Mary Fons - PaperGirl

5 Jan 2016

Confession: I Leave Food Out.

by Mary | posted in: Food | 1

It’s important to begin this morning that if you ever have dinner (or breakfast or lunch) at my house, you will get the freshest, most delicious ingredients in the dishes I lovingly prepare. And you should have a meal at my house because I’m a fine cook, if I can do a little horn toot.

That said, I would like to say without shame that I leave food out. Within reason. Eggs, milk, chicken, and anything containing these ingredients and a few others must be tossed if they are left out of the fridge for more than an hour or so. But cheese? The kind of potato salad that doesn’t have dairy in it but just vinegar and herbs and olive oil? Half a filet mignon in a restaurant doggie bag? Eh, whatever. If perfectly good food sat out overnight because sleep was more important than KP duty, I don’t feel too good about tossing it out the next morning.

Of course, I always give it a sniff. It’s amazing to me how the nose can instantly tell if a food is off. Our tiny olfactory senses and/or our tastebuds say, “Stop. No. Don’t. Do not. That is not okay for you/us.” If warning bells don’t ring, I shrug and put it in the fridge if it’s leftovers or cheddar cheese. Half-cut apples, onions, peppers? I leave them out as soon as I cut them! They’re all in a bowl on my counter. I do not want my fridge to smell like onions. When I need the onion again, I just cut off the wizened part and go about my dicing. I always use them within a day or so. Same with apples. Dried apples are sold for four bucks a bag at Whole Foods. They are free at my house if you want some.

Mold is not okay. Sprouting things are not okay. And again, if the food object doesn’t pass the sniff test, into the garbage with it. But in this deodorized, hand-sanitized world — while there are starving children in the city of Chicago — throwing good food out is an ethical issue. We’re lucky enough to have it. We’re lucky enough to share it. Though it’s true, “we’re lucky enough to be able to throw it away” sounds lame to me.

NOTICE FOR QUILTERS! Tomorrow begins a giveaway for Small Wonders fabric! Make sure to check PaperGirl for your chance to win! Thirteen zippy quilters will get a (great) prize. 🙂

3 Jan 2016

The Moon Landing Hoax is Real!!!

by Mary | posted in: Travel | 2

Moon landing commemorative postage stamp, 1969. Image: Wikipedia

New Year’s Day morning, while I had my tea, I spent time feeling guilty about neglecting PaperGirl over the holidays and some time recovering from a mild headache.

But I didn’t spend much time on either of those things because Claus suggested we go to a museum. Capital idea, old chap. We looked online and found many museums are closed exactly two days a year: Christmas and New Year’s Day: The Art Institute, the Field, etc., etc. But we persevered and discovered that the Adler Planetarium was open for about four more hours. If we shook legs, we could make it with plenty of time to enjoy our afternoon there.

When we arrived, we found that the big exhibit in place was one on the moon landing! Way cool. They had the original spacesuits, the thingy the astronauts rode back home that splashed into Cape Canaveral, pictures of the astronauts’ families as they watched the landing on television (those were particularly incredible), a moon rock, Jim Lovell’s rejection letter from NASA in ’69 telling him he wasn’t picked for the Apollo 11 mission. (Lovell went on a bunch of other missions after that, though, reminding us all to never, ever give up…trying to be an astronaut.)

About three-quarters through the exhibit, Claus reminded me that there is a huge conspiracy theory claiming the moon landing was fake, an elaborate hoax orchestrated by the U.S. government out of fear of falling further behind the Russians in the space race. I had heard of this theory but hadn’t looked into it; conspiracy theories make me uncomfortable and not because they force me to question my beliefs, but because the greasy hair of the conspiracy theorists makes me feel like I need to take a bath.

This afternoon, we watched a documentary on the moon landing conspiracy theory. There are theories about doctored pictures, the way the flag appears to be waving (this would be impossible, as there is no atmosphere on the moon), discrepancies in audio/video records, and on and on. Claus and I, though we are not scientists, picked apart every claim and argument presented. It’s a pretty weak case, but there was one thing that troubled us. Did you know that after the briefing right after the landing, Neil Armstrong never gave one interview? Zero. And when you look at all the footage of him and the other guys during the briefing, he looks like a man going to the guillotine. He looks like a guy who’s been indicted: grave, depressed, hunted. That doesn’t mean the moon landing was a hoax. But Neil Armstrong clearly knows something not many people know — the proof is on his face. The exhibit was way better than the documentary, but of course these two things have different objectives and my objective is to gape at human ingenuity.

On that note, I forgot to link back to the New Year’s post from last year, where we can all reflect on my Gramma’s tips for New Year’s Day, which is over! Whoops!

2 Jan 2016

What Happens to a Resolution Deferred?

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 2

Phone. Holger Ellegaard, 1972. Photo: Wikipedia

We have the Babylonians to thank for many things. They’re the ones who put 60 seconds in the minute and 60 minutes in an hour, a system called “sexagesimal” which is a word I think we can all agree is best left out of our vocabularies. We can thank the Babylonians (5500 to 3500 B.C.) for page numbers in a book. Very helpful, guys. Thank you.

And we can thank them for New Year’s resolutions. At the turn of the new year, the Babs had an eleven-day festival to celebrate the occasion, during which they made promises to the gods so the gods would show them favor. (Now that’s what I call accountability.) According to sources that I’m too lazy to cite, most Babylonians pledged to get out of debt.

I gave up resolutions years ago, mostly because I hate going with the flow. There’s one I flirt with each year, but as I know I cannot achieve it, I quit while I’m ahead. I resolve not to try and fix what I need to change. Want to know what I want to change?

I want to answer the phone every time I can see/hear it ring. I have a terrible phobia of talking on the phone, even to people I love. And I loathe voicemail. A week can go by before I finally enter the numbers to access my voicemail and when I do, my fingers feel like they have those little finger weights on them. “You seriously have to listen to voicemail,” I’ll say to myself, and it feels the same as when I say, “You seriously have to make a dentist appointment.” If I discover I only have three messages, I feel like I found twenty bucks on the sidewalk.

What is the root of this crippling phobia? Is it a control issue? Why am I this way? I just can’t do it. I can’t answer the phone. Text messages are the greatest invention since the telephone.

I cannot resolve to get better at this unless someone unlocks the problem. If you can do that, I’ll help you in your resolve to eat Marshmallow Fluff straight from the jar. I’ve got that down.

29 Dec 2015

The Art of The Monkey.

by Mary | posted in: Art | 0

Pretty film stars of the black and white era love this stuff.

Clearly, I have recently learned how to make art with Pendennis’s head.

Sincerely,
Mary

27 Dec 2015

Last Pop Quiz of 2015, Administered By Pendennis.

by Mary | posted in: Pendennis | 1

Pendennis has nowhere to go but up. Illustration: Me

1. What am I doing New Year’s Eve?
a) going to bed
b) going to a wedding
c) going to a party where I don’t know anyone
d) going to get wasted
e) b, then later a

2. What were my goals for 2015?
a) make at least $100,000 and put it all into an attractive mutual fund
b) stay in one geographical location for more than five months
c) not buy more clothes until I have holes in the clothes I have now, seriously, like holes in them because I wear them that much that they have to be replaced
d) finish Middlemarch
e) avoid writing an end-of-year pop quiz that gives me the uncomfortable feeling I’m pulling some Bridget Jones’s Diary thing by accident

3. Essay
If Bridget Jones’s Diary had been written just a few years later than it was, would it have been Bridget Jones’s Blog and if so, would it have been as popular and if so, would that have just been Sex In The City?

4. If Pendennis could eat one thing for every meal for the rest of his life, he would eat:
a) candy corn pumpkins
b) linguine with clam sauce
c) just sheets and sheets and sheets of nori
d) cotton balls
e) a and d but not b

5. What are you doing New Year’s Eve?
a) “Oh, right. I forgot. What night is New Year’s?”
b) having some friends over for games (e.g., Catchphrase, Twister “After-Dark” Version, etc.)
c) coming to that wedding with me (it’s going to be super fun)
d) taking a pop quiz

Answers: b, d, too tired to write it out but no and yes, e, c.

25 Dec 2015

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Family | 1

Jimmy Carter and his family, Christmas Day, 1978. Photo: Wikipedia

Merry Christmas!

I’m at my younger sister and brother-in-law’s home in Old Town, Chicago. It smells like ham in here — not all the time, just right now.

I have eaten popcorn, sausage, peanut butter cups and a big chocolate-dipped marshmallow with red and green sprinkles — that last item was on a stick. I made dinner at my house the other night and that went off well. My mother is presently putting together a puzzle with my step dad. We all saw Star Wars the other day, and it rocked. We had tickets to A Christmas Carol at the Goodman yesterday; my good friend plays Belle in the show and she was great. Some of us may go ice skating or pay a visit to the Field Museum tomorrow — we’ll see. I might have a bellyache because I plan to eat at least one more decadent food item off a stick if I have to stick it on myself.

It sounds perfect. But there are wrinkles. Deep breaths are taken from time to time by this person or that one because someone is loud or someone says something wrong (usually me, lately.) I got sick yesterday in the Goodman bathroom; still not sure what that was about. Every day that passes means Claus is one day closer to going back to Germany. So really, this is a perfect holiday. Because this is the way it always is; it fits perfectly into the story of the end-of-year holidays that we tell every year.

Thank you for reading my blog. I love to write it. Merry Christmas, everyone.

23 Dec 2015

Reporting From Inside THE HOLIDAY ZONE.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Family, Tips | 0

HOLIDAY ZONE! Photo: Marcus Quigmire; Wikipedia.

These are the days inside THE HOLIDAY ZONE.

Oh, we’ve been doing shopping. We roughly know what’s happening when: brother and sister-in-law arrive around 2pm Thursday, everyone is meeting at Lou Malnati’s at 6pm on Saturday, the cake needs to be picked up before the store closes on Christmas Eve, etc. But now it’s real. The kin have come. The chicken needs a’trussin’. You forgot the extra bottle of red wine; also you forgot the breadcrumbs. The children are freaking out (not about the breadcrumbs; you don’t know what they’re freaking out about but they are loud.) Your brother is doing that thing. And you still need stocking treats. The HOLIDAY ZONE is hard enough, but what’s really insulting is that now you must admit you are that rather frazzled person hustling up State Street with a furrowed brow. Lame.

People enter THE HOLIDAY ZONE at different times; you may have begun earlier in the week, you may be starting on Christmas Day and going into the days following. Whatever your particular schedule, if you’re not 100% sure you’ve entered THE HOLIDAY ZONE, here are clues:

1. You look at your email and most of it is last-minute sale offers from stores/companies you thought you filtered into your spam folder and there are barely any emails related to work or commitments with clubs/affiliations/personal trainers. This version of your email box is a feeling of relief mixed with a bizarre, vague disappointment. It’s nice to get emails that show you’re relevant.

2. Stomachaches. Frosting-related.

3. You leave a room and sigh. Then someone calls your name. You sigh again and go back to the room you just came from. And what were you going in there for? You cannot remember. It’ll come to you when you try to take the potatoes out of the oven and you realize you were trying to find the oven mitts. (They’re in the bathroom.)

4. You switch to a liquor drink instead of wine and later, you realize why you don’t do that. #spinning

5. You pull that dusty copy of Being and Time off the shelf and decide you will read it in the bathroom for awhile. The potholders are in there, anyway.

There are more signs. But if any of those symptoms resonate, you’re probably in THE HOLIDAY ZONE and you should find shelter. The good thing about THE HOLIDAY ZONE is that we’re all in it. Get along with each other: THE HOLIDAY ZONE is way easier with a pal. And heed some of the best advice I have ever gotten, ever: “Just when you’re going fast, trying to speed up, trying to hurry — that’s when you need to slow down.”

20 Dec 2015

How to Make a Fabric n’ Paint Chip Ornament!

by Mary | posted in: Small Wonders, Tips | 0

I know I'm a little biased, but the Small Wonders icons could not be better for this project. Photo: Me — I know I’m a little biased, but the Small Wonders icons could not be better for this project. Photo: Me

I made stuff! And I’d like to share the idea with you.

Christmas prep is underway; my family will descend upon the (marvelous) city and we’ve got a great cruise director in my younger sister Rebecca. She’s made the dinner reservations, the time we’ll go see Star Wars and various other activities. What’s fantastic about holiday time in my family is that it is chill. It wasn’t always that way; we used to feel pressure to do every activity together, to press all these activities (ice skating, lunch, museum) into a short time and it was stressful. A few years ago we were like, “Hey, if you want to skip the museum and just hang out and eat cookies, great!” There is no guilt about declining an outing. Do your thing. And the result is that more often than not, we actually do All The Things because we don’t want to miss out on being together.

Anywhoodle, I am trimming the tree I got the other day. The nice boy at the Ace Hardware around the corner was brawny and offered to carry it on his shoulder all the way to my elevator! He braved the cold and surely got sap on his shoulder, but I was a damsel in distress. Thanks, guy.

While I was in the Ace Hardware, I had an idea. That huge wall of paint sample cards drew me in a tractor beam. I pulled a whole bunch of Christmas-colored chips (is that word acceptable here?) and I could put pieces of fabric on them and hang them all over the tree. Of course — and I mean this, though I have a particular affinity for this fabric — the Small Wonders icons are perfect for this. You gonna cut a 4” flower and try to stick it on a paint chip? Naw, naw. So here are directions for a darling ornament that is half-free, half-from your stash. Because you have gotten the Small Wonders fabrics. I know a lot of you have because a major fabric store was out of it when the ladies in Florida went to buy it. Thanks, Santa!

How To Make a Paint Chip + Fabric Ornament

Get paint chips from the hardware store
Cut a small piece of background fabric
Cut a smaller piece of fabric with a central image
Glue the background down
Glue the “foreground” small-icon image fabric on that
Stick an ornament hook through the paint chip
Hang on a pine tree (not just any pine tree — go for the one currently in your living room)

Have fun!

18 Dec 2015

The Monadnock Building (It’s a Wonderful Life.)

by Mary | posted in: Chicago | 1

They are looking at the arcade. Photo: Wikipedia

The Monadnock Building on Jackson and Dearborn is my favorite building in Chicago (outside the building where I live, of course.) When it was finished in 1893, it was the world’s largest office building, and some say modern architecture was kicked off when the Monadnock was complete. It was a Burnham and Root building, which says all needs be said for those who know what that means; for those who don’t, this means it is one of the most important buildings in the city, historically, aesthetically. There are three-hundred offices within. A winding staircase. Big windows on all sides. I had a writing job for a company on the fourth floor a few years back. I had a Mary Tyler Moore moment the day I walked into that office. Six feet tall that day.

The best part of the building — the building experience, you could say — for me is the old school arcade of shops on the ground floor. You can enter the Monadnock on Jackson and walk straight through to the other side of the building to the Van Buren side. On a freezing day in winter, you can escape the pain and get south (or north, depending) for a full block, wrapped in the gold warmth of the gas lamps that run on either side of the corridor. The tile is tiny, mosaic. It feels like another time, except you’re listening to Beyonce on your headphones. Potentially.

There are shops on either side of the arcade hall, including a barbershop that is always full, the best florist shop in the city (really), a really good tailor, a milliner (do you call a shop that makes men’s hats a millier? or a hat shop?), an Intelligensia coffee bar (also best in city), a shoe-repair shop where I take all my shoes, a woman’s clothing and accessory boutique, and a diner that serves a great, inexpensive grilled ham and cheese. It’s all oak and glass in there; you can see the activity of the people and shopkeepers inside.

I’m still floating, being back home in Chicago. I walked through the arcade the other day and I felt like grabbing people and saying, “Do you know how wonderful this is? We get to walk here! We get to walk through the Monadnock anytime we want! It’s free! We get to have this! Do you realize how lucky we are?”

Tomorrow, I have errands that include: get flowers, take shoes in, get sandwich, get coffee, look at hats. Lucky me.

17 Dec 2015

My Quilts Are HOME!!!!!

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

That's my puppet, Nathan, who is high-fiving life, sitting on the six quilts that have come home. Photo: Me — That’s my puppet, Nathan, who is high-fiving life, sitting on the six quilts that have come home. Photo: Me

I got back from Florida yesterday. The entire flight and the entire cab ride, I thought about the box that UPS said was at my building. Until I touched the quilts that were diverted, lost-ish, and otherwise frightened out there in the Big Bad World, I could not rest. I was picking at my cuticles, which means I was truly in crisis. It’s a bad/weird habit that calms me down when I’m freaking out.

When I got home, I beelined to the receiving room. The state of the box was terrifying; corners were chewed, quilts showed through on three sides. But my quilts were there. Safe. And I am happy. Sending quilts will forever now be scarier than it was before, but what can you do? Well, a few things: I can reinforce the box. Sprinkle holy water all over it. Insure it. Raindance around it, maybe. Hire a Chicago bike messenger, maybe; those guys are fleet of foot and deadly when crossed.

Get your cheeseboard out because I’m about to serve up some cheese: this is what I wanted for Christmas, Santa. I appreciate it.

15 Dec 2015

I Literally Moved Your Cheese, Lindsay

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Food, Story | 0

Dear Lindsay:

You don’t know me. I’m in the area for work. I leave early tomorrow morning but before I leave Florida, I need to talk to you.

Lindsay, I stole your deli items.

My host took me by the Publix near the place I’m teaching to grab something to eat. There wasn’t much time. When we got there, I made a beeline for the Deli & Bakery section of the store.

There were tureens of soup. I got a portion of the turkey-kale-sweet potato, which I recommend to you the next time you’re in the Publix that I know for a fact is your grocery store of choice.

Just below that long deli counter, there on the right side, there were great piles of pre-cut meats and cheeses. I like a bit o’ thin-sliced chicken breast. I like a lil’ thin-sliced Swiss cheese. So I grabbed a bag of each. With the soup and then some kind of chocolate afterward, well. A perfect lunch, and it had all come together quickly. (I had chocolate in my purse already.)

Lindsay, that was your chicken and cheese. I had no idea what I had done until I got back to my hotel room and tore into my grocery bag. In the world today, apparently you can order portions of deli meats and cheeses online, go to the store, and have no wait to collect your meat or cheese. You thought ahead. You planned. You made deli selections and what did I do? I took them. I took your chicken and your cheese and I am horrified.

Because you were mad. When you got to the Publix later and dug around in that bin for your order, dug around like a badger in heat, Lindsay, because that’s what I would’ve been, a badger in heat, looking for cheese, well, you probably got real mad that your order wasn’t in there. I don’t blame you one bit. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine. I didn’t know your name was on the label. I’ve never seen anything like that and I sincerely apologize.

I do need to tell you, with all seriousness, that that was the best deli meat I haver had in my life.

With Warm Regards,
Mary Fons

Editor’s Note: It’s the “Tuscan Smokehouse Chicken Breast,” for those who have a Publix nearby. Delicious.

13 Dec 2015

Mark & Netta.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Family, Paean, Work | 1

Netta, me, and Mark, Christmas 2015. Photo: Netta, me, and Mark.

Nine lives ago, I got an email from a nice guy named Mark. Mark read my blog. (This was around 2006.*) We didn’t know each other; he just stumbled upon PaperGirl and liked it, so he told me. I said, “Thanks!” and so began a many years-long friendship with Mark and, by extension, his awesome wife Netta. Mark and Netta live in Florida and have three adult kids.

Over nine years, I’d say I’ve gotten fifteen? twenty? emails from Mark and I’ve sent about as many. We’re not prolific pen pals. But we’re pals. Real pals. It’s just the way it is. Mark and Netta send me a cookie-fudge-nut tray every Christmas. Mark hired me to write a poem for his daughter years back and one for Netta this summer. I’m sending them a bundle of Small Wonders fabric as soon as I get home and stay home for five seconds. They sent a $100 gift card when I moved to D.C; I told Mark I bought a flower vase, a can opener, and dishtowels, all things I needed. I’ve sent a number of gushing thank-you cards to these people. The relationship I have with them is like a neat star that appears in the sky every few months. Never met ’em.

I met ’em last night.

Mark and Netta live in Florida, remember? Well, I announced I’d be in Maitland and who do you think sent me an email saying they weren’t too far from me and could we meet for dinner? My pen pal!

Saturday night, I met my friends at a cute Italian restaurant in Maitland. Mark got a bowl of fettuccine alfredo big enough to have a zip code; Netta and I realized we were both the middle daughter of three. I ordered the snapper special; Mark spoke about the qualities of a successful marriage. Our waiter was over-attendant; I cried about different stuff. I told them about my dad; they asked the right questions. I listened to their stories about love and family, how they’ve done it and how they might do it differently, or the same, if they had the chance to do it again. It wasn’t “like we were old friends.” We are old friends.

Mark, Netta, thank you. Again. For everything! Are you kidding me?? You send me fudge-nut trays and you let me blow my nose on a napkin within thirty minutes of meeting each other face-to-face! The counsel, the kindness… It’s good to know good people.

Here’s to the next nine years, you two. Merry Christmas.

*That’s right: the ol’ PG is almost nine years old, if you count a couple years in there when I had to go dark. There’s a bit about that here.

11 Dec 2015

Selections From the PaperGirl Songbook: Courtyard Marriott

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Work | 0

A Courtyard Marriott in Germany. Mine doesn't look like that, but it really is a nice hotel, honestly. Photo: Wikipedia — A Courtyard Marriott in Germany. Mine doesn’t look like that, but it really is a nice hotel, honestly. Photo: Wikipedia

Courtyard Marriott, you’re so sweet;
I’m lyin’ in my bed with slippers on ma’ feet!
In the mornin’ I’ll make coffee in your little coffeepot —
And I’ll stay forever, okay, well maybe not!

Courtyard Marriott, you’re so fine;
In the place downstairs, you even sell wine!
I’m not the type’a girl to get drunk late at night —
But I’m gettin’ super grumpy, so maybe I just might!

Ohhhhhhh —

Courtyard Marriott, won’tcha tell me please,
Why is it when I stay here I always gotta freeze —
‘Cause the last time I stayed here it was the same thiiiiiiiiiiing —
Your air conditioner wasn’t working right and I tried to turn it off or turn up the temperature and it didn’t work then and it’s not working now and I’m so cold that I’m using an extra blanket and I know what you’re saying, “Why don’t you just move rooms?” but it’s late and I’m tired and my stuff is in the drawers and in the closet and you should see the bathroom sink covered with all my toiletries and I just can’t dooooooooooo iiiiiiiiiit!

:: deep breath, big finish ::

See ya in the morning, my Courtyard Marriott!

:: jazz hands ::

10 Dec 2015

Guess I’ll Go Eat Toads.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

That is a snake eating a toad. It is a real picture of a snake EATING A TOAD. Toad had a worse day than I did, I'll give you that. Photo: Wikipedia — This is a real picture of a SNAKE EATING A TOAD. This toad had a worse day than I did, I’ll give you that. Also, I’m sorry I just made you see this. Photo: Wikipedia

Some people have real problems. That’s a fact. I know it.

But today is not my day. I dropped my coffee twice. My sister and her husband had to cancel our dinner plans next week and I was so stoked to see them. I had a terrible row with Claus last night (which I had to wake up to today, so it counts.) Generally, I am disappointed with myself and some of my life choices, which is far too complex to go into here, but trust me: I’m a big dummy.

And then there was the little matter of getting to the ticketing counter here at Midway and discovering I left my ID at home. Oh, no! Oh, yes! I went to dinner last night and carried a small purse that only has room for the essentials: ID, debit card, some cash, and my best red lipstick, of course. Well, I forgot to put my ID back in my regular wallet. Not good. When I realized this, I burst into tears at the curbside check-in. I actually put my head down on the counter and wailed.

“Hey, hey,” the curbside check-in guy said. “Calm down, calm down. You can fly without it.” My head snapped up. “Really?” I said. Really, he said. Indeed, with a bunch of other things (credit cards, insurance card, student ID) and a serious pat-down, I was allowed in. Oh, but that’s not the end of it: I remembered that I have to rent a car when I land in Florida tonight. It’s crazy, but a car rental company wants you to possess a driver’s license. Who ever heard of such a thing!

I went to the Southwest ticket counter, burst into tears. I actually put my head down on their counter and wailed a second time. Then, a ray of dirty, gray light: there was a 6:15pm flight to Orlando posted. If I could get on that flight, I could take the train back into the city, get proof of ownership of myself, get back on the train, and try it again. If there ever was a more despondent woman on the Orange Line el, I’ve never seen her.

I’ll be in Florida for six days. I’m always grateful to be able to visit BabyLock dealers and quilt guilds to talk about this thing I love so much. But six days is long. All the quilt teachers out there will say, “Preach, sister!” when I say that while it is lame to forget your ID at home, when you teach on the road (especially for six days) there are so many, many, many things to remember — and you can’t really mess up because you have no backup. All of us have a story or two about sheer panic on realizing X, Y, or Z teaching tool is sitting on the dining room table, 2,000 miles away. Sometimes you’re the seam ripper; sometimes you’re the seam.

There’s a Southwest gate agent who has been whistling a jaunty tune while I wrote this. At least that’s nice.

9 Dec 2015

I Need To Talk About the Magic Eraser.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 0

The marketers for Mr. Clean have taken to giving him a Christ-like halo. Super weird. Photo: Me

I need to talk about the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

What is it.

What is this thing.

As I go through my home and detail after having tenants, I have found a modest number of smudges on the lower half of several walls. No big deal. I frequently practice my half-pipe skateboard tricks inside my condo and have made a few scuffs, myself.

It’s so cool that most of the time, you can clean anything more naturally and just as well — or better — soap and water and elbow grease. White vinegar and baking soda, too. But I can’t wash these matte-finish walls with soap and water. Not only am I threatening the paint, that method kinda just spreads the mark around.

What is the Magic Eraser.

Someone said, “Oh, just get a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. It’ll take the scuffs right out.” Eh, okay, I thought, and when I was in Target the other day, I went for it.

What is the Magic Eraser.

It worked. The scuffs — several pretty serious, by the way — are gone. No trace. Zero evidence. I erased dirt. I erased time. I erased evidence, which freaks me out. How might criminals use Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser? I think this thing could obliterate DNA evidence. Of course it could, because it’s got magic in it.

Sure, I could go to the website or do a google search and learn what the Magic Eraser is made of. But I decided against that. I don’t want to know. I never want to know. I want to believe that the product actually has a sprinkle of real magic! So don’t tell me.

By the way, Marianne Fons has confessed to me on several occasions that she always had a crush on Mr. Clean. “The earring,” she says, “The earring’s kinda sexy. And he’s so buff. I don’t know.”

7 Dec 2015

A Hair-owing Tale From Phoenix.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 7

I laughed yesterday at my gig in Phoenix; those guild quilters and I were having too much fun. Photo: Dona, from Palo Verde Patchers. (Also: I was so horrified at my appearance — read below — that I didn’t get a picture this morning. I regret many things today.)

Gather ’round as I tell ye a legendarily funny tale. I am shaking with laughter as I write this from the airport. That’s some hype, but I think I can deliver.

I got here to the Phoenix airport at 5:15am for a 6:45am flight. In order to be able to roll out of bed this morning and just brush my teeth and go, I showered last night and went to bed. Ladies, you know that when you sleep on a damp head, you get some interesting hair in the morning because it gets all smooshed around through the night and dries like that.

This morning, I kind of liked my hair. I thought it looked kinda deshible. Sorta sexy, all mussed up like that. I rubbed a little pomade into the ends to combat frizz and I got into my airport shuttle. Got to the airport. Went through security. People were sort of looking at me and I thought, “Hm. I guess I look good this morning with my wool coat and deshible hair and patent leather pumps.” Gave me a little swagger. I get to my gate and plop down with my journal; this is de rigueur for me, as long as we’re dropping the only French words I know. I got out my ink pen and stuck it in my mouth so I could reach into my bag for my journal. I did not know that my pen was slowly exploding.

Then I realized I needed more coffee. So I get back up a few minutes later, walk ten gates to the coffee place. People are really looking at me and I think, “Geez, maybe they think I’m someone important!”

On the way back to my seat, I pop into the bathroom. And everything becomes clear.

My hair was not deshible. I looked absolutely insane. It was amazing, how insane I looked. It was tangled. It was sticking up almost sideways on the left side. A piece on the right was flipped to the left. I looked like a woman with no home.

In addition to this, half of my mouth was black and the blackness extended past the corner of my mouth about an inch. It appeared that I was suffering from a horrible, contagious lip disease; perhaps leprosy. I looked so scary that I startled myself. As I furiously scrubbed the side of my mouth with soap, I began to laugh so hard I tears were rolling down my face because I have never been such a hot, hot, steaming hot mess than I was just now. And because I was now laughing and crying into the mirror, people began to literally back away from me at the sink.

And as I write this now — the ink is gone and I pulled my hair back into a ponytail — I am laughing so hard (but trying not to because there are so many people around me) that I’m literally shaking with laughter silently in my seat and crying actual tears because this image of myself was so incredible. I have had to walk away a few feet from my computer to go behind a post and let the laughter out.

Phoenix? I love you, baby. See you around.

5 Dec 2015

The Good News + The Very, Very Bad News.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Quilting, Work | 2

Look at that pretty background! Look at the girl trying to smile through great pain. Photo: Friend at Fabric World

The good news is that Fabric World is selling through Small Wonders yardage at a right clip. The store is enormous and the World Piece line is right up at the front of the shop. There was a lot of Small Wonders yardage cut at Fabric World today, let me tell you, and I’m so glad. The fabric is getting a lot of love and I’m grateful for that — thank you! (Visit my Instagram page over the next few days as I add more photos of the fabric used in class, on display, etc.)

The bad news is that a box of my most precious quilts are lost in a sea of brown UPS boxes in Arizona. They never got here. I am a wreck.

I shipped on Monday, three-day guaranteed delivery. But the quilts did not arrive on Thursday night. They didn’t arrive at any hour on Friday, either. I shipped to a secure location with a front desk, staffed with people who could sign for the precious cargo. Nothing. So I made frantic calls. Did frantic tracking on my computer. There were hot tears and there was (still is) much lip chewing.

A “truck failure” in Nebraska occurred, apparently. UPS said they would deliver my heart, soul, teaching materials, and life’s work (!) by Monday. But I will not be here on Monday. I will be in Chicago. And my quilts, which are more or less lost now, will be lost for longer, with more miles between us. I’ll get them back. There are scannable things involved. But… My Churn Dash. My Dutch Summer quilt. Whisper. The cloth doll that my friend Kathy made me out of the Netherlands line. It’s very difficult to type this right now, actually. I need to stop or I might start choke-crying and flapping my hands again.

My mother had a box of quilts lost, once. I called her earlier for pointers.

4 Dec 2015

Florida, Here I Come: The Sewing Studio!

by Mary | posted in: Quilting | 1

Don't you just love quilt shops? Interior shot of The Sewing Studio, Maitland, FL. — Don’t you just love quilt shops? Interior shot of The Sewing Studio, Maitland, FL.

Florida peeps! I’m on my way!

Well, I’m in Arizona right now. But next weekend, I’ll be at shop of (sweet and successful) Kelsey: The Sewing Studio in pretty Maitland, Florida. It’s not too far from Orlando — that’s the airport I’m using — so if you’re around that area or if you’re within spitting distance, or if you’re willing to drive a patch, guess what awaits you? You can, in any order:

– shop for fabric
– have a tasty lunch
– listen to excellent lectures (well, they are!)
– hangout with me (there’s always time for this — I’m there all day)
– learn stuff
– hopefully snag a new BabyLock because you know you want it
– take a selfie with the machine you want to send to Santa’s Instagram

There you have it. Maitland next weekend. I’ll be speaking at the Quilt Guild of the Villages on Monday, but that’s a club thing. So we meet at Kelsey’s and have snacks.

See you soon,

3 Dec 2015

How I Imagine the Interview for Employment Goes at This One Coffee Shop on Michigan Avenue

by Mary | posted in: Plays, Rant | 2

How I Imagine an Interview for Employment Goes at This One Chain Coffee Shop on Michigan Avenue
by Mary Fons

(The HIRING MANAGER and APPLICANT sit at a table in a busy coffee shop.)

HIRING MANAGER: Hi! Thanks for coming by. We were really impressed with your application and I’m glad you could make it today.

APPLICANT stares at HIRING MANAGER.

HIRING MANAGER: Awesome. So I want to start out just telling you a bit about the company and what we’re looking for. We’re a full-service coffee and tea shop. We have many locations across Chicago and are really leaning in, as they say, haahahahahaa, to disrupt the market, you know, as they say, which is cool. So we want team members, you know, to really be a part of the family. I want to see if you’re a good fit, so I’m going to just ask you a few questions. Sound good?

APPLICANT: Whatever.

HIRING MANAGER: Okay: hypothetical question. A customer comes in. Chipper thirtysomething. Smiling. She exclaims, in a cheery way, to you guys at the counter: “It smells great in here! Wow! What is that? Muffins?” How do you respond?

APPLICANT: Just…nothing. No response.

HIRING MANAGER. Well, you’re off to a good start. Okay, next question. When there’s a line — and there is always a line at this location, always — and a customer finally gets to the register after like, 20 minutes of waiting, ignored, what do you do?

APPLICANT: Just stare at them.

HIRING MANAGER: Good. And…?

APPLICANT: When they start to talk, I guess I’d turn to someone else behind the counter and ask them something and then go to the warmer and put something in and take something out. And then return to the register and then just wait.

HIRING MANAGER: I am…impressed. That’s exactly right. Okay. Hot tea. Serve it hot or stone cold?

(APPLICANT takes out phone, plays Candy Crush. HIRING MANAGER also takes out phone. Text messages boyfriend.)

HIRING MANAGER: Anyway, the tea, whenever… Did you already answer? About the tea temperature?

APPLICANT: (Putting phone away.) I don’t care.

HIRING MANAGER: (Laughs at her own text. Puts phone on counter and glances at it through the rest of the interview. She looks up at APPLICANT.) You got the trick question? Seriously? “I don’t care” is exactly right. Oh, and here’s a tip, but don’t tell them I told you: When a customer asks, super nice, if you can heat up her beverage, be extremely, extremely sour about it. And make sure it takes forever.

APPLICANT: Cool.

HIRING MANAGER: All right, we’re almost done. I see on your application you have no prior job experience whatsoever. Nothing. That’s perfect. Oh, also… Yeah, there’s something called a cash register. Do you think you could use one?

APPLICANT: Is it hard?

HIRING MANAGER: Nope. A baby could do it.

(APPLICANT is silent, stares off into space.)

HIRING MANAGER: I know it’s scary. But we’d train you. Well, another employee who has been on the register for one day would train you. Melissa. She’s the girl who gave you the application that came out of the printer that needs ink.

APPLICANT: I guess I could learn it.

HIRING MANAGER: You, my dear, are hired. Welcome to the family! Everyone here is family. You’re already invited to the Holiday Party! It’s here in the shop during business hours, so we’re closed on a Thursday afternoon at high traffic time. I don’t think people will mind.

THE END

*EDITOR’S NOTE: I don’t know what to write about California. I’m still mourning Paris. I can’t handle the anger and powerlessness I feel about citizens of my city being murdered by their fellow citizens every day. I can’t process, much less speak about any of this so I wrote this silly play. But I wanted to say that I’m as anxious and depressed as all of you and maybe this (possibly true) play will distract us for two seconds. I just want to know how a person chooses to cut a brother or sister’s life short. I can’t understand it and I try not to write about things I can’t understand. I fail all the time. But I can’t even approach this one.

1 Dec 2015

Just To Be Here.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Paean | 1

This is the interior of a palace in Poland. But my heart feels like this! Photo: Wikipedia

My heart feels like it’s in a jacuzzi. Being back in Chicago is a gift. I turn a corner and look at something so banal as the American Apparel store or the conveniently-placed mailbox on the corner of Polk and Dearborn and I beam. Thankfully, it’s scarf weather, so I can beam into my scarf and not scare anyone.

As I walked up State St. the other day — State St. in all its bunting and festooned glory — I thought how remarkable it was that no one around me knew how happy I was just to be there. No way could anyone walking behind me or crossing the street with me know that I was so happy to be back in this city that my heart was singing, even as I dodged a weird/large puddle by the library? But we don’t know about anyone who walks near us, do we? (I wrote up a similar thought in regards to bathrooms and disabilities, but this is different.) We all have stories and circumstances, but we can never know all the people so we can’t know all the stories. Good or bad, when significant things happen to us, we still have to like, walk to the bank. We still have to go to work. We gotta eat something. But where did the person next to you come from? And where are they going?

That man’s mother died last night. That other man, he’s on his way to court to give a deposition — and he’s debating whether or not to lie. That woman on your left is headed to her first job as a dominatrix. The woman on your right just got elected to the board. That guy, he was diagnosed yesterday. The woman up ahead was going to break up with her boyfriend at lunch but couldn’t do it. The man across the street, crossing to your side, lost his wallet twenty minutes ago. The woman nearby him is worrying herself to death over her prodigal son.

I wanted to grab someone and say: “Hi! I was walking next to you but there was no way for you to know how happy I am to be in Chicago and I want to tell you because you should know. You should know that just walking near you, just being under the Chicago sky — it’s wonderful! It’s a wonderful life! Don’t take it for granted, don’t forget: Chicago is the best city in the world. We have a lot of issues. But we can make it. We’re gonna make it. We’re gonna work together and we’re gonna make it. Okay?”

I suspect the person would run away from me as fast as possible. And if they did, no big deal. I’d just grab the next guy or the next guy, until I found someone who was ready to rap with me for the rest of the afternoon about how there is no place like home and there is no home like Chicago. Not for me and not for the person rapping with me. Maybe we would sit on the bench in front of the old school barbershop-and-cigar shop on Dearborn. I love to walk past that place but I’ve never been in. It’s not that cold, yet; we could share my scarf.

30 Nov 2015

The Pre-Washing Finale: Tips + Insight

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 2

All fabric in this picture has been washed, dried, and more or less folded. All fabric Small Wonders.

Forgive me for the drag on these posts; the Thanksgiving weekend kept me slow. I actually drank gravy from the pitcher. That is a true fact. It was.

So we know why I’m switching, as of now, from Team Non-Pre-Wash to Team Pre-Wash. Now, let’s take a look at how this is all going down. I feel that itemizing is the way to proceed.

1. I may be especially set-up to pre-wash my entire fabric stash for two reasons: a) I don’t have so much fabric this will take me nine years; b) I live in a mid-rise building with a laundry room. As to the first thing: I have met women who have put additions on their houses to hold their stash and sewing machines. I recently met a woman in Providence who rents a storage locker just for her fabric. Don’t get me wrong: I have a healthy haul of fabric. But I looked at my cupboard and my baskets and knew while it would be a colossal job, it was not out of the question.

The laundry room thing is pretty important to note. Four floors above me there is a laundry room for the building’s residents. There are six top-load washing machines and two front-loaders. There is a wall of dryers. I essentially have a small laundromat in my house and this is unusual. I’ve been doing huge loads of fabric because I can. With only one washer, one dryer, I don’t think I could do this. Bulk pre-washing is probably the only way to go, especially if you have a fabric store in your garage.

2. Clip the equivalent of a dog ear off each corner of the cut of fabric. This kept me out of Thread Hell. Nothing frayed like crazy when I washed/dried. As my German boyfriend would say, “Incledible!”

3. Wash darks with darks, lights with lights — and reds with reds. Several reds did bleed, as evidenced by the stray piece of light gray that got into a red batch. It is now a pale pink (not unpleasant!)

4. In all my research about how to go about this, nowhere did anyone say to get a can of static spray. Get some. That big, fluffy mass of freshly-dried fabric creates enough electricity to light the Christkindlmarkt at Daley Plaza. Spray ’em down, then pull them apart and more or less fold.

5. Another surprise: I didn’t anticipate how much fabric will fit into a washing machine. Don’t get greedy, but keep smooshing down the fabric in the machine until you know you shouldn’t keep filling. These aren’t gym clothes or blue jeans we’re washing: it’s light cotton. Same thing goes for the dryer: this stuff dries fast.

6. I don’t have a single jelly roll in my stash, which I know may seem strange. But I’m not so much a jelly roll gal; I’m a scrap quilter, so, aside from Small Wonders*, I rarely buy all the fabrics in a single collection. So someone out there needs to tell me how that all works; the only Thread Hell I really experienced was when I had a long strip in the batch. Because jelly roll strips are pinked, perhaps that cancels out fraying?

7. I am so not pressing this fabric once it’s washed and more or less folded. That’s always a complaint from the non-pre-washers: “But you have to iron it all to get the wrinkles out!” I ask you, comrades: have you ever taken fabric from your stash and not ironed out the creases before cutting? I say unto thee you have not. So what’s the praaaablem? Besides, when you press pre-washed fabric, there’s such a wonderful fragrance.

8. To that point: I have chosen not to use fabric softener. It just seemed unwise, putting some substance on the fabric which I am washing in order to get rid of substances. Besides, piece after piece of fabric-softened fabric through my machine could muck it up inside? Maybe? Eh, why risk it.

9. It is never done. It will be. But it is not done, yet. One load at a time.

10. It is as rewarding, cleansing, meditative, and (yes) fun as I wanted it to be. I have no regrets.

27 Nov 2015

Life Made a Pre-Washer Out of Me, Part II.

by Mary | posted in: Quilting | 1

I made a little pal. He's got a soft, fuzzy cape! He is nestled in pre-washed love. (All fabric: Small Wonders.) — I made a little pal. He’s got a soft, fuzzy cape! He is nestled in combed, pre-washed love! It is a happy day. (All fabric: Small Wonders.)

If you’re new around here, you might want to start reading PaperGirl last February and get caught up. What is there to do the day after Thanksgiving but tidy up, eat cherry pie out of the tin, and sit down with your laptop? Don’t say, “Brave the crowds for the coffeemaker Mee-Maw wants because I have a coupon.” The PaperGirl story leading up to now will help you understand what I’m about to tell you. At the very least, if you haven’t read yesterday’s post — Part I of the pre-wash discussion — definitely do that first.

When I knew I had to come home to Chicago, I began to brood more than usual. What was I looking for over the last 1.5 years? Did I find it? and what did it cost? What did I gain? If I come back essentially the same person after the odyssey, were all the moves and the disorientations just sweat-and-blood-producing effort? Or did I make life? And did my tenants destroy my house? At least I know the outcome of that.

But I did know I had to reclaim this city and reclaim my home. Like, deep reclamation was needed to touch the ground, to be here, to be back. I left so much fabric when I left. I couldn’t take my entire stash to New York City. The NYC experiment was to be one year. I rented this place furnished in order to afford to go. After the year, I’d make a decision to come back or stay away and at that time, I would gather my stash and make a permanent move. But I did come back. I touched my fabric again. I saw the colors. I saw the palate I use to make quilts which is what a stash is for a quilter: a palate. I saw the all the fabric I left behind.

And I knew I absolutely had to wash it. All of it. Washing every scrap (every scrap over 5” square or so) would click my brain into place, would work to say, “I left, but I’m back, and I’m changed.” To handle each yard, each fat quarter, to take inventory, to wash my entire experience and have proof that something happened — even though I can’t possibly know what that is, yet — that was I had to do. To go from a non-prewasher to a pre-washer, that was concrete. Did I really go away? Yes, I can say. Because look at what I am now: I’m a pre-washer. And I wasn’t before. How come?

When people ask me, “Why do you pre-wash?” I can’t tell them, “Well, I met a wonderful person and upended my life. I moved to New York City but it all failed. I left for Washington, D.C. and lived there and loved it, but I had to come home to Chicago and my heart sang when I did, but I needed proof I left and returned because it hardly seemed real. I washed my stash so that the experience was real, to prove I had changed, indelibly, and for good.”

I can’t tell them all that. I’ll just tell them I like how it feels.

Tomorrow, the third and final installment of this story, I’ll tell you about my process. There is a lot to know about pre-washing fabric and I need to take you through all the tips I’ve gathered from quilters across the country. I’ll discuss pre-cuts, the process you need to go through before putting the fabric in the wash, post-production, and more. Thanks for listening.

25 Nov 2015

Life Made a Pre-Washer Out of Me, Part I.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Quilting, Small Wonders | 1

If Small Wonders fabric was pretty and sweet before; washed and dried, it's angelic. — If Small Wonders fabric was pretty and sweet before; washed and dried, it’s angelic.

For PaperGirl readers who are not quilters, you are about to learn that quilters are a divided people. We are locked in a brother-against-brother conflict so deep, so indelible, generations of quilters from now will bear the weight of our differences. And it all comes down to how a quilter answers this question:

“Do you pre-wash your fabric?”

When a quilter gets home from the quilt shop or opens the UPS box, she has a choice to make: will she pop that cotton into the laundry first or will she just take it all to her fabric stash and just pull it out when she’s ready to use it? There are strong cases to be made on either side. What’s most important to know now is this: if you pre-wash some of your fabric, you must pre-wash all of it.

That’s the hard and fast rule. You can’t be a little bit pregnant and you can’t be an on again-off again pre-washer. This is because pre-washing pre-shrinks. If you make a quilt with some pre-shrunk fabric and some that isn’t, you are in danger of ruining your quilt. Stretching, pulling, snapped threads, rippling: fabric stitched together that shrinks at different rates wreaks havoc. If you care about what you made — which of course you do — don’t cross the streams.

Here’s the pre-wash argument: pre-washing gets rid of fixative chemicals from the factory; it obliterates any fear of dye bleed when the finished quilt is washed; you’ll use fewer pins because pre-washed fabric sticks together way better; if you use fabric softener it smells amazing; best of all, it feels incredibly soft and nice and it’s fluffy.

The non-pre-wash argument: you have to be insane to do more laundry what is wrong with you; any fixative used on the fabric is negligible; no one wants to wait to use new fabric; you’ll endure Thread Hell from unraveling edges; fabric from the dryer is super wrinkled and you have to press everything. No way.

It is a rare, rare occurrence indeed when a quilter leaves her team for the other. It’s like a Confederate soldier joining the Union Army. A Packers fan with a Bears jersey in his trunk. My friend Susan switching to Pepsi from Coke. (Never!) Aside from the convictions held by quilters on their respective side of the aisle, it’s a really, really big deal to stop or start pre-washing. Either you start in and pre-wash all of your stash one day, or you have to give away/donate all of your pre-washed fabric and resolve to not wash any fabric you bring into your home from here on out.

But I switched.

Right now, at this very moment, six washing machines in my building’s laundry room are sloshing and swishing yard after yard of fabric. Right now, four dryers in that room are tumbling, fluffing the material that I use to make quilts.

I’m doing it. I’m pre-washing my entire stash. I’m switching teams. I’ll tell you why tomorrow.

23 Nov 2015

Opening The Door, Part II: Me Of Little Faith.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago, Day In The Life | 1

My tenants didn't look like these chuckleheads, but they were apparently as squeaky-clean. Three's Company publicity photo courtesy Wikipedia. — My tenants didn’t look like these chuckleheads, but they were apparently as squeaky-clean. Three’s Company publicity photo courtesy Wikipedia.

I’m ashamed of myself.

There were nights when I actually lost sleep obsessing about people living in my house while I was not in it.. These people were good people. Students. Film professionals. A professor. But still. Dishes break. Folks have (hopefully good) parties. Bad emails come in and you punch a wall. Would my cream-colored carpet be wrecked? Would my couch be all jacked up? Would the baseboards be really, really gross? I didn’t think anyone would damage anything on purpose or be wantonly reckless; I just had a lot of anxiety about it.

Well, guess what I found when I opened the door? Stewardship! Care! Consideration! I’m ashamed of myself that I had so little faith in people. I’m a jerk. Really, I am a jerk.

Every person who had a key to this place treated it with respect. Or, if one of them didn’t, the rest of the gang made it right. There were no bloodstains. There weren’t even wine stains. My planed wood dining table has nary a scratch. Are you kidding me?? I will absolutely scratch this table at some point in the next year — but none of my tenants did.

Okay: the mirrored dresser in my bedroom is cracked across the top. But that’s what a table runner is for! Anyone could’ve cracked that thing, including me. I did have a professional carpet and mattress cleaning company come in before I got home, which I think was smart. And yeah, the baseboards are really gross. And I was faced with confusing feelings in the kitchen: the entire top shelf of my open cupboards went totally untouched. No one used the vases, the china, or the unusual dishes up there (e.g., ramekins, fancy mise en place bowls, etc.). On one hand, it was like I never left. On the other hand, everything has a stubborn film of dusty grease because that shelf is high up over the stove. Ew.

I’m still deep-cleaning the whole place because I like deep-cleaning and mentally, I must do this. But tenants, if you’re reading this, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my wicked, faithless heart for being the civilized, thoughtful people that you always were but who I lamed-out on in my head. You’re welcome back anytime. I’ll open a bottle of wine and you can watch me trip on my shoelace and spill an entire glass on the floor.

22 Nov 2015

Opening The Door, Part I.

by Mary | posted in: Chicago | 0

This, friends, is what you get when you put "flip-flop, footwear" into WikiCommons image search. Thankfully I did not find this person in my home when I opened the door. — This, friends, is what you get when you put “flip-flop, footwear” into WikiCommons image search. Thankfully I did not find this person in my home when I opened the door.

There’s much more I want to say about what I found when I entered my condo on Thursday for the first time in a year-and-a-half. For now, a list of things left behind by the tenants who lived in my condo while I was out of town:

1. One pair dusty flip-flops (women’s)
2. A nice collection of dishwashing detergents
3. Blowdryer (unisex)
4. IKEA comforter, sheets, pillowcases
5. A bunch of medical textbooks, including “The Human Brain Coloring Book” (it sounds a lot cooler than it turned out to be)
6. Guides of things to do in Chicago
7. Dust bunnies the size of flip-flops (men’s)
8. English toffee from Trader Joe’s (probably intentional, tasted fresh)
9. Small screwdriver (in bathroom)

and, among a few other things:

10. Good vibes

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