milk and other weighty matters

Here's the deal.


I'm 34 years old. I think that makes me generation X, or maybe Y, I'm not sure. Anyway, in my life time I have never seen the type of radical social upheaval that is currently blowing over America like a massive tornado. This is not to say that the 80's and 90's didn't have their fair share of turmoil. It's just that I was never of the age to feel in the least bit effected. We have already established that I grew up in town like Mayberry. I was the girl in the bubble.

But now I'm the one paying the bills, well, I guess technically that would be Ben, but you know what I mean. At twelve I couldn't tell you the cost of a gallon of gas to save my life. Today, I watch the price of oil like a heart monitor.

And things aren't so good. My friends are losing their jobs. My town has many empty houses and store fronts. My rock-n-roll life style has been cramped by the rising price of groceries. I mean how's a girl to afford high fashion when a carton of eggs costs $5.50? (I buy cage-free because I'm that type of person.)

My grandfather, who lived through the Depression, used to spank our bottoms if we didn't finish a can of soda, such was his feelings on wastefulness. As a child I was completely dumbfounded by this and attributed it to some kind of odd paranoia brought on by the ravages of World War II. I had no idea that for some years he had walked the streets of Chicago, hungry, with his navel rubbing against his back bone.

Last Wednesday I caught myself coming down on the boy for wasting a piece of cheese. Granted it was one of the fancy little cheeses that come wrapped in their own red wax, but still. A piece of cheese? Is this what it has come to?

Well, yes. It has. Times are hard and chances are, things are going to get worse. I may even be forced to give up my fresh squeezed orange juice if gas continues to go up. Sheesh. But my message isn't about doom and gloom. No, I am coming to you today with a dispatch of hope. Hope and certitude.


Have you noticed that as the economy gets worse people get nicer? I have. Pretenses are coming down. We are all feeling the pinch and it gives us something in common. Something to talk about.



I recently had a conversation in the Costco dairy freezer with a gentleman fifty years my senior. This is not something I am accustom to doing. First off, I hate to be cold and secondly, I am usually all business when I grocery shop. I suffer from a little known condition known as "cart rage" and so I rarely chit chat at the market.

But on this particular day, this man and I were both inclined to lament the rising price of milk. Dale, it turns out, loves 2% milk but it doesn't sit well on his stomach so he is forced to buy skim. His wife is completely lactose intolerant, which it too bad, but it does mean that he only has to buy one gallon of the cheapest type of milk.



I am hopeful. With the inauguration on Tuesday, I am looking forward to a fresh start. I believe in Americans. We have moxie and chutzpah. We have been through tough years before. This time around we have more tools at our disposal. We have more diversity and less intolerance. We have history to teach us. And we have my grandpa to remind us to be grateful for that can of soda, and by damn, don't waste it.


And if things get to heavy in real life, there is always Dog Beach, where everything is right with the world as long as you are off the leash, smelling butts and chasing balls.

Congratulations Bibi, of Bibs and Pieces. You won the hat giveaway!

in search of maggie

Navajo child wearing traditional jewelry.


My husband's family has their roots in the West. His ancestors were Native American with names like "Shot in the Eye". I gather they were a motley crew, but had an aesthetic eye for the fine art of silversmithing. The entire family, including myself, like to buy, wear and ogle Indian jewelry. There are a few squash blossom pieces that have been passed down from previous generations. They haven't made it into my jewelry box yet, and may never come my way, being just a daughter-in-law. Over the last ten years I have been adding to my own collection. A trip to Sedona usually sets me back more than I want to mention here, so I started making my own pieces similar to the things I have seen.

Santo Domingo Pueblo Earrings

Turquoise slab earrings are a very traditional native American style. It happens to be my favorite style, and I own three pairs. Because Santo Domingo Pueblo is located near the ancient Cerrillos turquoise mines, the village people have a distinguished history of making fine jewelry and heishi. The Santo Domingo people are highly skilled in the art of shaping turquoise. I would love to learn how to shape and polish turquoise, but until then, I want to support the native people by buying directly from them.

The best slabs to be had (in my opinion) are made by a woman named Maggie Garcia. I have been trying to track Maggie down for some time. She is a fairly allusive character. I like her slabs because the tend to be thicker than others and thus more stable and less likely to break. In the past, I have bought her turquoise beads through a retailer, but I would really like to deal directly with her.

Here is Chief Medicine-Crow sporting some slab earrings. They look to be either shell or spiny oyster.



I had never given much thought to the injustice that the Native Americans suffered until I married into my husband's family. It is however, a common topic when we are together and I find that now, I am just as passionate about it as the rest of them. I love the passive defiance of the woman in this photo. Notice the American flag used as window covering.



The news from the home front is that this Friday is Father's and Son's Camp Out. That means that yours truly will be 1: going out for sushi 2: watching a Doris Day movie 3: shopping for gems on Ebay into the wee hours 4: sleeping-in 5: going for a long run and 6: shopping. What can I say? The boys need to bond, so I'll graciously let them go.

My Boys