She's Got a Ticket to Ride

© Alessandro0770 | Dreamstime.com - Old Times Bicycle Photo

It started off nice enough.  Adrian had put our bikes on the truck, we had packed a light lunch, and we headed to the park for what was supposed to be a leisurely, somewhat romantic bike ride …little did I know my husband’s alter-ego was an X-treme BMX rider.

It was an absolute GORGEOUS day…perfect for a couple’s bike ride (if you’re doing JUST THAT)  I am not the world’s most poised athlete; in fact, I’m more toward the klutzy side even when I’m just walking in an every-day scenario.  So a laid-back ride was just my style.  It seemed a little annoying to Adrian at first, though he tried to suppress it.  He would ride far ahead along the path, look back and see me huffing and puffing to keep up, and turn his bike around only to ride circles around me in a vulture-like fashion before moving on to start the pattern  again.

To appease me, he would stop every so often and superficially point out a bird here or a flower there but then the competitive nature would surface again and off he would go.  As time went by, I started noticing we were no longer on a flat surface.  I called out to Adrian, but he would only look back, flash his charming smile (maybe add a wink or two) and wave for me to come on and catch up.  Trying to be a good wife and not let him know I was exhausted and having trouble keeping up, I dutifully kept on.  The more we rode, though, the rockier and bumpier the “path” seemed to become.

By and away, we had moved from the open path to some sort of trail with trees everywhere. Adrian was now standing up as he rode and starting to do tricks I didn’t know he even knew how to do.  He was jumping over logs (yes, at that point there were actual LOGS in the way) and twisting and contorting his bike to hop and twist every so often.  At this point, we came to a clearing in the woods.  (Yes…the WOODS)  My heart was a-flutter thinking we had finally come to a place where I could rest.  I looked toward the horizon, only to see a crater in the earth about 50 yards deep and 100 yards wide.  Adrian looks at me and says, “I think we can make it.”  (When had we gone from a leisurely bike ride into a survival movie where thinking ‘we could make it’ was an option??)  I looked at him, lost all sense of trying to impress him at this point, promptly told him he was insane, and that I was headed back.  He was obviously disappointed, but knew he had to lead the way for me to escape the devil’s drop and black forest he had led me into.

As we were headed back I took note (while swearing at my husband under my breath) that we were taking a different route from which we had come (of course we were).  We came to a downhill slope and my loving husband decided he should go down the treacherous terrain first to ensure it was safe; I know it was to show off, because he headed down as though he were an Olympic skier on soft, white powder, doing flips, tricks and spins before coming to an epic landing and the crowd’s roar of approval about halfway down the mountain.  He would’ve gone the entire way, but he realized that I was still at the top, holding him back from receiving the gold and maybe in need of some assistance.  Awesome.  I knew there was no way to repeat his performance so I tentatively started down the hill.  There were trees on either side of me and big, knotty branches sticking out of the ground.  It was a steep slope so Adrian hollered words of wisdom for me to brake easily on and off as I came down. 

Sure enough, (come on, it’s not like you didn’t see this coming) my pedal hits one of the uprooted (possibly possessed by evil spirits?) branches.  My hands slip off the handlebar brakes, my legs come up off of both pedals in a spread-eagle and down I go, rear-over-elbow, calling out my husband’s name in the following fashion: 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY-DREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-YAAAAAAAAN!! 

I proceeded to fly right by him at his halfway point because gravity had taken over at this point and apparent jealousy of his mad bike skills had me wanting to reach the bottom before him.  Well, Folks, I got there.  I landed as gracefully as any human pretzel could – I and my bike becoming one.  From the top of the slope I heard from an unfamiliar voice, “Rider down!!”  We had apparently come to a PROFESSIONAL bike trail - you know, the kind that PROFESSIONALS ride on?  They had witnessed the (murder-attempt by my husband?) fall and flown down the hill on their (white horses) bikes to my (mangled) side.  As I exhaled what I believed was my last breath, I opened my eyes and saw the back tire, next to my face, still spinning lazily an inch from my (broken) face.  Adrian had somehow managed to give up his BMX dream long enough to come to my rescue with his People, the PROFESSIONAL bike riders.  They helped me to my feet, noticing my right leg had ballooned up inside my wind pants and was stretching the seam to the limit and that my sternum bone was protruding from my body through my t-shirt.  As they helped me up, my husband picked up the bike, held the front tire between his legs in an effort to twist the handlebars back into place. 

I thanked my heroes and told them I was fine and would make it back to the truck, and in all my calm resentment, I did.  I had managed to land five feet from the original flat path we started on, clumsily got on my bike, and rode toward the truck, tires squeaking and with as much dignity as I could muster, and as much effort as my swollen leg would allow.  We rode back in silence, my doting husband by my side, of course.  He opened his mouth in an attempt to speak once or twice, but the loving look of contempt I glared at him with made him think better of it. He apologized for weeks to come, and of course in the long run, I forgave him.

Looking back now, I smile about that day, even as I type.  I realize that life is like that bike ride…bumpy trails and lots of falls…and at the end of it,  brokenness, bruises and scars to show for it…and one can only hope forgiveness and fond reflection is the outcome. 

It's as Easy as Brain Surgery

Image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if image is used.

God gave me such a gift by giving me Cameron.  He has been a source of inspiration for me for a long time; in fact, he's been a source of inspiration for many people for a long time.  His influence seeps into so many things that happen to me on a daily basis.  From my faith to my mindset to my physical wellness, I draw from the way I've seen him live his life in so many ways.

When another wrench has been thrown into my (comfort zone) gears and life happens, it would be so easy for me to throw my hands up and say, "Why me??", or, "What ELSE, God?!?"  Then I think of Cameron being told eight years ago he had an Archnoid cystic mass in his brain behind his left eye.  And how he was told they had found another one six months later in his brain behind the right eye.  And how a year later he was told he had pseudo-tumor of the spine and had to have a painful spinal tap every quarter.  And then how he had acquired tranverse myelitis of the spine another year later.  When I think of those things, I remember how he took the news each time...with grace and dignity and never once - never ONCE  - asking why him or what next in an angry way.

When my life has a hiccup or something happens that makes me angry, I think of how Cameron had sincere reason to be angry with the things that have happened to him, but how he has made me see that when these things are handed to you, it's because there is a greater purpose being served and other people who may not be as strong are watching you and how you handle it.  That none of us are promised a perfect life here on this earth and each thing is designed for each person...that it's a great responsibility to be given to you.  That changes my mindset right away when I start to feel tired or angry and helps me see things from a different perspective entirely.  (So I guess he's right!)

I woke up so sick this morning and could hardly think straight from fever.  Then I think of the constant pain Cameron is in from his chronic illness and that he just takes it in stride to the best of his ability, never complaining, knowing life goes on and so he must, too.  

A few years ago, we were sitting at the dinner table discussing the fact that Cameron had brain surgery scheduled for the next day.  The surgery meant that Cameron would have to have a fluid gauge sticking out of his head for a few days.  Chelsea, being the typical teenage, teasing sister at the time, told Cameron she didn't know WHAT she would do if SHE had to have something sticking out of her head.  Cameron looked her square in the eye and said the most profound words I've ever heard: "God knows who He's picking."

This last year had not been an easy one for us.  We've been through pay cuts, job losses, illness, car accidents, near-death experiences, car fires, vandalism attacks, and major reality checks, just to name a FEW.   It's been exhausting and frustrating, believe me.  But I think back to those words and it renders me sane.  Trusting is hard for all of us, especially when we suffer loss or tribulation.  Today, no matter what happens, keep the faith and know you're being given a great responsibility...and remember:  God knows who He's picking.

Image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if image is used.

Life's a Picnic

Image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if this image is used.

Last night, we had a reason to celebrate.  In honor of my new job, AND it being an amazing opportunity, we decided to do a special dinner.  Rather than go out, I decided to make our dinner - this way, it's less expensive, I control the ingredients going into our food, and we had intimacy in lieu of a crowded, noisy restaurant.  Since we wanted it to be extraordinary and festive, we did a winter picnic!

I made broccoli cheese soup (tastes exactly like Panera), and turkey sandwiches on home-made pretzel rolls.  It was so delicious I couldn't stand it!  We accompanied the dinner with Layer Cake Shiraz that my husband purchased...it was his way of telling me getting the job was a'"piece of cake'.  (I know...he can be so adorable).

We were going to go out back on the patio, but because the wind was whipping pretty hard, we decided to light a fire, turn on some jazz, and have our picnic inside!  It didn't cost a lot, and by just making a few adjustments (lighting, music) we turned our living room into a winter picnic and had a woncderful time.  (Believe me, People, it's worth the effort!)

I have put the recipes for the soup and the pretzel rolls below.  Most of the stuff I already had in my pantry and fridge, and you probably do, too!  Life's been NO PICNIC for us lately, but we are so grateful for the blessings we DO have - and with this recent news we truly felt this was the best way to nourish the celebration for the next step in my career path!

Home-Made Pretzel Rolls

1 pkg dry active yeast

1/4 tsp kosher salt

2 tsp sugar

1 cup warm water

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/8 tsp cayenne pepper

2 tbs butter, softened

1/3 cup baking soda

1 egg yolk plus about 1 tbs water

1-2 tbs Kosher or course sea salt

In a small bowl, mix yeast, salt, sugar and warm water and stir to dissolve sugar. Let sit 5 minutes until foamy. In a large bowl, mix flour and cayenne. Use your fingers to cut butter into flour until mixture resembles coarse meal. Slowly pour yeast mixture into flour and stir with a fork to combine. Use your hands to gather dough together and turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until no longer sticky and fairly smooth. Return to bowl, cover with plastic and let rise 30 minutes. Cut dough into 4 equal pieces and lightly form it into a sandwich bun or roll shape. Transfer to an oiled baking sheet (I used organic olive oil spray) and repeat with remaining dough. Let rise 20 minutes. Preheat oven to 475 degrees. In a large pot, combine 10 cups of water with baking soda and bring to a boil. Boil rolls in batches (I did two at a time) until puffy about 45 seconds to 1 minute per side. Transfer to wire rack to drain. Return to baking sheet, brush with egg yolk wash, sprinkle with salt and lightly score lengthwise with a sharp knife about 1/8-inch deep. Bake until golden to dark brown,  about 15 minutes.

I used a couple of slices of Boar's Head Oven Gold Turkey Breast (Boar's Head doesn't have any MSG, no fillers, no hormones, no preservatives, PLUS I had a coupon for $2 off!) and a slice of Swiss for me; for Adrian, a slice of provolone because he is not a cheesy-cheese guy.  I had a $1 off produce coupon at Kroger, so I spent a little extra on some avocado to put on the sandwich as a healthy fat in place of mayo, some lettuce, sliced tomato and red onion, a little Dijon, and that sandwich was frickin'-frackin' AWESOME.

Broccoli Cheese Soup

1 tablespoon butter, melted
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1/4 cup melted butter
1/4 cup flour
2 cups half-and-half
2 cups chicken stock or broth
1/2 pound fresh broccoli
1 cup carrots, julienned
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
8 ounces grated sharp cheddar

Directions:

Saute onion in butter. Set aside. Cook melted butter and flour using a whisk over medium heat for 3-5 minutes. Stir constantly and slowly add the half-and-half . Add the chicken stock whisking all the time. Simmer for 20 minutes.

Add the broccoli, carrots and onions. Cook over low heat until the veggies are tender - about 20 minutes. Add salt and pepper. The soup should be thickened by now. Pour in batches into blender and puree. Return to pot over low heat and add the grated cheese; stir until well blended. Stir in the nutmeg and serve.

I put a ladleful in cute little bowls next to the sandwich, mixed a little balsamic and extra virgin olive oil in some field greens and put a handful on the side of both the sandwich and bowl of soup.  I sliced up two or three pieces of smoky cheese and put a little garnish (for fancy picnic's sake!) and it made for a BEAUTIFUL plate that filled our bellies!!  I made enough soup for Adrian and Cameron's lunches and froze the rest.

I felt like royalty with a meal like that, and celebrating the blessing of the new job made for a good excuse for a date night in the process!

I, of the Beholder

ID 30235183 © Ferenczi Gyorgy | Dreamstime.com

How come when you're 21, no one says to you, "You look so good for your age!"?  At 41, people say that - A LOT.  Don't get me wrong, I love compliments; who doesn't??  And I'll take them wherever I can get them.  I just wonder why - 20 years later - I look good "for my age".  

Years ago, I weighed 300 pounds.  I am 5"2 (I may be fudging that by a half-inch) and I was a round, not-so-jolly little elf.  I have always battled with weight and now I battle age.  It's a tough fight, but I, like a lot of women, continue the fight on a daily basis.  When I was so heavy, people would 'compliment' me often by telling me I had such a "pretty face".  Having a pretty face is not a harsh thing to say!  It just made it apparent that they meant to say, "you SERIOUSLY don't have a rockin' body, but there's always that face to fall back on."

I know most people mean well,  and that it is not some passive-aggressive, back-handed compliment.  The wisdom that comes with being 41 lets me know that.  It also lets me know that if you're NOT there, you'll get there.  Where is "there"? (so many quote marks today!) "There" is the place I'm in...the place that lets me look at those 21-year-olds and know that flat little stomach they have without trying will take them to a place of sit-ups or crunches that bring them to tears at 41.  Or the place where wonder-bras are more "I-wonder-where-they-went?" bras.  The place that lets you know getting old is awesome because it sure beats the alternative.  You know that place - the place where your wisdom and experience make you feel sexier than your skinny waistline; where your fine lines are a beautiful showing of where you are and where you've been.    

I'm pretty lucky to have a supportive, loving husband who doesn't care about anything more than loving the person I am.  For example, as I'm cooking dinner one night, he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, only to grab my muffin-top in his hands and make a sort of purring noise.  My defense is pretty typical of women, and I say, "Adrian, don't grab my rolls."  Much to my surprise, he closes his eyes with a look on his face that I usually only see when he's eating bacon, and says, "Mmmm...Gimme some butter for them rolls...".  (Charming)  It's a mystery to me how he can love me in all my raw beauty.  He has never said I have such a pretty face or told me I look good for my age.  He has always just told me how beautiful or sexy I am, in spite of how I may try to fend off such authentic compliments.  I know that's rare and believe me, I CHERISH IT.  

To keep up the fight I will not take age or weight with grace...I'm just not one of those people.  I will dye my hair and exercise (though I hate it) and, when the fine lines turn to deep wrinkles, I will probably look into a face-lift - if you know me, you know that's just who I am; however, I accept the woman I am more than I ever have, and I accept that beauty is deeper than what's on top.  I accept more and more that I do look good for my age and I do have such a pretty face.  I know in posting this I'm opening up a can of worms where some people will tell me those things on purpose now in an attempt to be funny or get a rise out of me...but if you think about it, it's a win-win for me, isn't it? ? 

Good, Clean Fun

© Alexroz | Dreamstime.com - Bathtub Photo

I bathe.  I know, I know...you're all thinking, "Thank goodness!"  But what I mean is, I'm not the shower-girl, I'm the girl who likes to submerge in the hottest bubble-filled, aroma-therapeutic, quiet-in-the-bathroom, classical music playing softly, glass of red on the edge - bathtub.  Now, in the real every-day world, I don't get to do the aforementioned type of bath, but I still prefer bath over shower for the daily hygiene routine.

We have a great tub.  It's a large garden tub with a big iceberg window that lets in sunlight (which is super-helpful when it comes to seeing it is time to clean it).  We have a stained-glass window in front of it that makes for an even more soothing mood.  All good stuff.

Soooo...why am I talking about my bathtub and bathing practices today? Well, I've noticed lately that when it's time to let the water out so I can wash my hair (I'm a germ-a-phobe so there is no WAY I'm washing my hair in the water I just bathed in) it drains slower and slowwer, and slowwwer every time.  Man, I've got stuff to do and do not have time to watch water drain!!  I make a mental note to add this to Adrian's list of honey-do's, but my mental note never makes it to the list, as I get distracted easily by the other to-do thoughts running through my head.

Yesterday...I am rinsing the tub and getting it ready for mamma (that's me) so's I can take my epsom-salts-fix-muh-bones-if-you-please bath and I notice the water isn't going down at all though the stopper is not in.  I am taking it pretty personally because I want to take advantage of the rare quiet time that existed in my house at that moment.  Do I take the plunger (that's been in my TOILET) to it?  Only if I want to ruin bath time for the rest of my life.  Do I take a wire hanger and try to scoop out the clog?  Well, A) that would make me throw up and 2) my hangers are plastic, thank God.  Ahhhhh, Drano, perhaps?  I scour the house, looking for the chemical nectar that is going to give me my (now-cut-in-half) bath time.  But alas, I made the vow to try to stop using chemicals in my home whenever possible.  It's amazing how your belief system flies out the window when all you want to do is take a freaking bath, because I found myself praying for God to allow me to find some forgotten-about Drano way in the back of the cabinet under the sink.  I suppose there were other, more important prayers going on in the world because there was no Drano to be found.

I went to the Googla...(Translation: I Googled it) and typed in: (I know.  You think I'm going to tell you I typed in "How to pray properly so that the Lord answers your prayer to find some stinkin' Drano in the house so a person can take a bath...but I didn't) "how to unclog a drain without Drano".  Apparently I'm not the only one who suffers the clogged bathtub plight because there were many great links and conversation threads regarding the subject.

There was one method in particular that kept coming up that was fast and easy. It costs only pennies to do and I was able to use items I already had in my pantry! I will share this method with you, but before I do, I think it's important to tell you that the method worked, I got to take my bath, and I got some good material to use in my post in the process!  I think I'm going to invest in a rubber duckie...

CHEMICAL-FREE WAY TO UNCLOG A DRAIN:

1/2 cup baking soda

1 cup vinegar

1 gallon boiling water

Carefully pour all the baking soda down the drain. Pour in 1/2 of the vinegar, covering the hole with a towel or stopper so the fizz is forced down, not up. Add the second half of the vinegar, following the same procedure. Allow to sit for 15 minutes or so, and then flush with an entire gallon of boiling water.

For particularly troublesome stoppage, multiple applications may be in order, but it WILL WORK so hang in there.

Follow up with a smile.

What's It Gonna Cost Me?

My husband and I date - not other people, of course, but we date each other.  Last night was a good date.  Times are definitely tough right now and belts are tighter than they've ever been; somehow, we managed to have a great date night...free of charge!!

It started when he picked me up at my house.  Okay, we live at the same house, but a lady likes it when a gentleman comes a-callin'.  (Besides, it makes for a good story!)

Adrian has always opened doors for me.  I'm a bit of a male-chauvenist, so it's never bothered me.  I actually love it.  He has opened my car door whether we are leaving home, a garage sale, or the opera...he does not discriminate and I love that.  It's the little things that mean a lot.  But it's especially nice on date night.

Anyway, back to the story.  So he picked me up (or walked me out to the car).

We headed to our first destination, which was a (sooooooooo long-overdue) mani / pedi for me, while Adrian sat in a massage chair next to me with the power on full blast.  Sipping wine and listening to soft music while getting my foot rubbins and arm and neck massage on was amazing...but what felt better is that it was all fer-ee!! (WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!?)  You heard me right!    Cameron gave me a gift card for Christmas to my favorite place (which I haven't seen in awhile) and we decided to start our date there because we knew they offered a free glass of wine with your pedicure.  So massage, manicure, pedicure, (tip, of course, was covered by the certificate) before-dinner cocktail, soft lighting and music = all free.  So far, so good.

Next, we decided to go to one of those places you can get dinner and a movie all in one place - not always the cheapest route to take these days, but apparently nothing's too good for us.  Guess how much I'm gonna tell you it was?  Come on, you see a pattern here, don't ya?  Well, in case you're on the edge of your seat with anticipation and wonder - it was free!  HOW THE HECK WAS DINNER AND A MOVIE FREE, YOU ASK?  Chelsea and Sam gave us a $25 gift card for Christmas (yea, we made out like bandits from our kids) and that covered the dinner part.  I received an email from this establishment for one free ticket.  (The name of the place is not relevant, because I subscribe to tons of places for reasons just like this one and you can, too).   I then searched through my Entertainment coupon book, found one for a free movie ticket to the same place, (did a yippee-doo-dah dance) and voila!  Dinner and a movie = all free.  WORD.

Now keep in mind that all the affection we showed each other throughout the night, holding hands (yes, we still do that), the laughs we shared, the time together = all free.  Exhausted from being pampered all evening, we headed home.  

I am grateful for the Christmas gifts, but even without them, we know how to paint the town red free of charge all the time, and we do it.  Date night is necessary.  PERIOD.  It doesn't matter what the dynamic or make up of your family is: small kids, grown kids, no kids.  Date night is essential to keeping your marriage healthy.  And we're proof that you don't even have to spend a lot to do it.

I won't tell you how we ended the date, but I WILL tell you that didn't cost us a thing, either. ;-)

The Constant Struggle

I was a single mother of Chelsea and Cameron for quite awhile before Adrian rode in on his white horse (with Jordan in tow) and our blended family was created.  There was that time it was just the three of us though, and I often think of the things I did or said as their only parental figure that I wish I could change.  I don't have any regrets, really, because they both turned out to be incredible human beings.  I think so much of that has to do with the one constant they have had their entire life together:  each other.  From the time Chelsea was 16-months old and Cameron came into the world, they have been together through thick and thin.  

No matter who they were with, no matter where they were, they were always together and were there to protect each other.

There was one time - Chelsea was in the fifth grade and Cameron was in the fourth - there was a bully that had been picking on Cameron and was meeting him after school to beat him up...turns out the bully was a jy-nor-mus young lady (of sorts).  According to legend, Chelsea saw the crowd gathering and went to see what was going on.  Seeing the victim was her little brother, she stopped the bully cold, (using methods we will save for another story) and when she looked around to see if her brother was okay.............he had hidden himself under a bush (he says it's because he was told never to hit a girl, and we "believe him").

To help Cameron save face, I will tell you that years later we had moved into a new house during the summer months, so the kids weren't in school.  Chelsea and Cameron were old enough to stay home by themselves, and were playing a board game when they heard a noise outside.  Cameron looked out the window and saw a man on the side of the house.  He shuffled his sister into the closet, telling her not to move and to cover herself up with a blanket, picked up one of Adrian's golf clubs, called Adrian, and proceeded to tell him in a whisper that Chelsea was safely concealed in the closet and he had a golf club and he was ready to use it - he was 11.  Turns out he protected Chelsea from the man that was turning our water on for us.  What would he have done had it been a real predator??  I shudder to think how helpless a golf club-wielding 11-year-old would have fared, but the point is he was protecting his older sister from any harm at all costs.

Don't get me wrong, they have fought like cats and dogs most of their life and even said terrible things to one another, but let anyone ELSE say something out of sorts and it's AWN.

Last July, Chelsea got married.  We all dealt with it differently.  Cameron loves Sam (we all do!) and he was so happy to welcome an older brother into the family.  He never once said he was sad to see his sister move out (he was thrilled to move into her room).  But the wedding photographer caught the truth in his heart when she took the following picture that was taken at the end of the reception when Sam and Chelsea rode off into the sunset together...

Goodwill Toward Men

I've always been aware that I will be an eccentric old lady.  Even when I was young (er) I knew that.  I'll be the one who has dyed her hair way too black, and it will go way past my hairline on my forehead.  My red lipstick will look stained and overdone and go far too much outside the lip line.  My eyebrows will be black as coal, and drawn on to make me look like I'm surprised all the time.  I will wear gold lamé track suits and canvas sneakers with flowers all over them.  And I will smell good...like any respectable eccentric old lady should.  These things are expected of me, and I will own it.

I'm already well on my way.  I dress a little outside the box most days, but at 41 I know exactly who I am without question and my sense of style or fashion (I use those words loosely!)goes along with that.  But at 41 I also know the value of a dollar, and I've found a way to beat the system: Goodwill.

Some of you may frown upon the thought of second-hand, or shudder when it comes to wearing what someone else has worn.  Understood.  And I warn you to stop reading here if that is you.  I wouldn't want your skin to crawl at the thought of the red linen Versace shirt I bought Cameron with the $80 tag still on it for $3.99.  Or the $200 couture suit that Adrian still says is the best one he owns for $13.  Or even the $26 Prada knock-off purse I bought for myself for exactly $ .99 (that's ninety nine CENTS, Ladies and Gents).

For those of you who don't mind saving money, then read on because there is a method to the madness.  Some Goodwills are VERY proud of their stuff; by this, I mean that the pricing is left to each Goodwill's discretion.  I found a really cute wooden salad bowl I was going to get that I THOUGHT was $1.99.  It turned out to be $11.99 when I got to the register.  When I inquired what made this bowl so special, they couldn't tell me and I abandoned the purchase.  I found a cuter wooden bowl at Target (pronounced "Tar-jzay") for half that.  So definitely be cautious - just because it's Goodwill doesn't mean it's automatically a good deal.

And ya gotta be willing to DIG.  You can't just peruse...you must find your arm strength to be able to move the hangers as you look because they pack those clothes in there like cattle and you may miss the perfect bargain find if you ridicule the practicality of digging.

Look, I already know that Goodwill is mostly the place that people go when they're looking for a Halloween  costume cheap, or to just drop off the stuff they wouldn't be caught dead in when they want to feel charitable.  But don't count it out for help with your everyday wardrobe.  It makes up about 98% of what we wear and saves us money that we can use for lots of other things.

Be careful to wash  or dry clean the clothes and to get those dreaded plastic tags off before heading out of the house.  I've been caught with one sticking out of the shoulder of a dress and though I'm not ashamed of where I shop, it was not one of my finer moments.

I don't have to dye my hair yet, but I will do so proudly when the time comes.  My lipstick has always been and will always be far too red and outside the lip line, and I draw on my eyebrows with careful precision (for now).  I don't own a gold lamé track suit, but am on the lookout for one all the time...and I always smell good, like any respectable ANY-aged person should!  And I am a proud thrift store shopper who wishes you all peace on earth and Goodwill toward men (women, and children).