Some day, 300 years from now, an earnest young researcher will go to the Smithsonian Institution and ask, "Do you have any primary source material from suburban white women in the early 21st century?" And the curator will look at the researcher with a vacant expression and say, "I don't know. Have you read Joyce Carol Oates?"
In the meantime, this fabulous blog, containing events big and small for more than 15 years, will be relegated to the landfill of American history. I tell you, I'm still peeved about it.
Take this week's adventure, for instance. It is:
a) pandemic related
b) reflective of middle class liberal female values, and
c) a subtle statement on the consumer economy.
You would think the Smithsonian would eat this stuff with a fork and spoon.
Oh well, pish tosh as I always say. Let me tell you about the Gambit that kept me from losing my online teacher mind this week.
Thanksgiving has come and gone, and Yule looms with the same horrible restrictions. The various citizens-at-large of Johnsonia already know that there will be no gathering for Yule. Household members only.
With that in mind, I set out to deck the halls with my usual holiday trappings. Except I couldn't haul them from the basement. Everything brought back memories of non-pandemic times. "I'll only be more depressed if I look at this stuff for a month," I said to no one in particular.
What I needed was some basic new stuff, a few candle holders for the mantelpiece. I could see in my mind exactly what I wanted -- tea light holders like they have in abundance at the thrift store. Trouble is, the thrift store is always crowded, and it's in a former factory that has zero ventilation. I haven't been there since August.
I started shopping online. I looked at JoAnn Fabrics, Ross, Macy's, Target, Marshall's, Williams Sonoma, and Lowe's. Not finding anything, I turned to Etsy. This is where I picked up the term "crackle glass." They have 22,000 Christmas candle holders for sale. And nothing is cheap.
All the while, the little voice in my head was saying, "You know you can get these at the thrift store, right?"
But I resisted. My county is a hot spot. It's irresponsible to put one's life at risk for a candle holder.
Never underestimate the fallout from a bad day in the teacher trenches, though. After receiving a spectacularly lackluster score on an observation that lasted 20 minutes, I pretty much decided what the heck. After school I got in my car and drove to the thrift store.
I strode in. As I knew it would be, all the holiday swag was right in the front of the store. Bip Bip Bip, I picked up 3 candle holders (just what I wanted), a package of tapers, a fake poinsettia, and -- on my way to check out -- an ugly Christmas sweater for the ages. Fifteen bucks, and I was back in my Subaru in less than 10 minutes.
That was three days ago, and I don't feel like I caught COVID 19. In fact, every time I look at my mantelpiece, I feel damned good!
The moral of this Gambit is, when one feels underappreciated one tends to throw caution to the wind. But one doesn't really throw, one tosses lightly. No harm is done, no furniture is stained, and there are tea light holders to boot.
How's the case count where you live?