Oakland White Elephant Sale

Every year, the Oakland Museum Women's Group holds a White Elephant Sale. It's huge!  Robin goes to find blankets and toddler toys for the chimps and I usually look for books with good pictures to use in my art.

The ladies who work the sale are dedicated and work all year to process donations for the sale. They become familiar with and even attached to the stock in their departments. They wash and iron all the linens. Don't you love these crazy tea towels?

It's a little crazy and crowded. I couldn't even face the jewelry area because shoppers were three deep around the cases. But one of the ladies told me they had jars of broken jewelry so I bought one. When I got home and broke the seal, it was mostly pins and keychains but some of the things will make good charms.

The ladies in the toy department were espcially nice to me. They dug out all  the orphaned game pieces: dominoes, dice, Monopoly, and chess pieces.

They only charged me $1.50 for all these metal player tokens.

The chess pieces were $1 

And look at all these bright colors, just waiting to be made into something special.

This year, Robin and I went crazy over the dollhouse furnishings.  We both bought bedroom suites. Mine is blue and Robin's is pink. The vanity and dresser have real mirrors. And check out the tiny rocking chair!

Who could resist a tiny treadle sewing machine, a grandfather cock and a stove that really opens!

A tiny wash bowl and  pitcher for a tiny dresser in a tiny bedroom that doesn't have running water.

Tiny pioneers carried this miniature enamel coffee pot and these cups in their tiny covered wagons to use on their itsy bitsy campfires.

 

Scary faces on itty bitty silver mugs. All three could be carried on a dime.

If your dolls need to to mend their clothes, here's some yarn and miniscule scissors that really work.

My prize purchase: a Chinese doll carrying a baby on her back, half off the original price.
I don't know anything about this doll but I fell in love.

And I went back and forth on this metal stove. It was as expensive as everything elsa put together but, in the end I went back and bought it. I'll use it as a prop for my business. It just makes me happy.

My Life with Food 2: The Dark Days

During my second year at UCB, I started having weird neurological problems. Sometimes it was so difficult to move that I was almost paralyzed. I had periods of synethesia when I couldn't feel anything touching my skin. I stopped being able to trust my senses and had trouble even crossing the street, let alone finishing school assignments.

I saw a neurologist who took an EEG, diagnosed me as epileptic and prescribed an anti-seizure medication called tegretol. My symptoms didn't improve, they got worse and I started getting really sick. I always had a cold or stomach virus and the slightest cut would get a raging infection. I couldn't remember even the simplest words, like "door" or understand others' speech or writing. My stress was compounded by finding out I had "cervical squamous cell dysplasia" which necessitated a cervical biopsy to remove the cancerous cells. I was pretty sure that I was crazy and/or dying.

The Berkeley Public Library saved my life. (Probably a large part of the reason I became a librarian. I would stop on my way home from UCB and use their Merck Manual and PDR.

I found out that the neurologist failed to follow guidelines in prescribing Tegretol and I was suffering three well-known side-effects: leuco-anemia (all my white blood cells died and I couldn't fight any infections), aphasia (language impairment) and depression, including suicidal thoughts. I also read everything I could on epilepsy and realized I had none of the associated symptoms and the symptoms I did have were not connected to epilepsy.

I went back to my regular doctor who helped wean me from tegretol and told me I probably had Multiple Sclerosis. I read that MS was being treated with a gluten-free diet and, although not convinced of the diagnosis, I began to track my diet in relation to my illness. I realized that attacks often occurred after I had sausage or bacon for breakfast. I was referred to an allegerist who gave me the bad (but not as bad as MS) news: I was allergic to pork, coffee, chocolate, barley, rye, duck, lamb, oranges, grapefruits and a lot of trees and grasses. When I stopped eating those foods, I stopped having attacks. I tried taking a benedryl before and after trying something on the list but it wasn't completely effective. Giving up coffee was hard and I would accommodate the occasional cup by spending the following day in bed.

A few of my original allergens

My Life with Food 1: Glory Days

My life changed forever when I moved into the room next to Chris Wu's on the second floor of Bennett Hall. I started helping him in his Shimer Saving duties, answering the phones and typing his newsletter (kind of funny since he is a much better typist than I).

There was no hot water for showers. Everyone showered at the Moons' house on a less-then-ideal regularity.

There was no food service so we cooked our own in Bennett's small kitchen or, like Chris, ate out.  We started hanging out which involved a lot of me watching Chris eat since I had no money. And, despite all odds but as you might guess, eventually we fell in love - but you knew that already.

When, also despite all odds, Shimer reopened in the Fall, Chris moved back into his room on first floor Howe and I moved in upstairs. I was hired to run breakfast service and sometimes would bring Chris breakfast in bed when I was finished.

Since I was finally being paid, I could actually partake of the restaurant fare when I joined Chris.

The choices were limited: breakfast at Dot's (great donuts and pie),

cheeseburgers (and pinball) at Eisenhart's ("Want onions?") for lunch,

 

pizza for dinner at Sievert's,

followed by a late night cheese plate at Poffy's Tavern.

Once in a while, we'd trek to Savannah for pizza or greasy tacos at the Riverboat. For special occasions, we went to the Brunswick for broasted chicken (famous for Kim Conley stealing Chris's crunchy chicken skin) or the Black Angus (no relation to the chain) where we hosted our rehearsal dinner years later. The nearest Chinese food was 30 miles away at the Freeport Hotel. For a really big weekend, we'd drive for three hours into Chicago for a concert or first run movie, deep dish pizza and Greek food.

I celebrated Christmas with the Wus and Chris gave me a culinary tour of Kansas City:

burnt ends at Bryant's BBQ,

a pork tenderloin that overhung the bun by inches at Joe's Grill,

burgers and shakes at Winstead's.

  

The whole family (except for Frankie who slept in) joined Dr. Wu (whose patients were cooling their heels in his waiting room) for french toast at Waid's.

Frankie, Chris's mom, made Stone Soup (beef vegetable with a side of folklore) and spaghetti sauce (her secret was not to brown the meat first). We had a traditional holiday dinner, including three kinds of dressing (oyster, chestnut and plain) none of which I liked since I hate wet bread. The whole family made jaio tze (pork and shrimp dumplings) on New Year's Eve.

After winter break, Chris and I moved into a first floor apartment near downtown Mt. Carroll. Chris stole some pots and pans and gold silverware from his mom. I started cooking more, most notably chili so hot that the leftovers had to be saved in glass jars marked with a skull and crossbones.

I didn't have a cookbook or any real skills so I limped along, often derailed by a fridge from the 1950s that was was broken most of the time.

When Chris graduated from Shimer in 1978, we packed up his Maverick and moved to California. The Bay Area had EVERYTHING (except deep dish pizza). I had shrimp for the first time and actually got tired of Chinese food. We didn't have a lot of money so Kam's in Berkeley offered a huge menu at reasonable prices. As a student at UC Berkeley, I got addicted to fancy coffee drinks and scones and Top Dog.

We tried Ethiopian food (not a fan) and Thai food (loved it). We celebrated at Cafe Venezia, a tiny Italian restaurant decorated with trompe l'oeil buildings festooned with laundry lines. I bought a couple of cookbooks at the used book stores on Telegraph. One was a beginner's guide to Chinese food and I tried making egg rolls and sweet and sour pork. Life was pretty good.

My Son Is Teaching Me To Cook: Part 1

I am a pretty good baker but not a great cook. It's not that I can't follow a recipe. I just don't enjoy cooking. I don't really care about food all that much (except for chocolate). I think I have too many sweet taste buds and not enough of the others.

My relationship with food has evolved through several phases over my long life.

PHASE ONE

When I was a young child, my mother cooked dinner every night: meat and potatoes with a side of overcooked canned vegetables and a pile of white bread on a plate.

It was plain and straight forward All-American food. We even came home for lunch every day for soup and peanut butter sandwiches.

My dad "cooked" once a week to give Mom a break. On Sunday night he'd make his "Dagwood Sandwiches" with peanut butter, Miracle Whip, American cheese, pickles and bologna on white bread. We'd watch The Wonderful World of Disney and eat from TV trays.

My mom told how bad a cook she was when she first got married: she put Crisco on dad's burned toast. I thought the apple didn't fall far from the tree since her mom was a also terrible cook. Her gingerbread men were always burned. In her defense, she was using a wood-burning oven (and an outhouse). Grandpa was apparently very miserly with the grocery bill.

On the other hand, my dad's mom was a great cook. She only took her apron off when she went to church and we loved going to her house for Sunday dinner afterwards. She made the same kinds of things that my mom did but it always tasted so much better. I loved donning a big girl apron and helping her in the kitchen. She made pies every week and we would put butter and cinnamon on the extra dough, roll it up and bake it. Yum! My sister went through a spell of refusing to eat anything except Grandma's ham, mashed potatoes and biscuits.

 

"Convenience foods" like TV dinners and JiffyPop were new and exciting but too expensive. Once in a very great while we'd go to Clem's, the diner where my dad worked during high school and college breaks. I was hyper-aware of the cost of eating out and would order a BLT because I though it was cheap.

Once a month we got KFC for Sunday lunch.
I remember the occasion when my dad ran in to pick up a bucket and forgot to put the car in park. It started rolling into the traffic of Route 40 but my brother leaped over the front seat and applied the brakes.  I'm still not sure how truly accidental his lapse was.

We never went to McDonald's (wildly overpriced!) or any other burger joint. When I was in middle school, Taco Bell's arrival in our town was a big event. We  thought a Bell Burger was thrillingly exotic. Before I met Chris, I had eaten Chinese food once: takeout sweet and sour pork as part of a social studies class.

PHASE TWO

When my parents divorced, my mom went back to school and then to work so we kids started cooking dinner. I was 12 though, so no gourmet offerings: usually grilled cheese and popcorn because it was cheap and easy. Convenience foods started looking pretty good and cost-effective.

 

We were always hungry because my dad wasn't always so good about child support and my mom wasn't always so good about budgeting. Five of us shared a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese for dinner. Mike could eat that by himself when he was a teen. If we celebrated with a package of Oreos, they were doled out evenly between us. 

In high school, I worked at a Sears snack bar where I made milkshakes and burgers and could eat what I wanted from their limited offerings. It wasn't real cooking though. Just slap the burger on the grill and drop the fries into the grease.

I went to college and was allowed to eat 3 meals a day at the cafeteria. And all I could eat? I  could have ice cream after -or even for- every meal? We had steak every Saturday night and a salad bar and huge milk machines. I'm not saying it was great food or that the offerings were culturally diverse but there was plenty of it.

My friend Ellen introduced us to "Fuzzy Milk" a combo of milk and cola that was reminiscent of a traditional float. Sometimes I drank milk with a little coffee in it. I was introduced to the idea of vegetarianism, although I didn't buy into it. Slowly my world was expanding. I admit I was mostly trying new liquids of the alcohol variety but still...

After Shimer closed (albeit temporarily) I moved to Missoula, Montana, to live with friends and it was back to a life of scarcity. We would go to a restaurant and share a salad to get the crackers. We'd mix up sugar, flour and a little butter to make fake cookie dough. I was back to dividing the bag of Oreos into equal shares to be savored for the following week.

Within about six weeks, I got tired of my controlling psychotic roommate and returned to Shimer where my life was changed forever.

The Joy of Giving Up

Sometimes the Today Show or some other apparently innocent TV show sneaks in a session on fashion or beauty. They demonstrate how to put false eyelashes on or the hottest new six inch heels. For a minute, I watch and then I laugh maniacally and turn the channel or even -gasp!- turn the TV off because I DON'T CARE!

My hair is turning grey, getting long and straggly. When it annoys me, I yank it into a ponytail. I use good shampoos to avoid allergens but I don't blow it dry or use a curling iron or straightener. Why should I? I don't care if it's the latest style.

My eyelashes are invisible and my blond eyebrows are shaggy. I wish I had long, black lashes to bat when I flirt but I am not going to take Latisse. I rarely even wear mascara. I am much more concerned about the health of my eyes and vision than their looks.

My fingernails are short and soft. I got a manicure once (thanks to Pat) but the polish slipped off the next day. I actually USE my hands and they're covered with glue and paint and ink and the only glitter they ever see was supposed to be on a project. I wash them a lot and use moisturizer to keep them healthy and in good working order. End of story.

I wear comfortable shoes -kind of ugly ones with orthotics to tell the truth. In fact, I'd rather be barefoot. My dogs can't breathe with shoes on and if my dogs ain't happy, I ain't happy. I don't understand how women can wear high heels with pointy toes. Seems to me those shoes were designed by sadistic men. It's not all that different from Chinese foot-binding except you can take them off.

I wear jeans and yoga pants with shapeless shirts. I haven't worn a dress or skirt in years (chafing you don't want to know about). My lingerie doesn't come from Victoria's Secret (I don't think they carry my size). For me, a good day means I don't have to wear a bra (TMI?)


I like seeing beautiful clothes. I am entranced by colors and fabrics. But I am sorry to say that a lot of recent fashion trends have left me scratching my head.  Low cut jeans that expose a muffin top or even a crack? Ick.  Drop crotch jeans? Idiotic.

I'm not a big fan of blindly following any rules, especially those of fashion but lately it seems that the industry is just testing us.

In my youth, mixing plaids and stripes and patterns were "Glamour Don'ts." Now this is a hot trend? I like all the pieces

individually but grouped on one body at one time, they give me a headache. She looks like a runaway who is wearing her entire wardrobe.

Would this be a good look for me? How can I make this fashion trend fit my lifestyle? I don't care.

I try to eat healthfully because I want to live to see my potential grandchildren get married. I work out because I want to be able to dance at their weddings. The End.