Seating arrangements. An update.

As you may have read in a previous entry, I stumbled across a very cool mid-century chair at a thrift store in Greeley (http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2012/02/thrifting-gone-wild-spare-no-expense.html#comment-form). I reluctantly purchased the chair for 8.99, thinking at the time that the last thing I needed was another piece of furniture.

And like the folks on that Jersey Shore show, it's obvious that the chair had a few issues.

I found a chair rehab place close to home, Ackerman Brothers, and they got moving on turning back the clock on this cool chair.

They let me know the other day that the chair was ready. So like a new pet owner who goes to the pound to pick up their dog who had recently been "fixed", I went on Thursday to pick up my new old chair.

While I was waiting, I took a peek at my original receipt, and noticed I'd been dealing with Mike A. I have a friend whose name is Mike whose last name starts with an A, so I made a little small talk and asked a guy who worked there what Mike A.'s last name was, thinking maybe he and my friend share their last name, which is also my last name, which would just be a weird and cool coincidence. He told me Mike A.'s last name was Ackerman.

So all along this very complicit chair restoration process, I'd been dealing with one of the founding fathers. Or most likely brothers.

That's pretty cool.

Mike has been as invested in my chair, its origins and its story, just as much as I have.

He came out with the chair, and I was somewhat disappointed that it hadn't been woven with the black seat belt material I'd chosen.

But he had some of the material, and showed me how they intended to attach the weave. Their idea covered up the cool center openings on all four sides, which didn't seem like what the original designers of this chair had in mind. And frankly, once I saw the seat belt material on the newly refinished chair, it just looked wrong.

So Mike and I both decided to do a little research before going any further with the project. Once I got home, I found a chair online that mirrored my chair's design. I got an email from Mike just as I was sending an email to him with what I'd found, and we both had located fairly quickly what the chair originally looked like. And it's supposed to look like the chair on the right.

The chair was the brainchild of Danish designer Hans Wegner, and although it's considered the most famous piece of Danish furniture ever, signified to be the beginning of Denmark's international design breakthrough, Wegner prosaically called it "the round one."

In design circles, this has come to be known as The Chair.

So our conundrum about what those openings on all four sides were intended for was figured out. As we both suspected, they were there for a reason. I'm so glad we kept digging for information, because the folks at Ackerman Bros. were going to weave the seat belt material over those strips. It would have looked terrible.

But now a new dilemma had surfaced. Hand-weaving the "radio weave" design would cost a bit more money than the chunk I'd already set aside for the chair.

I thought about it for a while, and figured I'd be doing Mr. Wegner a disservice by messing around with the integrity of his original design.

So I'll have to make a few seating arrangements. But this whole experience speaks to why I enjoy thrifting as a verb.

The tripping across something tossed away that has so much history, the research, the discovery, the process, is worth every penny.

I had no idea that what I'd labored over justifying buying for 8.99 would turn out to be quite this interesting.

Here's to good friends. Celebrating the value of time, loss and gain

Here's the short version of my friendship with and recent milestone update from Miriam. The long version, filled with colorful stories and decades of detail, will be retained in my noggin to tell to anyone who will listen when I'm a whole lot older and have more time. It's no easy feat to give appropriate backstory to a 30-year friendship over the course of one blog entry, but here goes:

My friend Miriam and I met in college, when we both worked for the student newspaper. We stayed connected after she decided to hit the road well before she graduated to opt for life in New York City. I lived Big City life vicariously on several visits to New York, and Miriam and I ceremoniously talked every Sunday.

Back in the late '80s, I decided to move from Denver to San Francisco. After hearing about my plan, she decided to switch coasts. So we moved there together.

Armed only with a car filled with stuff and my dog in the back seat, we moved to San Francisco without jobs or a place to live. After a rocky month or so, we'd found a house in the Sunset; I got a job as a copywriter, Miriam found work as a bartender. We settled in. 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

We each handled the earthquake of '89 in different ways when it came to fight or flight. She stayed in San Francisco - I left.

She met a man shortly after I left, and they had a lovely daughter. They eventually moved to Portland. They bought a house. They started a life together, in a new town. 

He strayed. She got mad. They parted. 

Some folks would have hit bottom. The bottle. The rebound. Miriam hit the gym. After seeing some results and finding her feet after the dust settled, she went back to college. 

Her previous size 14/16 body became a 10, then an 8, then a 6. It didn't just happen with exercise. She became fervent about healthy eating. She started a blog http://gimme-strength.blogspot.com/ about finding fitness after 40.

And last year, at the age of 48, she earned a Bachelor of Science degree in health studies with an emphasis in physical activity from Portland State University.

That's not where the story ends.

Last year, on her birthday, she marked her 48 years by walking 48,000 steps through Portland, meeting friends at bakeries along the way, celebrating every step.

Her birthday is today. This year, she ran 49,000 steps - 22 miles - as her birthday gift to herself. It took her eight hours. Five hours were actually spent running. Three hours were spent with friends, ironically eating pound cake at bakeries along a course she'd charted with careful attention to tasty detail.

When I talked with her today, she gave me the lowdown of her journey in a typical Miriam way. Not self-agrandizing, very matter-of-fact, with relevant, insightful detail. We talked in between her time at work and a birthday evening spent with her daughter. 

Where we used to have long chunks of Sundays to talk 30 years ago, now we both have shorter, more scheduled times to catch up on life without wondering what curious ears might be listening. During our chat today, she subtly suggested that I find some way to commemorate my 50th birthday next month. I know I won't be running 22 miles in five hours, but I'm still looking for some achievable marker to celebrate the beauty that is Time.

But today, I celebrate Miriam. I toast her quiet, determined, well-paced inspiration. And I gratefully acknowledge our colorful past, our rich present, our limitless futures.

Spring cleaning and Mad Men.

Spring cleaning brings together two very discordant elements for me. I love spring. I hate cleaning.

But for some reason, spring brings out the clean gene, and it's not just me.

I did a bit of research on the history of why we tend to eagerly shake away the cobwebs of winter with the advent of warmer weather and longer spates of daytime. The centuries-old Iranian cleaning custom falls on the Persian new year, and is aptly called "shaking the house", and the same tradition, known as Clean Week, is shared in Greece. In anticipation of Passover, Jewish tradition shares the same housecleaning ritual.

Here in America, spring cleaning is less codified by a religious or hand-me-down culture. Long and short, it feels good to usher in a new season with a freshly scrubbed house. But dusting off, throwing away, reorganizing, can also bring a few ghosts to the surface.

Because you can't get rid of old stuff without waking the gentle tug of memory.

I've been cleaning out an area of my back yard, which we all still call the "play area". The large wooden structure the kids used to play on, complete with slide and swings, was dismantled years ago. Connor used to spend hours in the play area with his Army guys, setting up intricate battalions and making dramatic, spit-producing sounds of battle. 

Connor's in college now, but I still find an occasional deserter who didn't make his way back to his troop. 

I've found Pokemon figurines deeply embedded in the grass, and the occasional Lego emerges from the garden area every year during planting season. 

Pellets from spirited airsoft gun melees are tiny reminders that the past, despite the passage of time, doesn't seem to be very far away.

Remnants of the past have been uncovered inside the house, too. 

The carpet in my basement was there before we moved in, 20 years ago. And I got to the point that I figured anything I'd find underneath would be better than what we'd lazily become accustomed to.

So the boys and I removed the carpet while Connor was home for spring break. And what we found underneath was a complete retro prize.

There's some work involved to get this floor back to its original 1960s coolness, but the sweat equity will be worth it.

Spring cleaning can mean so much more than throwing out old crap that's become a literal and emotional stumbling block. It's about honoring what you find before letting it go, about finding new appreciation for elements of the past that deserve a bit of attention.

In my idle moments, as a diversion to the rites of spring, I serendipitously tripped across Mad Men. I've been voraciously absorbing each episode, eager to watch the dysfunctional function of Don Draper just as much as his 1960s surroundings. Betty's Franciscan Desert Rose dishes; the confetti Melmac bowl used for distributing Halloween candy, the smoking on planes, the copious drinking that often began before lunch. 

It all seems so authentic, and so far away from where we are now.

Not unlike memories that are stirred up like a thick coat of displaced dust, spring cleaning has its place, its necessity, its tradition, even in America.

Repurposing with good will, Goodwill, and Mondo.

Last night I had the pleasure of attending the second annual Goodwill Good Exchange for Change Fashion Show and Clothing Swap. I went to last year's event as well, which was a complete blast.

And this year's night of repurposed glitz and glamour didn't disappoint.

Here's how the Good Exchange works. Buy a ticket, bring 10 items you no longer want, enjoy food, beverages, music and swag during the cocktail hour, watch a fabulous fashion show featuring creations by up-and-comers who design new looks from Goodwill finds, then go shopping in the boutique that's been created with everybody's stuff. Bring 10 items, take 10 items. Everybody wins.

As for the particulars of last night, my experience was a series of lovely, providential moments.

Because of this crazy-fabulous thrifty-bloggy world I've created, as well as the good will from Goodwill's media relations manager Vanessa, I got a press pass for last night's event.

Serendipitously, I found a spot next to lovely Renee, who was there to cover the event for her magazine.

She knew that there was some Mondo Guerra face time planned, so when the time was right, I tagged along.

I had a few minutes with Mondo, during which I snapped this picture. I asked him about the future of thrifting, based on the overwhelming interest in the evening's event. He mentioned that "repurposing is the future. Taking something and making something new, giving it new life, seeing things creatively, is what going green is all about."

Bravo, Mondo.

I got caught up on Project Runway All Stars today, and I thought it was fitting that Mondo won last week's challenge. The designers had to find a fashion muse in Union Square Park in New York and convince them to give them the clothes off their back. Then the designers used those garments to create new fashion.

During that episode, Mondo explained that thrifting is "how I started designing and learning how to make patterns. I would go to thrift stores and buy a bunch of crap and take it home and rip it apart and see how it was constructed, and I'd turn it into something new for myself."

That is, at its essence, what repurposing (aka thrifting) is all about.

If you widen the net, it's what life is all about. Seeing the possibility in the ordinary.

But I digress.

Long and short, in addition to Mondo, I met a whole bunch of other people last night, all of whom were just as jazzed about the lovely, creative, generous, repurposeful world that thrifting creates.

Everyone has a story.

Camille is a business person, and seemed somewhat offput at first when I asked her what brought her to last night's event. Then her thrifting stories started flowing. She explained how she'd found a Chanel bag at a thrift store for a few bucks. She shared why she'd shed her emotional baggage last night by donating 10 items that were steeped in bad mojo.

There was Sarah, the personal organizer. She helps people get rid of their stuff, and Goodwill is her drop-off destination.

There were men and women, young and old, fashionistas and folks like me in attendance last night.

And I think everyone had a wonderful time.

So much good, so much good will, so much repurposing on so many levels.

According to Vanessa, 700 people attended last year's event, and it was sold out. This year, 900 people were in attendance, and last night's event was also sold out.

I was chatting with some folks who mentioned they thought the event could sell out the Convention Center.

That's how much people love to repurpose.

I completely concur about the Convention Center idea. And it makes my heart happy to know that so many people are repurposeful.

Being thrifty, being repurposeful, is a singular focus until that focus is broadened. And last night definitely broadened the focus.

The case for the verb of thrifting as a lifestyle, not an addiction.

Life presents so many addictive carrots. Caffeine. Meth. Cigarettes. Shopping. Gambling. Alcohol. Sex. Food. Thrifting.

What the what? Thrifting?

I heard a recent discussion in the media that offered up thrifting as a potential addiction.

Unlike the shame and chaos a meth habit can generate, people who are addicted to thrift are usually proud to announce their proclivity openly and proudly.

It's a fairly new, novel addition to the addiction list, primarily because thrifting has only recently become fashionable. The noun of thrift has become a verb. Anyone who's tried to find a parking space at a Goodwill on half-price day can verify that thrifting has become a cultural phenomenon.

And thrifting as a verb has only recently been woven into our cultural lexicon. Wiki says that "It's interesting that thrift, with roots as a noun, formally remains a noun by today's English standards. Though it is not a proper verb, thrifting or to thrift has found place in modern American language out of necessity."

Although I've not been able to find any verifiable evidence on my magical computer box that thrifting has been identified as a potential addiction, shopaholics walk among us.

A-forever-recovery.org explains that "compulsive shoppers use their money, their family's money and credit cards in order to feed their addiction. Shopping addicts are two sorts of people: people who spend way beyond their funds and people who constantly think about making purchases and window shop daily."

Definitely not a Third World problem.

It's true that, when left unchecked, any behavior can get ugly. And in the case of chronic thrifting, it can turn into the verb of hoarding, which isn't good http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2010/11/dazzle-brief-history-of-hoarding.html.

But most people who thrift, including myself, aren't the compulsive, wild-eyed, must-have hoarding type.

Because I and so many others just like me understand that thrifting as a verb creates a panoply of other wonderful action words. Saving money. Living happily with less. Nurturing personal contraint. Appreciating value in something someone else no longer wants. Snagging a great deal.

Long and short, the verb of thrifting is, for most people, a conduit to a less stressful life. It can be the antithesis of addiction.

I love the verb of thrifting, and I know its place in my life. For me, thrifting is a treasure hunt, it's been an education, sometimes it's a distraction, it's an income stream. I'm not an addict to the verb of thrift.

That's probably what an addict would say.

Thrifting gone wild. Spare no expense.

Yesterday was Errand Day, and one of the items on my To Do list was to find a place that could work some magic on the cool chair I found a few weeks ago at a thrift store in Greeley (http://paradigmthrift.blogspot.com/2012/01/post-modernists-dream-for-under-10.html).

I'd done what I could with the chair. I'd removed the upholstery, which revealed a piece of plywood that had been crudely fashioned to act as the chair's seat. The plywood was topped by a thick piece of foam, covered by ugly 1970s upholstery. I found a piece of fabric, got out the staple gun, and tried all the tricks I knew before I realized this project was way past my skill set.

So Kirk and I brought the chair to a furniture refinishing place I found on google. I'd given up on thinking there was anything to be salvaged when it came to the plywood and foam.

Just like the chair, the place that's refinishing it is definitely a find.

The guy (let's call him Dave) who helped us loved my chair. And he was like a furniture detective. We all presented clues on how we thought the seat was originally crafted, and judging from the fact that all four sides feature slits in the wood and multiple holes underneath, we determined that the seat had originally been woven, not upholstered.

So we narrowed it down to a weave. Then it was time to pick a material.

Dave had a kind of a lightening-bolt moment when he told us about this lady who'd seen a handbag made of seat belt material. She liked the idea so much that she had her kitchen chairs reupholstered with the stuff, and they looked fantastic.

I was sold. I like the idea that the material we chose is so incongruous.

So the seat of the chair will be woven with 2" black seat belt webbing. The chair's going to be refinished to its natural teak luster. Dave and his people are going to reinforce the legs and do other acts of magic to make this chair look as good or better than it did when it was made in 1969.

Then it was time to do some math. Dave crunched some numbers. Restoring the chair will cost me $496.

I've done my taxes, and I'm getting a bit of a return. So I'm sinking some of my money into this little project. Sometimes, I justified, it's okay to spare no expense.

I asked Dave if he needed a deposit. He said no, the chair was my deposit. Because he said that, even in its current state, the chair is worth a whole lot more than what I'll be paying to restore it.

As we were leaving, I told Dave that I bought the chair for 8.99 at a thrift store. I think, based on his reaction, his mind was a bit blown.

And four to six weeks from now, I'll pick up my new old chair. I can't wait to sit on the seat belts.

This is probably the least thrifty thing I've done in a long time, spending hundreds of dollars on a thrift store find. But I think it will be worth every penny.

Looking for something familiar.

Some days are all smiles.

Some just aren't.

When things aren't going well with the Right Now, when what should be connected is disconnected, where do you go?

I was just looking for the familiar. I was looking for some connection.

So I checked in on my kids' Facebook pages. Neither one of my kids is here right this minute, but I wanted a moment of connection.

Maybe 483 million people and I aren't quite so alone. That's how many people reference their Facebook page every day, according to the Baltimore Sun.

And Facebook is doing the IPO thing in May. Billions will be raised, purely on our need to look for something familiar, right this minute.

Again, I must interject that I remember vividly what is was like to merely have a phone on a wall connected to a cord when it came to connection.

Now, thanks to someone young enough to be my kid, I can find something familiar in the blink of an eye.

It's oddly comforting.

So when May comes around, maybe I'll dip my feet in the well. Maybe I'll invest in what's brought me closer to the familiar tonight, in its odd, makeshift, disconnected, cassette-tape kind of way.

Because when interesting times require creative, disconnected measures, there's always Facebook, especially when you're looking for the familiar.

And tonight, Mr. Zuckerberg, you're worth every penny.