(re-run)
I gave away 78 pioneer outfits (from my beach house garage) to a 4th grade teacher today. I used to sell them online for school field trips, but that all came to a screeching halt with the pandemic. During the lockdown, I finished every dress and shirt in my sewing room, increasing my inventory load with nowhere to sell it.
I sent out letters a few weeks back to teachers in my beach town, and two teachers responded. It took me two hours to sort out costumes and get them into boxes for the one coming today.
I worked outside, where I could see any and all problems, dresses that weren’t finished (cuffs, hems,) dresses that had mismatched blouses, or threads hanging from seams.
I should’ve done this sooner, but now I have to, because my youngest child moved across the country to grad school last week, and I talked her into leaving much of her stuff behind. She gave away her furniture since moving it in a container tripled in price since last fall.
Guess who gets to store her stuff? I’ve already mailed 28 boxes, mostly flat-rate ($22.00), five as media mail (record albums, books), and a couple large ones filled with plastic stuff ($87.00!).
Both garages are filled with my children’s belongings since none of them has settled anywhere yet. No one has a house in which to store his or her boxes. One child moved home in the second pandemic year.
My back is shot, though. It was a lot of moving around of tubs in the garage and then standing on cement until I finally realized I should be sitting down.
I took a break at 2:00 to eat lunch, and the teacher showed up at 3:00. My day was consumed by the donation, but that’s okay. The sun barely peeked out today, and I can now lounge around and read a few Sunday newspapers.
No raking of leaves, even though it was on the list. Oh, well. The leaves will still be there next weekend.
The highlight of the day was the smoked chicken breast my brother-in-law cooked yesterday for me at the family barbecue, in honor of my Colorado nephew. We had three young Millennials, three Boomers, a 91-year-old matriarch, and four dogs. It was supposed to be three dogs, but one had to come because she’d had ten teeth pulled the day before, and she needed to be watched. It was a party, right down to the cooked gizzards, shared among three of the dogs (one has food issues). I also have food issues – thus, the private chicken breast (no spices).
The trip this time is short and sweet. Once again, I forgot to wind the grandfather clock at 1:45. I was outside doing outfits. The clock is an antique, all manual and there’s too much resistance in the hands to change the time. The clock expert in town is a jerk, so I don’t want to break my clock and then have to hire him to fix it.
Maybe next time!
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 