Santa Arrived

When I sorted through some slides my aunt had saved all these years I found some of a Christmas she must have spent with her sister (the mom of, at the time, two of my cousins). One shot was of the Christmas tree after Santa had visited. A bike for the older one, dolls, little dresses and other toys. When we are kids we have such high hopes for Christmas. We anticipate getting the perfect gifts from our list. We used to scour the Sears Christmas book to dream about that really wonderful toy. Even though there were no people in this one, I had it scanned. I imagine the little girls rushing in to find their loot. Now when I was a kid only the bike would have pleased me. Dress? Meh. Baby doll? Meh. But these kids look like they were well-pleased in this photo:

I wonder how (and if) they remember this Christmas/

Wish List

I think most of the people in my generation (Baby Boomers) spent a large part of the autumns of their childhood finding things in a 'Wish Book' for their Christmas list. This magic book usually came from Sears in our household, but I think Montgomery Wards and J.C. Penney and others probably got into the game, too.

I ripped this picture off from eBay where these vintage catalogs go for lots of money these days. No doubt they are valuable references for set designers, toy and kitsch collectors and costume designers.

This one dates from a bit after my childhood, but note the fun construction stuff in this spread. The Erector Set picture at the top of this entry, though, is a snap of one in this very apartment and I received it when I was nine or ten years old, in the late fifties. I keep it as a reminder of the struggle to get toys that I wanted, Not only were they sometimes outside the limits of the family budget but they were also very specifically branded for boys. (See the cover art above.) I think it's nice that the spread from the catalog shows a girl building a skyscraper. This was from the '70's, though, and my time had passed. Of course, when I had some money and was grown, I bought and collected toys like Lego Sets and all manner of fun stuff for a while. Just a pent-up demand to have what was so hard to come by when it was age appropriate, I guess. The great downsizing of 2007-2008 eliminated most of this stuff although a few things like the Erector Set and several hundred bendable poseable figures survived.

This year, I've made a reverse wish list. On this list are things people usually wish for at Christmas. Instead of wishing for them, I have cataloged things I own already obviating the need for more.

• Watches [I think I have seven. Three cost fifty dollars or much less and were purchased while on trips when the watch I was wearing had its battery fail. Two cost several hundred dollars. One, by Gucci, was a gift from my husband. A few years ago, he had it cleaned and reconditioned. Another, a Swiss Army stainless steel number, I bought years ago. A careless jeweler had messed it up trying to change the battery. My husband had it properly repaired recently. The other two areold, gold stem-winders. One is 18 karat gold, bought in 1975 in a Bucherer store in Switzerland. The other is 14 karat and is, I think, a Corum. I bought it at a charity auction. These last two are locked away in a safe. Gold is worth about 30 times what it was in 1975, I believe.] No watches in the stocking!
• Mufflers [I have several. A favorite is made from soft lambswool and I bought it in Germany in 1972. Miraculously, I've never lost it.] So, really, no mufflers needed.
• Sweaters [It seemed that cold weather was never coming here in Austin this year but as I write this it will be in the fifties when we go out tonight. I got the sweaters out from winter storage and they are aired out. I have a blue cashmere I bought in a thrift store for fifteen dollars, a very nice ultra thin black cashmere from Ralph Lauren, ditto a purple one, a cheaper red one and brown one (but still cashmere), an older black silk and cashmere and a hand-knitted ski style sweater made by an aunt who died in the 1990's. There are more, I'm sure.] No sweaters, Santa.
• Socks [Classic gift. I usually wear black ones now or brown or white athletic ones. I rarely get into the depths of the two drawers containing socks. And up at the heights of the closet is a storage box with bright colors and patterns. From another time when I'd make a sock statement.] Yeah, no socks.

So none of the above. Give a gift to charity if you must remember me. 

Yep. And there are many other things that I don't need. That are unlisted. In compiling this, though, I realize that I've identified at least five doven things I own. (Lots of socks.) Out of the, what, 10,000?

Secret Addiction

Lego. If there is one toy (or really an endless toy system) that can stir my childish heart then it is the one with all those almost indestructible plastic interlocking bricks. They didn't figure into my childhood because the company didn't really hit their stride in the construction toy market in the U.S. until the 1970's. I made do with Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs and an Erector Set. Cousins of mine, eight and ten years younger, had an American-made knock-off called American Plastic bricks. They were not as sturdy or interesting.

When I traveled around Europe aimlessly in 1972 I went to lots of toy stores. There were some amazing construction toys but even then in Europe there were no giant Lego displays and the brand was not the dominant player it is today. On my recent trip to New York City I refrained from going inside toy stores although I shot some pictures of the windows of the Lego Store in Rockefeller Center like the one above. I have made FFP go into the Times Square Toys 'R Us before to see the giant buildings and figures made from Lego. But during the Christmas season I wouldn't do that.

I still have the urge to buy a Lego set and put it together occasionally. But I've successfully resisted it for years. Five years ago I wrote about the Lego collection I put together and then let go. I guess there are topics I keep returning to, huh? The silly ones.

The Best Gift

I just noticed that today's Holidailies writing prompt is 'What is the best thing you ever received for the holidays?' I had just edited the picture above with the intent of using it for a piece with the boring title 'Shopping.' This is one of the 'jewel' windows at Berdorf Goodman in New York City. For the holidays they have little doll-like mannequins offsetting the jeweled baubles. Personally I don't have or want much jewelry but isn't this a lovely picture? Yours truly is reflected with her handy digital camera. One of probably six or seven digital cameras I've owned. None were gifts.

But one of my best gifts was a camera. I was in my teens and I was dying for a Polaroid Land Camera 100 with chrome and leather trim. You could get one for probably $120 1960's dollars. A lot of money. (A little inflation calculator I found indicated that it would probably be equivalent to around $900 today.) You could also get one for a bazillion books of S&H green stamps. My mom let me have her stash and I continued getting hers at the grocery store and pasting them in books. My grandmother gave me hers. I had nowhere near enough. I had maybe a dozen books. The camera required 40 or 50. My mom talked me out of the stamps, reasoning that other nice gifts could be obtained. I was crushed that I wouldn't get the camera. It was way out of range for a present back then. But on Christmas morning there it was. I took probably thousands of pictures with it. My folks gifted me portrait and close-up lenses. I was always using babysitting money for film.. My nieces, born in '68 and '70 after I was out of high school, were endlessly photographed with this camera and the originals and copies of these are cherished possessions around the family. (We used to mail the originals to Polaroid. On the adhesive backing they provided was an order form. They'd reprint the photo in different sizes.) Here's my youngest niece, just sitting up in 1970.

Yes the camera was wonderful and quite a coup to get and, unlike so many other things, the pleasure lasted a long time. I took it to college. I had it at the ready for many family gatherings. I'd stand there, posing people and then deftly snapping out the developing print and guarding it until it was dry. There was much chemical waste. And those flashbulbs that popped and crackled and heated up, only avoiding exploding fragments because of a plastic-like film over the glass. I kept the camera long after it was functional for sentimental reasons. When I downsized I gave it away to a Freecycle contact who wrote later that he'd repaired the bellows and made it work again. Of course, film is problematic although there is a group that bought Polaroid's factory machines and was attempting to make it available again.

But if the camera was my favorite gift, I'm pretty sure the Christmas when I was nine years old was my best overall Christmas coup. I wanted an Erector set. And I got the best one imaginable. It had an electric motor and it was the Rocket Launcher set and it had a picture of a 1950's little boy operating the rocket launcher he'd built. I was a wily little girl and when I picked this Erector Set out of the Sears catalog, I also picked a gift that would be considered educational and unisex: a metal world globe with little Disney characters in costume. And, yes, when we returned to school and were asked to say what we gotten for Christmas that we really liked (how politically and socially incorrect that would be these days) I talked about my new globe. I still have the Erector set. The globe went to a charity when I graduated from high school I think. I kind of miss owning it and still look on eBay for one now and then.

These days I don't want for anything. I don't have a Christmas list and, hopefully, I won't get too many presents. When I want something, I usually just buy it. While we were in NYC we looked in many shop windows but only entered a few stores. Our only purchases were two books at our favorite Manhattan indie bookstore. But I still remember the excitement of not having something, of wanting it for a long time and then finally receiving something that really did, in the end, please me to own. That's tough to achieve, I think.

Secret Pleasures

I started dutifully working on an entry for this blog this morning. It was a whine about "I'm not in the mood for it" entitled "Enough with the Holidays." Really. And maybe I'll work on that one and post it eventually. (Holidailies will suck out all the available words like Austin Daily Photo does images.)

But I decided to start over and write a different one. One with the provocative title of "Secret Pleasures." No not that kind of secret thing. Nope. But instead things like this:

• The secret pleasure of just typing away on a nice keyboard. Just leaning back in my Liberty Chair (we got new chairs for our new office in our new condo) and typing on my Blue Tooth iMac keyboard. I usually use the USB one that has a numeric keypad but, just typing like this, I put the little wire-free Bluetooth number in my lap. I type, touch typing as I learned when I was a kid. (Amazingly I found myself in a career where, eventually, there was a keyboard under my hands, more often than not.) I still love to see words appear in the white space, all neat and punctuated. The time to just play around on the computer, reading stuff and following links is fantastic, too, but those of you who know me probably know I'm happiest saying something myself. And just typing.
  
• Playing with kids toys or, at least, admiring them. I collected toys for a while. I even collected a pile of Legos (one of the most wonderful toys around) which I eventually gave away to my great nephews. I actually put together a few Lego toys here and there. And we all know about the infatuation with bendable, posable figures. I'm over it and only kept a few toys for decoration in the condo as a nod to where I've been. I don't know where my admiration for toys came from...maybe those many years of unrequited longing while looking at the annual Sears toy catalog followed by an era when I had more money than sense. Over it now, I still get a secret pleasure from looking at toys. Like the (disarmed) Buzz Lightyear Room Guard presiding over my side of the office. Sometimes I think I'll go get a Lego toy and put it together or find a compatriot willing to play a board game or put toegher a jigsaw. But I usually satisfy myself more than that would with something from the following list:
• Taking digital shop window reflection pictures (or really any pic involving a reflection).
• Blogging.
• Reading other people's blogs even, no especially, those that are full of simple mundane details of their everyday lives.
  
• Reading. Especially the newspapers. Even the obits. And filling in the squares of the crossword in the Times and smiling to myself if I detect a theme. Even if it's a punny theme and even if I profess to hate puns.
  

So...what's the problem anyway? How can I be depressed when I can step into the other room, pick up three papers and settle in to read them with a cup of good coffee. Where's the problem, huh? Tired of the papers? There's a jillion books. And when you tire of reading and want to write (or want to cheat on the puzzle by looking something up on the Internet), step in here and access the always on Internet connection and connect and type away or read other people's endlessly fascinating blogs.

So OK, maybe these pleasures aren't so secret. But I do have them in reserve, ready to trot out when I'd otherwise be whining.

In The Belly of the Beast

How was the trip to the spa? Relaxing, invigorating, refreshing. How was it to come home? Jangling.

Oh, maybe I didn't tell you. Back in June we went to a benefit for Aids Services Austin and the Capital Area AIDS Legal Aid Project. One live auction item was a two night stay at Lake Austin spa and a 'treatment' (massage, etc.) credit for two people. This place is pricey. We opened the bidding and after some confusion found out that there were no other bidders. We promised ourselves that when we achieved escape velocity from the real estate maelstrom that we would actually go out there. And we did it! FFP arranged everything. He called the spa about twenty times so he was famous before we ever got there.

Monday we left early and got there in time to be offered some breakfast and coffee and got to see Billy Yamaguchi present his Feng Shui beauty tips. He was really sweet and he recommended stuff to FFP like new glasses and wearing some different colors and getting a buzz cut. And he said he'd do my hair with these scissors that cut different lengths so your hair spikes. Ladies were lining up to get five hundred dollar sessions with him.

From there it was all about massages, exercise classes, eating many tiny, healthy portions of food, relaxing and reading. They create such an utterly peaceful feeling somehow. It made returning to the real world of traffic, board meetings, medical tests for my dad and the reality of the condo issues a jangling contrast.

Truthfully I can capture a peaceful feeling in my condo or on the hike and bike. Just got to do it.

Photo was taken last month with a reflection of a toy store on South Congress.

I'm No Expert

Some time back in 2001 I shot this picture of collectibles and stuff I had in the spare bedroom. The shiny toy cars, I gave away. The battered Tonka VW still decorates our bedroom and I hope to take it along to the condo and find a book shelf or spot for it. The old Pick Up Sticks were given away, I think, but I'm not sure where. The Band-Aids with the South African flag motifs? I stuck those in the medicine in the spare bathroom along with a little tin of aspirin (remember those 'push both corners to open' tins?). I thought it would amuse those guest who open the medicine cabinet to see what's in there.

The flask with old Russian medals I think I gave to the thrift store or the Settlement Club garage sale. I saved the bendable posable figure because it is an old one. But I'm not entirely sure where it is.

I'm no expert on anything collectible but I know a little about bendable, posable (collectible) figures. The oldest you will find probably say 'Made in West Germany' on one foot or a leg or the back. Made there after the war and before the economy recovered. Then the manufacture of such cheap toys moved to Japan, then Hong Kong then China. Detailed painting (with lead?) disappeared along the way.

I'm no expert on much of anything, collectible or otherwise. I never got too deeply into the ins and outs of the things I was attracted to or collected idly. I would buy a globe or a toy because it was cool-looking or reminded me of something. I did buy books about toy collecting (as you can see here) but truthfully I just glanced through them and said 'cool' and then put them on the shelf. (I've given those away to my sister.)

And your point is, LB? Nothing. I'm no expert and I've no need to keep things unless I just like them. And, you know, have room for them.

Evidence

I am transferring all my archives from my old machine to my new environment. For some reason I feel it is necessary to photograph the messy shelves arond my house. This picture was taken in 2001. A lot of stuff in this photograph is gone. Various books. The toy pinball machine. The shelves themselves are virtually empty and I have on my 'to do' list to take them apart so that they will be out of the way when we refinish the floors. We are putting that off until we are closer to being out of the house so we don't have a chance to mess them up again.

Today I got depressed going through ancient financial stuff. Even investments that worked out well weighed on me somehow in the sorting. Never mind the fiascos. I actually found the unused payment coupons from the year we moved from a house down the street to this house. They were IBM punch cards and the payments were less than ninety dollars a month. FFP thought that was very amusing. Life was simpler once, that's for sure.

I Want That!

When I was a kid, I had a great desire for a great many things. This toy was one of the things I most coveted and I did indeed receive it. It was Christmas. Maybe the Christmas of '57, maybe '58. I still have it. I talked about it here and here mostly about a monologue I did where I used it as a prop. I still have it and I think I'm going to keep it even with the great downsizing. The motor inside doesn't work and there are some small parts in there that didn't come with the original. But it's mine. It's mine in spite of the fact that the illustration on the toy has a clear message: "This toy is for boys!" I was a bit embarrassed about receiving it, but I loved it. I loved owning it more than the engineering feats I achieved with it which were few. I'm really not that good with tools. But I love tools and mechanical things. And forgive me if it seemed that my nine-year-old self was being told not to want them.

I did not get the American Tool Set. I own the metal box. I think my sister bought it in a junk shop and gave it to me during my dilettante toy collecting stage. I think I'll use it in the condo to keep a few extra hammers and pliers and such handy.

I think I had some Lincoln Logs once but maybe it was my younger (boy) cousins who also had the earliest plastic interlocking bricks I saw, maybe Legos. In any case I didn't own this particular set. I will concede that there is a girl on this one, but don't you think she is looking admiringly at her brother's creation wondering if her doll house dolls will fit inside?

So, in the process of downsizing I made these photos before deciding what to do with the objects. I have given up most of the toys I collected either to thrift stores, kids or back to my sister who still actively collects way too many things. I don't regret it. But I'm not guaranteeing that some time in the future I won't buy something in a garage sale or junk shop that reminds me of those 1950's desires. Heck, I may even go to Toys 'R Us or Toy Joy one day and buy something for me. I'm over it for the moment, though. I'm even postponing my desire for several adult gadgets until we are settled in the condo and out of the house. (There is that digital SLR and a GPS gadget. Adult toys, I think.)

Interlocking

They are sturdy, colorful, cute and fascinating. They pop together, interlocking with a satisfying snap. Since I'm in a twelve (or more) step program for recovering collectors, I will admit that I was tempted to collect LEGO Toys. When I realized I had money to waste, somehow I acquired LEGO sets and bricks. Oh, I had my excuses. I bought sets on sale at Target to 'give as gifts.' And mostly I gave them away. But some, no. I bought bulk bricks online to do a project for a Christmas party at work where we let the kids make ornaments from them. Someone gave me a pile that had belonged to her son. He had 'outgrown' them. I bought some trains and LEGO Christmas sets to decorate a tree at work. A few people started giving me gifts of interesting sets. Some I opened and put together. Others sat in their boxes in a closet, under the stairs in storage.

In 2005, I realized that a number of sets and piles of loose pieces were taking up lots of cubic feet of space and that I had no reason to hold them hostage. I'm not even very good at assembling LEGO stuff. Three-dimensional things are not my forté sadly. Meanwhile, my niece in Colorado was raising a house of boys. So I found as many of the sets and pieces as I could and sorted them into types or piled them up by age group. Before Christmas I shipped a bunch of them to her. Santa brought the boys special bags of LEGO that Christmas. Some sets were put aside for later gifts. I still had some sets that were too advanced for the kids so I stored those awaiting a trip to Colorado where they could wait for the boys to grow up.

I felt good about giving them away. My niece talked about all the joy they brought and she said that one night when she and her husband were searching this trove of LEGO to pick gifts and decide what to save for later that he said: "You aunt is so cool!" You don't get that much from the young people. Even if he was a thirty-something Dad.

In June my Dad and I were able to drive his van up to see the Colorado relatives. I piled in stuff to give them and included the remaining LEGO sets. There was an electric train, mint in box. With the oldest great nephew only seven, it was still too advanced for them. I'd hoped to get the sets to my niece to hide away. But we were weary when we arrived and wanted to unload the van and the boys needed entertaining so we let them help unload. The oldest convinced his mom that he could put together a small set on the spot with her help and then he talked to his dad on the cell and told him that he got it together and "it was for eight year olds!" He eyed the train wistfully. We told him it was for much later or needed assistance from his dad.

The next day we planned a dinner to celebrate a birthday and anniversary. Eight adults, two feisty boys and two infants. So we went to a noisy Buca di Beppo. We met there and my seven-year-old great nephew insisted on sitting by me. He said he had something to tell me. He had convinced his dad to put together the train and they'd spent most of the afternoon on it. He was so excited about it and drew a picture of it on the kid's menu with some stick figures beside it.

"Is that you and your dad?" I asked.

"No. It's me and you!" He said.

Of course, he's a kid and he couldn't stop talking also about running things over with the train, like mini-figs and other toys.

Now I guess I can't show up without a LEGO in hand. I don't get to see these kids this Christmas but there will be a LEGO under the tree for that boy. It would seem that once you have 10,000 bricks you could make anything and wouldn't need more sets. But the sets fascinate the kids because inside are all the parts you need and these great visual plans for making something shown on the box.

I love the idea of LEGO. But the reality of owning bricks is now limited to a couple of Christmas ornaments stuffed away with the other Christmas stuff I haven't gotten out this year. Little elves and Santas made from a few bricks. And I can always go to Colorado and visit the collection and know that when those little boys see me they think of interlocking bricks. There could be worse things.

It Lurks Under the Stairs

One of the spots that I need to get to in the downsizing effort is a little 'under the stairs' storage we have in our storage room. We built FFP an office above the storage room in back of the garage some years ago. The whole room is sort of storage (filing cabinets and shelves and flat files from the business, other stuff we store) but they made a door to access under the stairs for extra storage. Lurking in there are lots of things that need sorting. Among them are boxes of bendable, posable figures. I once collected them. Don't ask. When this picture was taken (2001), I had removed them from my office at work (yeah, I used to work) and stored them in a storage unit we had. The storage unit at the time had nothing else BUT these boxes. We'd rented it for my parents to migrate stuff to Austin they didn't want the movers handling and we had gotten all their stuff in a house. I'd put these boxes in the storage unit. But it seemed silly to keep the unit for some rubber toys with wires inside. So I moved them to that spot under the stairs. Since most of them have languished there except the Christmas-themed ones. I've trotted them out a few times for the holidays. I may have sorted and trimmed the contents, but I know that a few cubic feet of bendable, posable figures (yes, some Gumbys and Pokeys and lots of other themes) are under the stairs. Will I have the courage to attack this? Or, when I'm ready to move will I be tempted to put these in the tiny (43 square feet) storage unit at the condo?

Collections are sinister things, aren't they?

What to Save?

I've made several decisions over the past few weeks about stuff to keep and stuff to let go. I told FFP yesterday that I wanted to keep my Ultimate Talking Buzz Lightyear Room Guard.

"I think he'll look good in the condo," I said.

"OK. Sure." He said. Not sounding really sure.

He gave Buzz to me (one Christmas, I think) and that's part of my sentimentality, probably.

I packed Buzz in his original box. He's ready to move. I'm pretty sure he won't be one of the objects that we use to decorate the house to interest buyers.

I also decided to keep an old cardboard cracker box covered with magazine cutouts and painted with some sort of decoupage varnish. I made it over thirty years ago. It's old enough to evoke a lot of things with me. I think, when I move, I'll keep letters in it or something.

The other day I almost threw away several notebooks in which my parents had meticulously collected columns clipped from The Dallas Morning News. The columns, by the late Frank X. Tolbert, recounted history and lore of Texas as he traveled around the state. Then I thought why not give them to my dad. I figured he'd enjoy reading them again after all this time. Indeed, he's been having a ball reading them and he's loaned out two of the three notebooks to friends who are enjoying them, too. It's amazing, that. In a day and age when dedicated book store owners are burning books, that people would read aging clippings. I think that some of this material was collected in a book that is out of print. Ah, yes, here it is at Powell's City of Books in Portland.

I was fascinated by an article in the June 11/18 issue of The New Yorker about the Harry Ransom Center and all the important archives they preserve. I'm not really much of a preservationist myself. I toy with the idea of saving things for posterity and then somewhat happily toss them. I think I'll leave preservation to others. The space for it and the dedication to saving just aren't in my nature. I'm keeping Buzz, though. For now.

Letting Go

There are times when you have to let go of stuff. You even have to let go of your dreams of stuff.

Right now, in my closet, there is a pile of clothing that has to be thrown away. It's tough, but I've got to do it. Two cashmere sweaters with holes worn in the left elbow. A fine cotton custom-made shirt with the right cuff and collar frayed beyond that 'one more wearing.' It was a not quite but almost black material, a black basket weave pattern and oh so perfect for LB, traveling light, of the last few entries. Once expensive clothing but now worn and must go to the trash, not even the thrift store. I suppose the truly thrifty could add elbow patches to the sweaters, salvage the buttons or remake the shirt or make little cashmere sweaters for Barbie and Ken. I am not that person. I must throw them away. It's a little harder than the average ragged pair of underwear, though. Speaking of which, I have been known to take my ragged underthings out on a trip for 'one more wearing' and then toss them for the homeward trip, using the space in the suitcase for souvenirs.

The picture was stolen from ebay long ago. It's a detail from one of the best stamped tin toys ever, in my opinion, a cool Ferris Wheel. I once thought of being a toy collector. I didn't become one but I did collect a few things and a pile of books. I've let go of the books. Mentally anyway. They are stored at my dad's house to be taken to Colorado and donated to a toy and miniature musuem my sister is associated with.

But back to those cashmere sweaters. One was a present from FFP long ago and was an expensive one. The other I bought a long time ago, too. In a secondhand shop. For fifteen dollars. I'm sure I paid a hundred dollars for the custom shirt. But I've probably worn it a hundred times. I probably spent more than the hundred dollars on laundering it. Now I will often wear a shirt (blouse if you will...in this case the tailoring was shirt-like but the buttons went the opposite way of the menswear I sometimes co-op it being custom made and all) multiple times. Especially on trips. This shirt probably had been to Europe, maybe Africa and maybe Australia. It was well-traveled.

I'll miss these things when I let them go. They are hard to replace exactly. Custom clothing seems too extravagant for someone who is retired and spend a lot of time in sweats. And I loved that one sweater because it was such a bargain.

But you have to do it. You have to let go.