|Sauvie Island, October 2011|
|Goodwill Superstore #01, SE 6th Avenue, PDX|
However, one of his extended jokes involved Goodwill, and while I cringed at his hard truth that Goodwill shoppers are obviously not good with money, I was annoyed at the long riff about the Goodwill credit card because as any frequent Goodwill-goer knows, the inevitable question from the clerk prior to purchase, "Do you have a Goodwill card?" is a reference to a partially defunct club/savings card, not a credit card. The question, though, rankles each time as a reminder that additional savings will not be mine: after racking up $400 at Goodwill, I won't be granted $10 off my next purchase, nor will I be receiving a birthday discount. (These things one overhears in line.) Goodwill accepts discount cards contracted prior to some to-me-unknown date, at least before two-and-a-half years ago when I started shopping Goodwill regularly, but no longer signs up new club members, unlike, say, Costco or Fred Meyer.
Our group were of the last to trickle from the comedy club, and as I passed Mr. Boeh, who was standing near the exit with his posse, I bit my teacher tongue, though he is here corrected.
P.S. And by the way, Mr. Boeh, last night my electric-blue silk scarf ($5), black-and-white-striped Tommy Bahama boatneck t-shirt ($10), and fitted, black down jacket ($20) were all from Goodwill.
|Chemex & Heath, thrifted|
One could start the day by hitting the button on a space-age Keurig, touted as a good value, compared to Starbucks, at a mere dollar a cup (plus the cost of the machine). A friend of mine has been buying and selling them used since some, like the Keurig marketers, find them "as simple as it gets." That depends on how you define simplicity.
I prefer my handblown, vintage 1970s Chemex found locally on Craigslist a while back for $25 (yes, you can find them cheaper, especially if you happen upon one at a garage sale, but mine's in great condition and I wanted it now). Heating water, measuring pre-ground coffee (I'm not a coffee purist), and unfolding a filter (I found a box of pre-folded, white-circle Chemex filters recently at Goodwill for $1)—to me, there is no ritual in pressing a button.
A year and two days ago, I found a dessicated bird on the balcony rail. Either it had recently and rather artfully fallen from the roof, or we simply hadn't noticed it for a couple of months—probably the latter since I vaguely remember having seen a dark spot on the railing, thinking it were a branch, a clump of dead leaves, something vegetal blown off a tree in a storm.
This is how it ends, more or less.
What if, instead of waiting (for what exactly?), instead of always looking back, I started from the end and worked backwards?