Just Call Me 'Bargain Bekah'

As if the appearance of a bedding superhero wasn't enough excitement, I have achieved new bargain hunting status with my steals and deals from this past week! Therefore, I think it only fitting that I be referred to as "Bargain Bekah."


Following my acquisition of the Oscar de la Renta duvet cover and dust ruffle (at a whopping 96% discounted price!) I found a queen size sheet set by de la Renta in the same pattern for an amazing $17.00! And, instead of purchasing bolster pillows or other toss pillows in the lovely striped fabric to match the dust ruffle, I found a seller who has fabric remnants from this pattern and purchased a yard of the fabric for only $2.00!


In addition, on Saturday the hubby and I visited a low cost furniture store in Charlotte that carries high end furniture at a lower cost. We purchased a floor model dresser on clearance for only $289.00. This furniture, along with our new bedding and fresh coat of paint on the walls will make a wonderful calm and soothing botanical feel to our bedroom, which is just what I hoped to achieve!


Normal retail price for dresser: $700.00

Bargain Price: $289

Price of Cliveden Bedding Ensemble: $800.00

Bargain Price: $129.00

Being a sound shopper? Priceless.

We Have A Superhero!

I bet you thought I was talking about Barack Obama, right?

Well, if you've read my earlier posts, in particular the entry pertaining to our need for a bedding superhero, I am pleased to announce that such a superhero has been spotted and landed in my hometown, in my neighborhood, at my door, and rescued me from a drab, sterile bedroom, void of proper covering, brightness, and charm.

Who is the Coverlet Crusader? The Bastion of Bedding? The Duvet Deacon? Well, my friends, none other than Mr. Oscar de la Renta, courtesy of eBay. Perhaps we could use the analogy of de la Renta as Batman, and eBay as the Batmobile. That seems fitting.

For over 6 months I searched high and low for bedding that I could feel comfortable with, in, on, etc. Nothing in the form of a duvet cover suited my fancy that was remotely affordable, including a botanical inspired collection called Clivedon by renowned designer Oscar de la Renta which I really found to be refreshing, yet soothing. With the duvet cover retailing for around $300, not including a dust ruffle at around $169 nor shams, pillows, etc., there was no chance of me affording something at such prices. Disheartened, I continued to search, wait, and search some more.

Then last weekend the Coverlet Crusader visited me while I was on the Internet working on my family tree. Why not try eBay again, but this time, why not see if anyone has Mr. de la Renta's exquisite Clivedon collection for sale? And yes, they did! But could I afford it? Yes, I could!

I found the Clivedon duvet cover and bed skirt for about 85% off the regular price. Yeah, you heard me! They are on their way via the US Postal Service, unless the Coverlet Crusader plans on delivering them to me in person! Next I only have to purchase some pillows to accent the bed and slap some paint on the walls. Finally, Nelson, Curious Jorge, Mr. Guppy and I can all relax in our shang-ri-la bedroom. All will be well with the world.

Seeking Shelter

How beautiful is youth! How bright it gleams with its illusions,

Book of Beginnings, Story without End,

Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!

--Henry Wordsworth Longfellow

It's been a rough past few weeks. Even amidst my fervent political talk or my excitement of becoming "one of the Joneses," I've been hurting. My friends have been supportive, as has my loving husband. Yet because of how complicated the source of my pain is, it cannot be easily remedied. And so I am aware that I am just going to have to work through it.

A nice dose of happiness, however, was received yesterday when I received a Facebook message from an old friend I had met one summer at camp during my younger years. We had met at a summer camp run by the United Methodist Church in 1988. After she and I parted ways following a week of campfires, creek hikes, singing, and Bible study, we began corresponding by snail mail (this was pre-Internet days) for the next two years. I remember how excited I would be to open the post office box and see her familiar handwriting on an envelope addressed to me. I would run home, go to my room and shut the door, open the letter, and read the details of what I perceived as her more-exciting-than-mine life. She was a year older and therefore much cooler and prettier than me. After two years or so our exchange of letters was less seldom, as she became busier with a boyfriend, applications for college, and everyday life, and I became more engrossed in my life as well. By the time I began my senior year of high school we no longer stayed in touch. Life went on, but I never forgot her or our friendship. Through the years I wondered where she was, the person she became in the adult world....What became of her?

Then, earlier this week I located her on the increasingly popular website called Facebook, where I have found several childhood, high school, and college friends with whom I hadn't communicated in eons. Recently it's been like a trip down Memory Lane for me, where at every corner or intersection I discover yet another old friend from my past whom I have not seen or heard from in years. I sent her a message and was so delighted to not only receive a response but to find that she remembered me and that she, too, had been searching for me recently on the World Wide Web.

The rekindling, rediscovering, reconnection, and all other appropriate "re-" verbiage has been good for me. It's allowed me to open doors I had for so long left closed and locked. To wipe dust off mirrors ignored for so long and gaze at the reflection. To walk into rooms untended for many years and to breathe the musty stale air caused by the years of abandonment.

I suppose that these rekindling of relationships and pondering of happier days filled with innocence and hope has all been a way for me to seek shelter during a sad period in my life. There are events of late in some of my interpersonal relationships which have caused me to feel much sadness when I look back into portions of my younger years. But to reflect on the friendships I had--and still have--with some very special people, to know that they actually thought of me and that they care for me....Well, that does the soul much good in a time of sorrow.

Thinking about my friend from camp has allowed me to also reflect on that summer camp, Camp Glisson, and the years of friendship, music, happiness and spirituality which I found in the those wooded mountainous acres for one week’s time every summer. Sometimes when I'm feeling lonely, spiritually abandoned, or have a hunger for the security I once felt in my younger years, I think of Camp Glisson. I sing the songs that I memorized by campfires. I can hear the birds chirping, the faint hum of the waterfalls, and the smell of the musty chapel which is hidden under a tent of dogwood, maple, and evergreen. The cool flagstones underneath my legs as I sat on the great big cafeteria porch, waiting for dinner to be served after a long day of crafts, chapel service, hiking, and swimming. If ever in my life I have encountered a place that truly felt holy, reverent, and blessed with God's presence, it was here. Especially in those walls of the chapel, where years of wear were evident on the primitive wooden benches, where sunlight found its way through the canopy of leaves, escorted in through the open windows by the fresh mountain air….Where birds and bees felt equally invited to join the chorus of celebration both inside and outdoors....Where the doors were never locked or chained, but instead graciously awaiting the arrival of a young person in need of meditation and prayer.

I suppose that after all these years and having witnessed so much change—change in me, my friends, and family--I'm all the more grateful for those few constants in my life. Even constants that I am not regularly aware of, such as Glisson. A constant I can use to seek shelter to try and re-ground myself, to remember that by some I am loved and not forgotten, and to relish the roots which it established and which still remain intact today.

"I can see....The shadows of ….Woods;

And the friendships old and the early loves

Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves

In quiet neighborhoods.

And the verse of that sweet old song....

....There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye....the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song....

...My heart goes back to wander there,

And among the dreams of the days that were,

I find my lost youth again....

....And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

--Longfellow's, "My Lost Youth"

I'm One Of The Joneses!

There's this cliche in our language--"Keeping up with the Joneses"--maybe you've heard it? Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's official: I one of the Joneses now. Not in the literal translation, mind you. I haven't spent oodles of money to have the same SUV, flat-panel TV, and brick-lined driveway as my fellow inhabitants on our street, but I am now officially a member of a neighborhood with neighborhood parties and watch groups to boot.Yesterday I attended my first ever neighborhood party. Oh, there were a few blue-haired ladies in attendance but the group consisted more of people who are the AARP membership eligibility list than those who qualify. Out of the 40 or so houses that could've attended about half stopped by my next-door neighbor's house where the festive occasion was held. Not bad. There are, though, some lessons to learn and to any of you are new to being one of the Joneses, I offer my advice based on this recent experience:

Wardrobe
Of course as luck usually has it, I was forced to attend alone sans Nelson due to the wonderfully unaccommodating work schedule he has. As I sprung from the couch around 4:30 to go and get ready I was perplexed as to what to wear. Why, I'd never been to one of these functions! I mean, when you grow up on a street of 5 people in a tiny Appalachian town there aren't exactly an abundance of neighborhood pool parties, barbecues, and Crime Watch meetings, from what experience can you learn? Plus, in the twelve years since I've been out of college I was confined to garden-style apartments, which, even with their intended "more friendly" layout, were never as warm, inviting, and charming as our own current abode has been. So what was the understood dress code that I needed to abide by without ending up on the Worst Dressed Neighbor Watch List? Should I go completely casual, in shorts, t-shirt and sneakers?Stylishly casual in a comfortable, yet respectably chic ensemble such as sandals/flats, capris/skirt, and knit top? Sunday dress? (Which, I think, had I been forced to wear, I might have skipped the festive occasion altogether.)My gut told me to pursue Option 2, the stylish casual ensemble which worked out nicely.

To Dish Or Not To Dish?
Remember to ask your host when RSVP'ing if you need to bring something. I forgot. So I showed up sans dish in hand, while the few blue-haired ladies brought their tried and true covered dish recipes in the standard Corning Ware or Pyrex dishes and a few Gen X-er's brought brownies and cookies. Oops.

Sports: It's A Good Thing!
Thank goodness for sports. As I sat alone, munching on my dill pickle and Ruffles a fellow neighbor sat down next to me. Even though he and his spouse were fellow Gen X-er's, I had no idea about what to talk. What do you talk about at these social occasions? Fortunately he was wearing a Boston Red Sox jersey (He took the tres casual approach in wardrobe attire.) and that gave us a launching pad from which we discussed baseball, football, cycling, dogs, work, new home ownership, etc. Yeah, thank goodness I follow sports and know that ESPN has nothing to do with telepathy.

Dogs Are The Best Conversation Salvation!
I heard several folks saying to each other, "Oh, I don't know your name but don't you walk your dog in the mornings?" Or, to me they asked, "Oh, are you the new neighbor with the Jack Russell?" Yeah, my Jack Russell, Curious Jorge, usually makes a name for himself before Nelson and I do, thanks to his adorable face, his alertness to all things feathered and furry, and his loud bark. I realized that the more I listened in on conversations that the neighborhood is loaded with fellow canine owners and walking Jorge around the 'hood will not only burn calories, but help us get established!

In the end, I came home satisfied that I had attended and amazed that in a mere 64 minutes I met more of my neighbors than in the 12 years of apartment living combined. When one has a mailbox and yard it's amazing what a difference it makes. One goes from being an outsider to a member of a community. And although my name is Ricardo I can officially now say that I am one of the Joneses. That's kind of a cool feeling, actually....

New Idea For Tattoo?

Well, no, not really. I hate tattoos. But I found this quote yesterday when researching for my blog and I thought it fitting for me. If I don't tattoo it backwards on my forehead for me to read each morning I brush my teeth then I should at least paste it on my blog and tape up beside my computer:

Tragedy is a test of courage, if you meet it bravely, it will leave bigger than it found you. If not, you’ll have to live all your life with a coward, because no matter where you run, you can never run away from yourself. --A Star is Born (1937)

It's Official: I'm a Dreamer

Esther Blodgett: Some day you won't laugh at me! I'm going out and have a real life! I'm gonna be somebody!

Esther Blodgett: I'm going out there and BE somebody!!

Grandmother Lettie: Esther, everyone in this world who has ever dreamed about better things has been laughed at, don't you know that? But there's a difference between dreaming and doing. The dreamers just sit around and moon about how wonderful it would be if only things were different. And the years roll on and by and by they grow and they forget everything, even about their dreams. Oh yes, you want to be somebody, but you want it to be easy.

I've taken a trip down memory lane today. I read up on an old classmate who not only used her beauty to win pageants and land a TV gig, but is now the inventor of some exercise gizmo on the Home Shopping Channel. I e-mailed and received a response from an old crush from junior high days, who, if fate had not dealt me a blow, would've been my first boyfriend and learned he is a successful businessman who unfortunately became a Republican. (Money will do that to ya, I hear.) And if that wasn't enough, I learned that a dear friend from high school and college has a lucrative job public relations.

Wait a minute. Cut scene. What happened to me? Wasn't I supposed to be on some sort of track like this?

Now, before you think that last question was all too full of self-importance hear me out, people. You gotta understand that a girl living in a small rural Appalachia town with nothing remotely resembling civilization within 80 miles of her, that I had big dreams. Dreams of grandeur, sure, but out of those dreams I thought surely something remotely successful would come to fruition. Even if I didn't become the next Nancy Drew, Mary Lou Retton, or Hannah Storm , then maybe I'd be a UN translator, or National Geographic photographer. That's what I imagined--that is, until life gave me a swift punch. And no, I'm not going to throw a pity party for myself, although I have bought the decorations and invitations for such a fete--just keep postponing the official date.

It's just....You see....I just really had hoped for a different outcome for myself thus far--professionally speaking, that is. I got my Prince Charming, my partner in crime, my better half. And what an extraordinary better half he is! (If only everyone could see what I see in him. How intelligent, sensitive, and extremely talented he is.) He, too, is a dreamer, and he dreamed of better things for himself professionally. (Maybe that's why we are so compatible?)

I worked hard, for a long time, and when I stumbled, due in part to unforeseen circumstances, I got back up again, but only to stumble again. Thereafter I stood back up but each time one stands back up one either gets weaker or stronger. I think I got weaker. So that now as I recently got back up again I just wanna say, "Am I ever gonna be somebody? You know, like I always wanted to be?

Celebrity Idolatry: Not So Unhealthy?

So, the last thing I ever expected to read was a study that suggested the worship and obsession with celebrities is healthy. Who knew? So, if we are to believe this study then I'm guessing we can determine the following:

• My teenage years' ritual of saying goodnight to my Andre Agassi poster each night was healthy.
• My wallpaper of New Kids On The Block posters was also a sign of healthy growth
• My wardrobe modeling after Christine Haje from Head of the Class was acceptable.
• My worship of the late Heath Ledger and now his little daughter Matilda was and is a boost to my self esteem.
• My lifetime subscription to People magazine and regular surfing of E!Online provides mental stability.
• My insistence on complete silence during the Golden Globe Awards, the Oscars shows, AND their pre-award red carpet shows proves that I am in touch with reality.
  

Not sure I agree with this but hey, if someone thinks I'm not so abnormal then I'm all for it! Hmm....Who knew?