's is our mainstay....if you're fancified and posh, you'll be surpassing most of the confections for Starbucks, Einstein Bros. Bagels, or the Kolache Factory...if you don't know what a Kolache is, you're not from Texas....it's like a pig-in-a-blanket on steriods...because everything's bigger in Texas...) and get our little Soul in line, waiting patiently for our turn so I can get something for breakfast.  Everything's going well until Mom sees some guy pop out of the dumpster behind the place, hop on his bike and speed away with a box.

"What is that man doing?" she asks.

"Mom, the guy is 'dumpster diving'.  Being the fact that he's chewing, he might have gotten himself some doughnuts for breakfast.  Augh...look at the flies."  (Because maggots gross me out, and I can't imagine eating like that....I'm not saying it's beneath me, but it's just something that I associate as gross - like bugs.)

"He's looking for something to eat?" mom asks, bewildered.

"Well, sometimes people look for things they think they can sell or keep.  One man's trash is another man's treasure."

My mother is Asian.  She's worked hard all her life, and she can't read or write.  There have been many a time when my mother walked blocks at a time, just to get to work, in the rain and the cold.  She has worked in the food service industry for ever, working for restaurants in the back, working for hotel restaurants and    she has recently retired from working at a school cafeteria after 24 years.  She came to America almost 40 years ago, and there's still a lot of America that she's never really seen.  Apparently, dumpster diving was one of those things.  

At this point, a man comes out the back, carrying what appears to be empty flour/mix bags, a box, and other discardables.  My mother beings to smack me on the shoulder (it's a mom thing), saying, "Hey, tell him not to throw that stuff on top of the guy."

I kind of stiffen at this request.  "Mom, I can't."

"Yes, you can!"

"No, mom, I really can't.  Dumpster diving is illegal.  If I tell that guy he's about to throw stuff on top of another guy, he'll yell at him.  And he'll call the cops.  And that guy might go to jail, just because he was hungry enough to get into a garbage can."

"Why is it illegal?"

"Because people want to be paid for everything.  Even the food they throw away.  They'd rather throw it away than give it to poor people, because they can't make money off of giving it to the poor.  So I can't yell at him, because the poor guy might go to jail."

"But...that looks heavy.  He's going to hit the guy in the dumpster for sure."

"Mom, why don't you think that guy hasn't popped out of the dumpster to yell at him for throwing stuff on top of him?  He knows it's illegal too, so he just keeps quiet and hopes that someone will throw something in on top of him worth something good."

At this point, my mother beings to cry.  (Oh, crap.)

She begins by saying, "I came to this country with nothing.  Men threw me away like trash.  Except for my last husband.  I was really lucky to have him.  I am lucky to have a roof over my head, and food in my fridge."  At which point, she beings to pray, because she's thankful.

I can respect that, although I'm not really religious like that.  But it makes me mad, that corporations rather just chuck food they don't think is sell-worthy rather than give it away (some places used to do that when I was younger...but more and more, they say they won't because they're concerned someone else might sell their old stuff to people that need it.....hogwash, but there you are).  All this damn food - wasted instead of feeding hungry people.

a beautiful lamp

I've got two events coming up, so I'm working on building inventory.  I took my mother down to Harwin Drive with me, which is always kind of fun when you have time.  I didn't really have time, I just had to make it.

I was looking for items to add to my inventory when I decided that we needed to stop at a 'Novelty Shop Wholesale'.  Which was kind of cool.  Lighters, cigarette cases, knives and the like.  

My mother wanders up while I'm looking at some beautiful hand blown glass pieces and says excitedly, "I love the lamps!  I love the color of the lamps!  Why don't they turn on the lamps?"

Please, let me insert the *headdesk* right there.

My mother is from the eastern parts of Asia (another Asian chewed me out once, "We're not oriental....oriental is a food...."), so I figured that she would recognize a hooka.  So...of course, I'm like, "Mom....it's a hooka."

"What?"  Confused look creeps across her face.

All I can do is laugh.  (Have I mentioned that the world fascinates me?  Amuses me?)

So I try to whisper really quietly, "Mom....you smoke pot out of those things..."

She starts laughing too.  I'm very quietly trying to shush her while we're giggling and the little Indian guys are just kind of ignoring us.  "Man....I need to pick one of those up for a friend's birthday...."

The harder you try to repress your mirth, the more out of control it starts to get, so we decided to leave then.  The minimum purchase of $150 prevented her from getting one for her friend, but always a team player and willing to take one for the team, I told her I'd buy enough to make that $150 minimum and let her get a beautiful bong if she wanted it.

I think she was almost tempted. Heh.

I do have to say that some of the creations were amazing, particularly the hand-blown glass.  Everything from multi-chambered water pipes to pinch hitters.  They were cool.

But it makes me wonder....do I have to have a license in Texas to carry those kinds of things or can I carry paraphernalia without having licensing for tobacco?  Curiouser and curiouser. 

Estate Sale

My brother and his wife have decided that they're going to open a bed and breakfast somewhere in the jungles of southeast Asia.  Well and spiffy, and they decided to ask me to help them host an estate sale.  No stranger to the retail game, I thought I could do this and haggle effectively enough to get them at least a bit of change for their global-collection-life purchases.  But as the weekend looms close, I am getting a bit nervous.

You see, the original witch I'd asked to help me in the matter fell off my broom and twisted her ankle so hard that she's going to be doing a keen verision of a tri-pod for the next eight weeks.

Yeah, that's right.  You read it correctly.  The witch fell off my broom.

And I meant that in the most literal sense of the phrase.

The blue witch was helping me sand and mud the walls in the shop (which are looking fabulous, by the way, because of all the painting I've been doing).  We took a much-needed break, and to celebrate, she grabbed my broom, whooped and hollered and ran out the front door....tripping on the driveway in such a way as to get a bad effin' sprain on an ankle.

The crappy part is that she lives on the second story of an apartment, and short of instantaneous teleportation, I'll probably not get her help this weekend.  (I mean, she's a wonderful person and when she helps, it's whole-heartedly...not like some jackasses who will say, "Sure, I'll help..." and instead think it's more important to go out on a date instead of helping your dear friends move a house full of furniture...but I digress...that's me being catty...)  So....kind of at a loss as to what exactly I'm going to do. 

But there's going to be stuff for sale, which is always good.  It just breaks my heart to see all the bric-a-brac from all these other countries being scattered to the winds.

they sky in the shop (you read it right...not the shop in the sky...that's ridiculous...)

At one point, I'd really like to go back to college (I know, I know....minus college algebra...I'm left-handed, which means I'm in my right mind - there is NO REASON that there should be letters in math...Just my personal opinion), but right now, I'm starting my own business venture.

I'm kind of scared, because running a business and owning one is very, very different.  I've worked as an assistant manager for a big-box kind of place, and dealing with things like personnel, scheduling, HAZMAT (and to digress a moment, ladies...if you wear make-up, do you realize that if you return it, that some of that crap has to be processed as hazardous chemicals for disposal?  And you're putting that sh!t on your face!), fundraisers, morale boosters, hiring, firing, with training on everything in between.  It's not easy.  But owning your own business is a different kind of crazy, I'll tell you.  Permits, insurance, licenses, advertising, promoting...there's a whole slew of things that you didn't do with a business that's already established that you have to do to establish a business.  No wonder small businesses have a hard time of it!  

But at the moment, the look of the business is  being formulated.  I'm kinda artsy, kinda spiritual.  So to me, I really have to put some heart and soul into it.  And it hasn't been without it's weirdness.

At first, I was gonna put spellwork in the walls (that's the kind of things witches do sometimes, so if you buy a house that's old, and you find things like bottles behind the sheetrock, or feathers tied to the rafters in the attic, don't freak out and automatically assume devil-worship or evil bull....we make things that protect and things that bless...), but I thought that it would freak out the handyman that was doing the job (and really, sometimes it's hard to explain why there's piss and blood in a bottle, but that's one person's version, not necessarily my own...although I've seen it done before).  Same thing with carving into the woodwork, etc.  So instead, I have just sated myself with waiting for completion and adding my items of blessing along with those that my wonderful friends have given me.  

The house is within the city limits, so it's being converted (because any house within the city limits, if it doesn't have a nazi homeowner's association, then you're good - there's really no deed restrictions) into a shop (part of it, anyway).  I've already had old sheet rock fall off and hit me in the face, so it's a job that's been blooded as well.  Literally, blood, sweat, and tears.

And the best part?  Friends and family are helping me along.

Perhaps that sounds like mooching.  It's not.  Not really.  I've worked my ass off, and my husband has been very supportive.  My kids are all a-dither.  I've had people donate items, building materials, inventory, and even a few kilns (that I don't know how to use them, but by the gods, this is gonna happen!) and boxes of glazes.  Everything's coming up Millhouse!

But I'm scared as hell.

It's something I've always wanted.  How silly is that?  I've dreamed about doing something like this since I was 11.  Which is funny to me.  As kids, they give us aptitude tests.  They test, and test, and test, and try to peghole us into what they think we will be most productive in.  And really, I suppose I could be 'productive', but why the hell do I want to go to a job that I hate to make my living, to buy stuff I don't need to impress people I don't like?

I saw an article in Yahoo Spark! where a user was dissing a woman who lived in a tent.  The woman had chose to live simply, in a tent, and as able to pull it off.  She called people who lived in tents 'bums' and was rather condescending.  I don't know.  I think that Eustace Conway probably have a better idea of living than some and other people need to shut the hell up (I love people who give their opinions...they don't offer any solutions or help, they don't offer anything but criticism or self-righteous banter).

But I digress....although during the process of creation, sheetrock fell off and hit me in the face (my lip was rather swollen), we've finally progressed to the point of painting!  There's paint everywhere.  At the moment, if I own a pair of jeans that don't have a speck of paint on them, I'd be surprised.  But I'm slow-going, in that artsy manner...the ceiling is going to be like the night sky, with bits of mirror and shiny-ness everywhere.  I'm excited.  Scared, but excited.  I just hope it becomes a place people love to come to.  Maybe I'll even post pictures.

Japanese Festival in Houston

So, after days of painting, the family went down to the Japanese Festival at Hermann Park near the Theatre Under the Stars.

Apparently there was some sort of cosplay contest, but really, we must have missed it.  But it tells a lot, walking through the crowd.  A lot of kids were there, in their costume kimonos, ears, and handmade costumes.  There was even a booth selling tickets for a 2014 anime event - two weeks after they'd just finished this year's event (so, you gotta admit, at least they're on the ball).  

The Japanese Garden, which is attached to the park, was open.  I am sure it's rather Zen and peaceful when it's not being overrun by thousands of people, and we did a few photo-ops there (there IS a posting that you're not allowed to take professional pictures there..).

I was kind of disappointed that there was so much cheap Asian crap there.  Cheaply made wholesale order junk, and stuff that really was non-related to Japanese culture.

I will have to interject here, that a group of people showed up and started doing African drumming and dancing.  They even had their little wicker basket out for 'donations'.  This...really pissed me off.  It was more disconcerting than the silly little anime kids.  I mean, it was NOT a multi-cultural festival...it was Japanese.  How dense and how much of a jerk do you have to be to crash someone else's celebration?  What kind of butthead does that?  I wanted to slap that little stupid little kufi right off their bezels.

The very best thing?  The Taiko drumming. Taminari Taiko was the group that played.  I mean, I didn't realize that they taught that kind of drumming outside of Japan...so I was like, "Hey....Look at that group of really white Japanese drummers...."  But they did such an amazing job.  I was amused that when they started the composition dealing with the Thunder God that the clouds covered the sun (and the day before, it rained when they did it. heh.), but you could see the energy of the group, how they were really working at it hard, but it was a labor of love.  They had a good time, they had high energy, and they played with their hearts and souls.  We got to see the last show, the closing show, the drumming - and it was phenomenal.

Hopefully, we can go next year.  I would love to see more traditional things, like dancing and pageantry (you know, the traditional dances which tell lore of old gods and goddesses).

The modern fairy tales of a neo-pagan in the conservative south.

So my husband and I go to the new German markets that have opened in Houston.  The chain is called Aldi, and they opened five of them about two days ago.

In the grande 'ole South, a regular 'market' is few and far between, unless you live out in the sticks.  I'm a city gal, so I'm used to really large supermarkets or high-end specialty stores.  So we decided to go to this German market and have a look-see.  We arrived casually late the second day it opened, at about 8 pm, and left at 8:45 pm....trying very hard to dodge the totally-full parking lot.

The first thing we noticed is that the little carts have these interesting chains.  You have to put a quarter in the chain to release the cart for useage....and if you want that quarter back, you've got to shag your own cart and lock it back up in the large chain of carts. (I bet if they used more of those, they'd have to worry less about people wandering off with them...but in Houston, it's one of those cities that if you don't have a car, you have a hard time getting around.  A lot of poorer chaps will swipe a cart to push it seven blocks home...then not bother to return it).

Produce prices were decent, and the idea of charging for plastic and paper bags was actually kind of cool to us - it forces people to be more 'green' and tote their own bags.  And they should.  I hope this place is a smashing success.  We realize that there are a lot of items which are just the same as other name brand items, just named differently than what we are used to seeing.  I hope this place opens more, particularly on our side of town.

So with all the cold items, we skipped a trip to the sex shop, Eros, but only because we had some cold items.  Tomorrow I've got spaghetti to make, a kiln to mend, and some witches coming by tomorrow.

(And honestly, this first blog is a test blog, but true nonetheless.)