Monday, December 6, 2010

When I'm 90 Years Old...

They say that 30 is the new 20. And that 40 is the new 30. Or do I have all that backwards? Whatever it is, making it to 90 years old is impressive by any standard. Especially if you're 90 and still able to make women feel like a domestic goddess. Obviously, my version of domestic goddess has nothing to do with domestic skills, it is strictly based on aprons. 

This weekend was the first annual Botsford Winter Bazaar. The Bazaar took place in an old warehouse, recently purchased by one of The Canadian's friends. Word on the street is that it will be used as a community art and music refuge. Apparently local artists are renting studio space already. And, I heard that Tuesdays are hula hoop night....we'll have to check that out...I'm not sure what to think.

Carla, Julie and I decided to check out the bazaar on Saturday. Do a little shopping, drink some coffee, buy some chocolate, the usual. Carla and Julie found gifts for their families; gorgeous necklaces that I would show you but I forgot my camera. Surprisingly (not a surprise at all) I found something for myself.

Jared had set up shop to sell his photography, which is incredible, and these fun things! I started to crack some smart joke about his sewing skills when he cut me off to inform me that the aprons are his granny's.

Your Granny's?

Yeah, she's 90 and still makes them.

Is it really only $6?

Yup, she wants to sell them cheap and get rid of them so she can make more.

The fabrics and the colors were amazing. Apparently, Granny gets her fabric free from her church, works her magic, and collects the proceeds. Well done, Granny. But, like I said, she's not after the money, she just wants to sew, man!

I know this lace has some fancy name, but I can't remember. Doesn't matter, it's gorgeous. It makes me want to go visit my Grandmother in Iowa. Poor woman, she's probably buried in the snow right now, just hoping someone will run to the store and get her milk and butter and some nice young man will shovel her driveway. (Not really, she'll drive her Neon to the store if she needs milk after the plow service clears her driveway.)

Clearly, Jared comes from a cool family. Thus, Jared is cool. I've really only hung out with him once. I was surprised he was in town as he is usually off roaming the country in his VW van with his dog, Roger.

The time I met Jared was one of those days you never forget because it was just one of those days. Jackson had called wanting to know if we were interested in taking the dogs for a run at the beach. Sure, we said. He told us Jared and Roger were in town and would be coming along. Sure. 

Off we went. First stop; some weird permanent garage sale we happened to pass. This sounds normal until you consider this; Jackson, The Canadian, Jared, myself, Mook, Hobie and Roger all were riding in a very old Land Rover. I'm talking before radios were invented old. That's, at least, 600 pounds of human and 230 pounds of canine in one truck. Plus the old, antique tools we bought from the everlasting garage sale. As we were leaving the garage sale, Mook escaped. Mook, you remember, is a husky. Huskies don't do well with confinement, Mook especially. He was outta there, off on one of his adventures. We all took off yelling his name. I don't know why we bother, he doesn't listen. Jackson finally found him only when his rope became caught in a tree. That set us back at least an hour.

When all the dogs were finally accounted for, we headed to the beach. Mook wasn't all that interested in the water, plus he was tired from his earlier run. Hobie either. Let's not beat around the bush, Hobie is lazy. Weenies. But Roger, Roger was a sight to behold on that beach. 

Roger is a...wait for it...rottweiler-dachshund mix. Don't ask how that came about. He's about 20 pounds and has the general shape of a dachshund with rottweiler coloring. Unfortunately for Roger, his upper jaw is way to large for his lower jaw, thus he must eat sideways. His lower jaw can't quite reach the food when his upper jaw is already smashed against the bottom of the bowl. The only way to get his kibble is off a plate as his tilts his head and licks it up with no interference from either jaw. Legend has it that his...ummm...male parts were also of rottie decent and not proportional either. Apparently there was some scraping on the ground when he was younger. Don't worry, it's not a problem anymore. Snip, snip. Either way, he is now the coolest cat in town. He jumped right in the water and snagged that tennis ball while the two giant dogs stood there with their tail between their legs. Literally. Roger rides shotgun with Jared as they work their way around North America taking photos and making longboard documentaries (don't know what a longboard is? It's okay, neither did I). They've got quite the life.

Anyway, that's how I know Jared. And now I feel like I know Jared's granny because I am the proud owner of one of her hand-made creations.

I can only hope that when I am 90 I'm half as cool as she is.

No comments:

Post a Comment