"That's not Santa; that's Uncle Cary!"
Our five-year-old nephew Blane, ladies and gentlemen, announcing to a room of impressionable children &mdash including his baby brother, Brady &mdash that the man in the red suit was not the mythical St. Nick but rather Blane's very real Uncle Cary.
I quickly pulled Blane to the side.
"Quiet, will ya? You wanna blow his cover?"
Huh? his face replied.
"Yes," I admitted, "That's Uncle Cary because Uncle Cary is...?"
Still blank.
"Is Santa Claus," I finished.
"No he's not!" Blane scoffed.
"Uh, yeah."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Yuh-huh," I countered.
"Yuh-huh what?"
We both turned to find my six-year-old niece, Abby, had joined us.
"Aunt Darcy says Uncle Cary is Santa," Blane said in a tone of wavering doubt.
"No he's not," Abby said with a dramatic eye roll.
"Have you ever seen Uncle Cary on Christmas Eve?" I asked. "The few times you've seen him Christmas Day, hasn't he looked sleepy?"
"Santa lives at the North Pole," Abby stated, crossing her arms to reinforce the fact.
"Yeah," Blane added, also crossing his arms.
"That's what we want people to believe. Who would think to look for Santa in Rickreall, Oregon?"
Their arms dropped a little, their united front weakening. I made a good point, their furrowed brows said.
While they deliberated, Abby's brother, Drew, barreled past to stage-dive a pile of presents. That little linebacker may only be a year and a half, but he's as fearless as a rookie stuntman.
Blane brightened and pointed a finger at me.
"You and Uncle Cary don't have any reindeer!"
"Yeah!" Abby shouted.
"Who needs reindeer when we have four big dogs? Sherman could pull a sleigh all by himself."
"Yeah," Abby said, less enthused.
"Besides," I continued, "who needs a sleigh when..."
Blane's eyes widened, the truth coming into focus.
"Uncle Cary delivers presents in his race car?!"
"What else would make it around the whole world in one night."
"So Santa's Workshop..." Abby said, climbing aboard the I Believe Express.
"Is your Uncle Cary's shop, mmm-hmm."
"Does he have elves?"
"Doesn't need 'em," I waved. "He has power tools. And Internet access."
"How does he get down the chimney?" Blane asked.
"And what about kids who don't have chimneys?" Abby added.
"And where &mdash"
"Sorry; trade secrets," I said. "I've told you too much already &mdash but only because I trust you two can keep our secret. You can keep it a secret, can't you?"
Blane scowled and considered, taking the matter very seriously. After a long moment, he looked up and nodded once. I looked to Abby, who also nodded agreement.
"Good," I smiled. "Now let's go see whether 'Santa' is ready for a break, shall we?"
"Riiiight," they giggled together. "Santa!"
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
The Orchid Experirment
I learned at an early age that houseplants can be fickle friends.
Oh sure, they start out all lush and fat, full of promises of indoor greenery with minimal care — "Just water me, give me some light, how could you go wrong?" — but a few weeks later my mom and I would be staring at a whithered stick in a pot that would make Charlie Brown's tree look worthy of Rockefeller Center.
So we fell back on the hardiest of hardy houseplants: spider plants for her, ivy for me.
Which is not to say I gave up trying to cultivate other plants (my previous post shows that), but one genus of which I steered clear was orchids. Not only did they seem as temperamental as Veruca Salt, they were EXPENSIVE. No way was I gonna plunk down that kind of money for something doomed to die.
Until yesterday, that is.
I went to Wal-mart for bird food — three varieties of bird food, to be exact — and there they were: orchids. Tall, slender, deliciously delicate orchids in simple aluminum pots. I felt myself drawn closer.
Only $10, the sign read. Easy care, the snowflake tag promised.
I bit my lower lip, considering.
They are awfully pretty, I thought. And $10 isn't that much to risk....
Obviously I took the plunge, and am now either on my way to expanding my plant-growing comfort zone or relearning a painful lesson. Fingers crossed for the first outcome!
Oh sure, they start out all lush and fat, full of promises of indoor greenery with minimal care — "Just water me, give me some light, how could you go wrong?" — but a few weeks later my mom and I would be staring at a whithered stick in a pot that would make Charlie Brown's tree look worthy of Rockefeller Center.
So we fell back on the hardiest of hardy houseplants: spider plants for her, ivy for me.
Which is not to say I gave up trying to cultivate other plants (my previous post shows that), but one genus of which I steered clear was orchids. Not only did they seem as temperamental as Veruca Salt, they were EXPENSIVE. No way was I gonna plunk down that kind of money for something doomed to die.
Until yesterday, that is.
I went to Wal-mart for bird food — three varieties of bird food, to be exact — and there they were: orchids. Tall, slender, deliciously delicate orchids in simple aluminum pots. I felt myself drawn closer.
Only $10, the sign read. Easy care, the snowflake tag promised.
I bit my lower lip, considering.
They are awfully pretty, I thought. And $10 isn't that much to risk....
Obviously I took the plunge, and am now either on my way to expanding my plant-growing comfort zone or relearning a painful lesson. Fingers crossed for the first outcome!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
December Flowers?
Our three so-called Christmas Cacti have been blooming since two weeks before Thanksgiving... but they're not alone out there in the sunroom. In addition to the cacti...
We also have flowers on a geranium:
An azalea:
And a Wandering Jew:
My citrus shrubs &mdash I can't bring myself to call them "trees" &mdash had blooms in early November, but are now putting on honest-to-goodness fruit. Right now they all look like limes, so I'll post photos of them as soon as they show some color.
We also have flowers on a geranium:
An azalea:
And a Wandering Jew:
My citrus shrubs &mdash I can't bring myself to call them "trees" &mdash had blooms in early November, but are now putting on honest-to-goodness fruit. Right now they all look like limes, so I'll post photos of them as soon as they show some color.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Gobble-gobble
Happy Almost Turkey Day!
We were planning to go to my brother's for Thanksgiving, which meant we made the four-hours-one-way trek to my aunt's house in Eastern Oregon for a family dinner last Saturday and the four-hours-one-way trek to Cary's grandmother's in Southern Oregon the Saturday before that.
Tomorrow would have finished our series of road trips (luckily my brother's house is less than an hour away), but then yesterday afternoon, my brother called to disinvite us. Apparently he has strep throat AND the flu AND pneumonia. Gees, kid. If you didn't want us to come over, you could have just said so; you didn't have to get so elaborate!
So yesterday I drove over to Costco and fought the mob to get a mini-turkey &mdash also known as a rotisserie chicken &mdash and, even more important, a pumpkin pie. Sure, I could have baked my own, but why bother when Costco's costs the same as the ingredients, if not less? Plus then we would have had two pies.
Huh. I phrased that like it's a bad thing, didn't I?
We were planning to go to my brother's for Thanksgiving, which meant we made the four-hours-one-way trek to my aunt's house in Eastern Oregon for a family dinner last Saturday and the four-hours-one-way trek to Cary's grandmother's in Southern Oregon the Saturday before that.
Tomorrow would have finished our series of road trips (luckily my brother's house is less than an hour away), but then yesterday afternoon, my brother called to disinvite us. Apparently he has strep throat AND the flu AND pneumonia. Gees, kid. If you didn't want us to come over, you could have just said so; you didn't have to get so elaborate!
So yesterday I drove over to Costco and fought the mob to get a mini-turkey &mdash also known as a rotisserie chicken &mdash and, even more important, a pumpkin pie. Sure, I could have baked my own, but why bother when Costco's costs the same as the ingredients, if not less? Plus then we would have had two pies.
Huh. I phrased that like it's a bad thing, didn't I?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Sorry, Sue!
"You cheated on Sue!"
That was Cary's pronouncement during our Tuesday evening walk. I had to admit he was right &mdash technically &mdash but I also had sorta hoped he wouldn't notice that part of my story.
Sue and I were supposed to have a day of Goodwill Hunting this past Wednesday. Like all of our outings, I had looked forward to it for days, had practically counted down the last few hours, when tragedy struck: One of her friends had passed away. She had to cancel.
I understood, of course, but I couldn't help being disappointed.
I had other things to do in Salem &mdash errands thwarted by bad timing the week before &mdash so I decided to go alone. I knew it wouldn't be as much fun, but maybe I'd find some treasure that would make it worthwhile.
After my Coinstar encounter (read the previous entry if you're curious), I visited the North Salem Goodwill. OUR Goodwill, Sue might say. I sent up the hope she'd forgive me as I walked inside.
In the front display case, I saw a crystal bowl we'd seen on an earlier trip. If I remembered correctly, it should have a purple tag &mdash and therefore would be half-price this week.
I asked to see it. The woman carefully lifted it out, glanced at the bottom, and then smiled.
"Guess what?" she beamed.
It's half-price? I thought.
"It's half-price," she said, and handed it over. I can't say whether I was happier to get it half-price or that my memory was accurate... but either way, into the basket it went.
At the same counter I noticed a Fitz and Floyd lidded pumpkin in muted sage. It also sported a purple tag, and also went into the basket. The Coinstar Bad Shopping Juju Exorcism had worked.
Elsewhere in the store I found a little purple-tagged Boyds bear and not one but two of the Pfaltzgraff footed mugs my Aunt Merelyn's been wanting. Their tags were blue, meaning no additional discount, but at only $1.99 each, I wasn't complaining. Those babies usually go for $8 each, even on eBay.
Treasures in hand, I went to check out. The cashier picked up the ceramic pumpkin.
"This might be considered Halloween, which means it won't be half-off," she said.
I figured she meant Thanksgiving or Seasonal, but I got the drift. She held it up and got the attention of another cashier.
"Would this be Hallow&mdash"
Before she could finish, the bottom of the pumpkin slipped from her hand and smashed on the counter. She surveyed the shards for a second, and then slowly raised wide eyes.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
"Accidents happen," I shrugged.
She exhaled relief... then told me about a time at a previous job when a customer brought up a cookie jar &mdash "The last one, they said. They were so happy to find it." &mdash and she'd accidentally slipped and broken its base.
"They weren't as nice about it as you," she added.
Yeah, well, I'm not even supposed to be here, I thought.
After dropping the Styrofoam, buying a few groceries, and filling the car with gas, I decided to detour to the South Salem Goodwill. I hadn't had any luck finding Levi's for Cary at the North Salem location and figured it was worth a try. (So if you really think about it, he's partly to blame.)
I found two pairs of his Levi's 501s, one of which looked brand new but at a third of the brand-new price. Have I mentioned how much I love Goodwill?
I cruised the remainder of my usual aisles and caught up with a woman humming along with the music. Now, I've been known to not just sing along but also dance to the music at Safeway &mdash much to Nephew Blane's delight, especially if his mom joins in &mdash so I wasn't about to judge.
"Is this Ann Murray?" the woman asked.
"Sounds like The Carpenters to me," I answered.
"I think you're right. Very pretty."
I nodded and let her finish the song.
"Have you seen any gravy boats?" she asked.
"Sorry."
"I need a new one. Grandkids keep breaking mine. I thought maybe if I could find a metal one,..."
"Or one of Melamine, or some other plastic?" I offered.
"Yeah! I didn't think of that, but yeah."
"Well, good luck," I said and passed by.
I crossed paths with her again up front by the jackets. (So sue me. Some women love shoes; I love jackets.)
"Did you find a gravy boat?" I asked.
"No," she said, and then smiled. "That looks like it fits nice."
I was standing before a mirror, trying on a purple J. Jill corduroy blazer. Purple in both color and price tag.
"It does," I confirmed. "Even with a sweatshirt underneath. So if I had on the type of shirt I should wear with it,..."
"Is it comfortable?"
I nodded and crossed my arms in front. "It even has a bit of stretch."
"Oh, that's nice," she said, and then held out the arms of another blazer. "I kind of like this one."
"It is a pretty red," I agreed. "A nice Christmas red."
She nodded but frowned. "It's tagged a Large, though."
"I don't go by the tags. My closet has everything from an extra-small to an extra-large, and it all fits about the same."
She frowned at it a bit longer, then put it on, saying, "I always think I'm bigger than I am."
I get accused of that, too, I thought. I stepped back and motioned to the mirror. We both admired how nice the fitted jacket looked on her.
"I already have several jackets, though," she said.
"So do I; but at these prices..."
She smiled and nodded. We'd each get a jacket.
"Nice shopping with you," I said as I turned to go.
"Nice shopping with you," she replied. "Likewise."
And that, my friends, is the exchange that prompted Cary to label me a cheater.
Maybe he's right. But if anyone can forgive, it's Sweet Sue.
That was Cary's pronouncement during our Tuesday evening walk. I had to admit he was right &mdash technically &mdash but I also had sorta hoped he wouldn't notice that part of my story.
Sue and I were supposed to have a day of Goodwill Hunting this past Wednesday. Like all of our outings, I had looked forward to it for days, had practically counted down the last few hours, when tragedy struck: One of her friends had passed away. She had to cancel.
I understood, of course, but I couldn't help being disappointed.
I had other things to do in Salem &mdash errands thwarted by bad timing the week before &mdash so I decided to go alone. I knew it wouldn't be as much fun, but maybe I'd find some treasure that would make it worthwhile.
After my Coinstar encounter (read the previous entry if you're curious), I visited the North Salem Goodwill. OUR Goodwill, Sue might say. I sent up the hope she'd forgive me as I walked inside.
In the front display case, I saw a crystal bowl we'd seen on an earlier trip. If I remembered correctly, it should have a purple tag &mdash and therefore would be half-price this week.
I asked to see it. The woman carefully lifted it out, glanced at the bottom, and then smiled."Guess what?" she beamed.
It's half-price? I thought.
"It's half-price," she said, and handed it over. I can't say whether I was happier to get it half-price or that my memory was accurate... but either way, into the basket it went.
At the same counter I noticed a Fitz and Floyd lidded pumpkin in muted sage. It also sported a purple tag, and also went into the basket. The Coinstar Bad Shopping Juju Exorcism had worked.
Elsewhere in the store I found a little purple-tagged Boyds bear and not one but two of the Pfaltzgraff footed mugs my Aunt Merelyn's been wanting. Their tags were blue, meaning no additional discount, but at only $1.99 each, I wasn't complaining. Those babies usually go for $8 each, even on eBay.
Treasures in hand, I went to check out. The cashier picked up the ceramic pumpkin."This might be considered Halloween, which means it won't be half-off," she said.
I figured she meant Thanksgiving or Seasonal, but I got the drift. She held it up and got the attention of another cashier.
"Would this be Hallow&mdash"
Before she could finish, the bottom of the pumpkin slipped from her hand and smashed on the counter. She surveyed the shards for a second, and then slowly raised wide eyes.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
"Accidents happen," I shrugged.
She exhaled relief... then told me about a time at a previous job when a customer brought up a cookie jar &mdash "The last one, they said. They were so happy to find it." &mdash and she'd accidentally slipped and broken its base.
"They weren't as nice about it as you," she added.
Yeah, well, I'm not even supposed to be here, I thought.
After dropping the Styrofoam, buying a few groceries, and filling the car with gas, I decided to detour to the South Salem Goodwill. I hadn't had any luck finding Levi's for Cary at the North Salem location and figured it was worth a try. (So if you really think about it, he's partly to blame.)
I found two pairs of his Levi's 501s, one of which looked brand new but at a third of the brand-new price. Have I mentioned how much I love Goodwill?
I cruised the remainder of my usual aisles and caught up with a woman humming along with the music. Now, I've been known to not just sing along but also dance to the music at Safeway &mdash much to Nephew Blane's delight, especially if his mom joins in &mdash so I wasn't about to judge.
"Is this Ann Murray?" the woman asked.
"Sounds like The Carpenters to me," I answered.
"I think you're right. Very pretty."
I nodded and let her finish the song.
"Have you seen any gravy boats?" she asked.
"Sorry."
"I need a new one. Grandkids keep breaking mine. I thought maybe if I could find a metal one,..."
"Or one of Melamine, or some other plastic?" I offered.
"Yeah! I didn't think of that, but yeah."
"Well, good luck," I said and passed by.
I crossed paths with her again up front by the jackets. (So sue me. Some women love shoes; I love jackets.)
"Did you find a gravy boat?" I asked.
"No," she said, and then smiled. "That looks like it fits nice."
I was standing before a mirror, trying on a purple J. Jill corduroy blazer. Purple in both color and price tag.
"It does," I confirmed. "Even with a sweatshirt underneath. So if I had on the type of shirt I should wear with it,..."
"Is it comfortable?"
I nodded and crossed my arms in front. "It even has a bit of stretch."
"Oh, that's nice," she said, and then held out the arms of another blazer. "I kind of like this one."
"It is a pretty red," I agreed. "A nice Christmas red."
She nodded but frowned. "It's tagged a Large, though."
"I don't go by the tags. My closet has everything from an extra-small to an extra-large, and it all fits about the same."
She frowned at it a bit longer, then put it on, saying, "I always think I'm bigger than I am."
I get accused of that, too, I thought. I stepped back and motioned to the mirror. We both admired how nice the fitted jacket looked on her.
"I already have several jackets, though," she said.
"So do I; but at these prices..."
She smiled and nodded. We'd each get a jacket.
"Nice shopping with you," I said as I turned to go.
"Nice shopping with you," she replied. "Likewise."
And that, my friends, is the exchange that prompted Cary to label me a cheater.
Maybe he's right. But if anyone can forgive, it's Sweet Sue.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Coinstar Conquered
How sad is it when someone considers her day productive after dropping off recycling and cashing in coins?
In my defense, weak as it is, the recycling involved Styrofoam, which is accepted at one only place in our area and otherwise would have gone to a landfill, and the coins were redeemed at a somewhat distant Coinstar machine.
Why go to so much trouble for spare change, you may wonder? Why, to take advantage of Coinstar's current promotion, of course! If you cash in $40 or more in change for an e-certificate, they'll send you a certificate for an additional $10. (The offer details are available at www.coinstar.com/us/html/2009Promo.)
Last week I'd hunted down a machine that offers the certificates (apparently not all do) only to find it out of service. This time I called ahead and asked: Is it in service? Does it in fact offer the certificates?
"Yes to both," a young man said after checking the machine. Excellent.
I poured in my coins and worked them into the thin slot. I'd quickly pre-counted them to make sure I had $40 (which I'd thought I did, barely). Turns out I'd counted too quickly; the counter slowed and stopped at $39 and change. I had a few coins in my pocket and tossed them in. The counter ticked again... to $39.99.
Really? I was gonna miss out by one cent?
I noticed the coin return, and there it was: one lone penny. Bless you, Mr. Lincoln. I dropped him in the slot, only to have him chewed and spit out again. Tried a third time; same result. Guess there was a reason he was being rejected.
Refusing to let a penny stand between me and my free 10 bucks, I looked around, hoping I might catch a sympathetic cashier's eye. A woman running a Western Union booth turned off her light and opened the door to leave, but stopped when she noticed me.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"I don't suppose you'd break a dollar for me?"
She hesitated.
"I don't care how you break it," I added; "I'm just going to put it in that machine."
She cocked her head a notch, either intrigued or confused.
"I'm at $39.99, and you have to redeem $40 to earn a bonus. I'm so close. Actually I have the last penny, but the machine keeps spitting it out."
She smiled and nodded. Bless you, Ms. Western Union.
I now have a Lowe's e-certificate for $40.99 and a form to mail in for my bonus. Better yet, it seems my run of Bad Shopping Juju has passed. Here's hoping it stays away until after Black Friday weekend.
In my defense, weak as it is, the recycling involved Styrofoam, which is accepted at one only place in our area and otherwise would have gone to a landfill, and the coins were redeemed at a somewhat distant Coinstar machine.
Why go to so much trouble for spare change, you may wonder? Why, to take advantage of Coinstar's current promotion, of course! If you cash in $40 or more in change for an e-certificate, they'll send you a certificate for an additional $10. (The offer details are available at www.coinstar.com/us/html/2009Promo.)
Last week I'd hunted down a machine that offers the certificates (apparently not all do) only to find it out of service. This time I called ahead and asked: Is it in service? Does it in fact offer the certificates?
"Yes to both," a young man said after checking the machine. Excellent.
I poured in my coins and worked them into the thin slot. I'd quickly pre-counted them to make sure I had $40 (which I'd thought I did, barely). Turns out I'd counted too quickly; the counter slowed and stopped at $39 and change. I had a few coins in my pocket and tossed them in. The counter ticked again... to $39.99.
Really? I was gonna miss out by one cent?
I noticed the coin return, and there it was: one lone penny. Bless you, Mr. Lincoln. I dropped him in the slot, only to have him chewed and spit out again. Tried a third time; same result. Guess there was a reason he was being rejected.
Refusing to let a penny stand between me and my free 10 bucks, I looked around, hoping I might catch a sympathetic cashier's eye. A woman running a Western Union booth turned off her light and opened the door to leave, but stopped when she noticed me.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"I don't suppose you'd break a dollar for me?"
She hesitated.
"I don't care how you break it," I added; "I'm just going to put it in that machine."
She cocked her head a notch, either intrigued or confused.
"I'm at $39.99, and you have to redeem $40 to earn a bonus. I'm so close. Actually I have the last penny, but the machine keeps spitting it out."
She smiled and nodded. Bless you, Ms. Western Union.
I now have a Lowe's e-certificate for $40.99 and a form to mail in for my bonus. Better yet, it seems my run of Bad Shopping Juju has passed. Here's hoping it stays away until after Black Friday weekend.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Bad Jujubes
Despite the rain yesterday, I headed into Salem to run errands. Right off the tee, things weren't looking good.
My first stop was the Styrofoam recycling center, which was closed for Veterans' Day. What, veterans don't recycle? I'd hauled a trunk-load of Styrofoam all that way for nothing. At least it's light.
Next I went to Target, only to learn A) the candles they have on sale are only certain (gross) holiday scents and B) the cool Mr. Potato Head Spud Buds they were rumored to have aren't stocked at the Salem store.
Given my crap luck thus far, one would think I'd be discouraged. One would be wrong. Instead I thought: "I'll go to Toys R Us! The website said the items are in stock; maybe my luck will turn around!" Yeah. Maybe not. They had one item out of eight I was seeking, and you needed seven to earn a gift card and make it a good deal.
Curses.
I looped around, picked up lunch, and came home. As Cary and I were eating, the sun came out. A sign, I wondered? I decided to try my luck with Dallas errands.
Once again I trusted an on-line site's claim &mdash this time by Coinstar &mdash as to what's available in a particular store, so I knew I might be setting myself up for disappointment. But as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw lights. I saw an OPEN sign. I saw the Coinstar machine just inside the door. Things were lookin' up.
Taped to the front of the Big Green Coinstar Machine, however, I saw something else: a hand-written OUT OF SERVICE sign.
"Oh come on!" I said.
A young woman watched me, wide-eyed, straightening nervously as I approached.
"Do you know when it'll be repaired?" I asked her, motioning to the machine.
"Sorry," she said.
"Do you think it will be done within the week?" I asked.
She smiled apologies again, and then offered, "Wal-mart has one."
"Yeah, but theirs doesn't offer gift cards; just cash. I was hoping to do the gift card thing."
"Oh. Sorry," she said, then added brightly, "Maybe you could call between 9:00 and 5:00, ask someone on the day shift?"
(Which I did, only to have it go like this:
"Hi! I came in last night to use the Coinstar machine and found it's out of service. One of your employees said I should call during the day and ask when it's expected to be repaired?'
"Just a second," the woman said, and held the phone a few inches away. "Someone wants to know when the Coinstar machine'll be fixed."
"We don't know," a man said.
"We don't know," the woman repeated into the phone.
"Do you have a ballpark?" I pressed. "A week? Two weeks?"
"We don't know," she said again. "Try back in a few days."
Okey doke.)
By this point my bad luck had become amusing. How bad could it get, I wondered. Cary's grandmother turns 85 on Friday, so I stopped at the Dollar Tree to get her a card. They had cards for an 80th birthday, and they had cards for a 90th birthday. But apparently an 85th birthday doesn't rate.
I went next door to Safeway. No special "85 and Glad to Be Alive" cards there, either.
To the Soda aisle! Where Pepsi is 88 cents a two-liter! Where... they had exactly one Diet Mt. Dew (Cary's flavor) and zero Pepsi One (mine). I was on the verge of Charlie Brown-worthy "Arghh!" when I decided to check the end cap. There I found an entire shelf of Diet Mt. Dew. Saints be praised.
Sue and I are planning another Goodwill Hunting outing for next Wednesday, so fingers crossed I've worked out all of my bad shopping juju.
My first stop was the Styrofoam recycling center, which was closed for Veterans' Day. What, veterans don't recycle? I'd hauled a trunk-load of Styrofoam all that way for nothing. At least it's light.
Next I went to Target, only to learn A) the candles they have on sale are only certain (gross) holiday scents and B) the cool Mr. Potato Head Spud Buds they were rumored to have aren't stocked at the Salem store.
Given my crap luck thus far, one would think I'd be discouraged. One would be wrong. Instead I thought: "I'll go to Toys R Us! The website said the items are in stock; maybe my luck will turn around!" Yeah. Maybe not. They had one item out of eight I was seeking, and you needed seven to earn a gift card and make it a good deal.
Curses.
I looped around, picked up lunch, and came home. As Cary and I were eating, the sun came out. A sign, I wondered? I decided to try my luck with Dallas errands.
Once again I trusted an on-line site's claim &mdash this time by Coinstar &mdash as to what's available in a particular store, so I knew I might be setting myself up for disappointment. But as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw lights. I saw an OPEN sign. I saw the Coinstar machine just inside the door. Things were lookin' up.
Taped to the front of the Big Green Coinstar Machine, however, I saw something else: a hand-written OUT OF SERVICE sign.
"Oh come on!" I said.
A young woman watched me, wide-eyed, straightening nervously as I approached.
"Do you know when it'll be repaired?" I asked her, motioning to the machine.
"Sorry," she said.
"Do you think it will be done within the week?" I asked.
She smiled apologies again, and then offered, "Wal-mart has one."
"Yeah, but theirs doesn't offer gift cards; just cash. I was hoping to do the gift card thing."
"Oh. Sorry," she said, then added brightly, "Maybe you could call between 9:00 and 5:00, ask someone on the day shift?"
(Which I did, only to have it go like this:
"Hi! I came in last night to use the Coinstar machine and found it's out of service. One of your employees said I should call during the day and ask when it's expected to be repaired?'
"Just a second," the woman said, and held the phone a few inches away. "Someone wants to know when the Coinstar machine'll be fixed."
"We don't know," a man said.
"We don't know," the woman repeated into the phone.
"Do you have a ballpark?" I pressed. "A week? Two weeks?"
"We don't know," she said again. "Try back in a few days."
Okey doke.)
By this point my bad luck had become amusing. How bad could it get, I wondered. Cary's grandmother turns 85 on Friday, so I stopped at the Dollar Tree to get her a card. They had cards for an 80th birthday, and they had cards for a 90th birthday. But apparently an 85th birthday doesn't rate.
I went next door to Safeway. No special "85 and Glad to Be Alive" cards there, either.
To the Soda aisle! Where Pepsi is 88 cents a two-liter! Where... they had exactly one Diet Mt. Dew (Cary's flavor) and zero Pepsi One (mine). I was on the verge of Charlie Brown-worthy "Arghh!" when I decided to check the end cap. There I found an entire shelf of Diet Mt. Dew. Saints be praised.
Sue and I are planning another Goodwill Hunting outing for next Wednesday, so fingers crossed I've worked out all of my bad shopping juju.
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