Pardon my long radio silence. I’ll spare you the posts about how it felt to drive instead of fly to Philly for our last visit. (In short, it felt pretty awesome.) Imagine lots of ruminating about how hard it was to move to Houston a few years ago, and how similar and different this move has been. Okay. Let’s proceed.
Way back when, KC had long hair. When he decided to lop it off, he had his “barber” (pretty sure she was a stylist – potayto/potahto) wash it and gather it in a ponytail so we could send it to Locks of Love. We discovered that they’ll take hair that is up to 10 years old, so it got moved way down on our list of priorities. I did bring it out for show-and-tell once when we had company because I thought it was neat, but our dinner-guests (this was long after dinner, of course) responded with mild horror, so I quickly put it away and forgot all about it. This is how clutter happens. Bizarre, organic clutter even.
Because it is probably the most interesting piece of clutter I’ve dealt with so far, I’ll risk grossing everyone out by sharing a highlight of the photo-shoot I had with the ponytail before taking it to the post office last week. Isn’t it cute?
I did not have the proper padded envelope to mail it, and I had to return a journal to Staples anyway (buyer’s remorse – I’m very picky about my notebooks), and I also had to mail a little souvenir to a friend in Houston, so I figured I’d make a trip of it. I took a bus to Point A (Staples), and then walked the route below, stopping at various points on the way.
Point B is a vegetarian cafe called Quiet Storm, where I wrote a card to go along with the souvenir I was sending to Houston, and where I addressed my padded envelopes and so forth, while noshing on something billed as a pierogidilla.
This reimagining of a pierogi featured fake bacon, broccoli, pickled onions, and slaw. It was pretty good, though I will admit to ordering it mostly out of morbid curiosity. That’s sour cream on the side, which I guess is the primary overlap between Mexican and Polish cuisines. Polish food is big in Pittsburgh, as are soft pretzels – often enormous ones – and fries in and on anything and everything. (I’ve had to ask servers to hold the fries when ordering salad.)
Point C is the post office. I will be going back soon to send some techno-trash to an e-recycling service, but that involves more elaborate packing materials than a padded envelope. I appear to be at a point in my decluttering process where any normal person would probably just throw these smaller items in the trash, but I am disposing of them in highly specific and somewhat inconvenient ways. I consider it one of the perks of unemployment. (Other perks include breakthroughs in housekeeping, like finally figuring out that a paste made of baking soda and dish detergent is by far the best tub-cleaning agent around. And non-toxic!)
Point D is Donatelli’s, an Italian grocery where I picked up some canned dolmas, a pantry staple in this house, but really I just wanted to break up that leg of the journey. Point E is Graziano’s Pizza, which has the distinction of being my nearest purveyor of beer. It took me a few weeks of being gouged for six-packs at bars to realize I should plan ahead for affordable beer at home. They don’t sell it at gas stations or convenience stores or, as seems most logical to me, at grocery stores. (Conversely, one of the first things I did as a Houston resident was buy wine at CVS. Because I could!)
So when I’m not moving things around the house or cooking or asking people on the internet for work, sometimes I’m taking long walks around the neighborhood.
The only other (not embarrassingly introspective) development of late is this bad boy.
Whatever success I had with the skirt I stitched last year seems to have been beginner’s luck, but I forge ahead only moderately daunted. More next time.