Street Plastic

One of my favorite street finds (other than paper dollars) is gift cards. It's like a Christmas present under the tree with a sticker on it that says "Don't open until Dec. 25th". (I know most of you don't wait, but I do.) The anticipation of finding out what's in that pretty wrapped box is part of the fun.

The same thing happens whenever I pick up a gift card on the street. It goes in my pocket and is carried home where I either call the number on the back for a balance or go to a website and punch in the numbers. Often they have been run over or damaged in some other way. Shortly after the holidays I found a Sears card in which the laminated front had completely come apart from the back due to being in the snow for quite a while. After finding out it had a $20 balance I took it to our local store where the nice salesperson immediately exchanged it for a new one. Too bad Walmart won't do the same. No swipe, no cash. Ugh.

Two days ago after running an errand at the university Littlest and I took a side stroll over to the parking meters where the snow had recently melted. The ground yielded six quarters and a few dimes but the exciting find was a gift card. It was nearly two hours before I could log on to discover that the balance on the card was $1.48. Not the $100 that I was hoping for but better than nothing! I've found countless cards while numismatizing. They have bought gas for cars, burgers at fast food restaurants, groceries and a few items of clothing.

Side note: Littlest is ruthless when it comes to finding and pocketing coins. She doesn't give them up to me. They go home in her pockets where I suspect they eventually end up in Eris' washing machine.

$3.61

$1.48 gift card

The Oath

Being an American citizen is something that I've always taken for granted. I've been fortunate to enjoy the comforts afforded to me simply because of the circumstances of my birth. Travel into rural Mexico and ten eye-opening days in the Philippines gave me a glimpse of true poverty, the likes of which most Americans will not experience and therefore cannot comprehend.


A few days ago we had a chance to witness the Naturalization of Luis, one of our dear friends. The ceremony was held in a small theater in SLC and included 100 new citizens who came from countries as close as Canada and Mexico to as distant as Rwanda. The ages spanned from 18 through 75. The actual ceremony was brief and consisted of the group taking a surprisingly long oath of allegiance. After that the new Americans were given a chance to tell a little about why they were here and what it means to them. I would dare say there wasn't a dry eye in the auditorium after the gentleman from Rwanda spoke about his harrowing experiences and his gratitude for the new opportunities that both he and his family now were being given. A standing ovation followed.


I live in one of the reddest states in the nation but am blue to the core. Frustration and disbelief at the one-sided and short-sighted politics that governs our state makes me shake my head til it hurts. Still, being a part of this inspiring ceremony made me take a step back and realize just how lucky that we all are to be here. I can vote. Granted, that vote doesn't usually mean much here but at least I have that privilege.

Congratulations Luis!

$2.49

The Lonely Rhinestone

The popcorn has been vacuumed up off the basement floor. The furniture and decor has been returned to the rightful places. Tutus are in the toy room waiting for the next onslaught of little girls. Images have been edited and printed. Zeus has safely returned home from his short trip to the south.

The photo above is an earring that is without a mate. All I could come up with was the oval rhinestone. Hopefully in all of the excitement of the evening this lonely earring got tangled in some tulle and it will glitter it's way back home. (It does have some sentimental value to me.)

Can you mommies please check your backpacks and toy boxes?

There is a stack of unclaimed items that were gathered up after the storm of XX chromosomes left on Saturday. Among those things are a pink coat (Addi?), a baggie of small clothes, two bags of fingernail polish, some miscellaneous baubles and a large canister of red licorice (get it out!!!).

Some of my favorite photos of that memorable evening have been posted at the Shooting Blog. Click on over to see what fun we had!

$2.05 (I am loving the earlier sunrise and slightly warmer temps!)

The Power of Pink

Move furniture to the garage and other places to make room for mirrors, pink balloons and all kinds of sugary treats. After the house is nearly empty then clear it of any living thing that is male.

Next fill those rooms with piles of velvet dress-up gowns, colorful tulle tutus and other dancing costumes. Bring out boxes of old prom dresses, cheerleading uniforms and pom poms. Set up a table of costume jewelry complete with sparkling rhinestones, pearls and beads. Throw in a stash of feather boas, sequined belts, patent leather purses and a variety of large hats and bonnets.

Now invite ten wide-eyed little girls, ages 6 months through 14 years who had no idea what to expect at the party. Add nine grownup girls who all are in need of being totally silly for a few precious hours.

That was the scene on Friday night. Within minutes after walking through the door my home was total chaos and little girls' clothing was strewn across every surface in the house. Feathers, velvet and tutus were flying all over the place. Sounds of ooohs, aaahs and giggling echoed with each new outfit. The grownup girls were good sports about getting dressed up, even those who are extremely shy about getting in front of a camera.

My shutter clicked over 300 times in those four hours. As I look back through the images I am impressed by the absolute beauty and inner strength of these women.

Every. One. Of. Them.

(Note: I will be spending the next few days editing and will post when they are available. In the meantime the feathers and popcorn on the floor will just have to wait...)

(Additional note: Littlest (purple dress) was suffering from a bad ear infection and spent most of the evening on the couch. She is feeling better now.)

Challenge accepted

Athena and Eris both posted to their blogs today. Both issued challenges. In the last hour I have picked out a few photos relevant to each of their posts. Each day I will put appropriate images on my blog until

Athena cries

and Eris gets her butt out of bed.

No ralking, no totals.

Bad Numi.

Lighter Fare

Okay, it's time for a lighter blog post. I grabbed my older scrapbooks and picked out a couple of images to share.

The hook. I believe it was originally put in a ceiling beam at Mom's house, possibly when Athena was a baby. Mom had an old jump-up seat from way back when I was an an infant and the kids loved it. But sometimes the seat wasn't handy so overall suspenders were used. For some reason Eris doesn't seem to be enjoying the hook at all. That hook is still in the beam and occasionally you will find odd things hanging from it. Most of the kids have had a turn being hung just like this!

The image of Athena was taken in 1978 at a birthday party in Santa Maria. I don't know if she ever got it blown up but she certainly was trying hard.



The last two photos were taken in 1992 at Colter Bay. Zeus and I had been married for a year and had taken some wonderful trips but this outing was just for the girls. Eris, I'm curious about the hat. Hamburgers, smores, grape soda and dirt. Good times.

$1.78

The letter

WARNING! Athena and Eris! TISSUE ALERT!

A few days ago while searching an old file for the previous post I came across a letter written in January of 1974. The handwriting on the small envelope was that of my Dad, shaky and uneven. The address was to the small town of Oak Harbor, a beautiful place on the Puget Sound of Washington State where I lived for a few years.

As I took the yellowed paper out of the envelope and reread the simple yet poignant words I suddenly realized that out of the three daughters who loved him so much I probably have the only two letters that he wrote. Neither of my sisters ever lived outside of his telephone area code. In the six years that I was away I received two and still treasure each one. But I had forgotten about this one and have no idea why it was in this particular file.

It was obvious that Dad rarely (if ever) wrote letters and, in fact, after reading it a few times and thinking back to the circumstances it clearly was a painful letter for him to write. The date was shortly after I had been home with Athena for a Christmas visit. At that time she was his only grandchild. Back in 1974 I didn't understand just how hard it could be for a grandparent to kiss that beloved little baby goodbye and watch her being driven away. Mom has told me that Dad would sometimes get in his own car and disappear for a few hours right after we left. My guess is that he wanted to privately deal with his grief at our leaving.

The letter is simple, written on one sheet of folded typing paper. Thirty six years later those three half-pages of words still speak volumes. He's been gone for 13 years.

I think I'll go for a drive.

$1.58