The Garage Sale's Farewell Performance

Tempted by the offer of 50 percent of the profits, Taylor held another garage sale Saturday with the stuff leftover from our last garage sale. Although our merchandise was now a bit picked over, we actually managed to unload an additional $250 worth of these former family treasures.

For example, the bowling ball has a new home. It was sold to a woman who wants to use it for some kind of craft project. Yes, a craft project. (Would I make this kind of stuff up? Actually, I would. But in this instance I didn’t.)

Taylor asked me to keep him company while he minded the store. Customers were a little suspicious of a college kid holding a garage sale with items older than he was. A mom on the premises lent an air of respectability.

At least I did for awhile. Then I sort of blew the whole respectability thing. A woman, looking at an Olympus camera, mentioned it still had film in it. “That’s okay,” I said. “We only do our porno shots with the digital.” Taylor smiled but the woman’s jaws immediately dropped.

“I’m just kidding,” I offered, but she dropped the camera as if it were contaminated and made haste to vacate our driveway, which had obviously become some kind of hotbed of iniquity to her.

Our most interesting customer was a Hispanic woman who apparently only knew two words of English: "Fifty cents." Regardless of what was on the price tag, the woman would demand, "Fifty cents." I think Taylor told her no on an item actually MARKED fifty cents just to get her to leave.

My old shoes, which had been a big seller last time, didn’t garner much interest. Luckily, my old handbags made up for it. And I was surprised to watch as my size 4 pants were all bought by women who were AT LEAST a size 10. This was definitely a case of their waists being bigger than their eyes.

Eventually, it got hot outside and our business dried up. Taylor loaded the remainders into the garage to await a pick up from whatever charity I can convince to the haul the rest away.

And I am declaring an official end to garage sale season.

Great Clothes and Good Parties

At parent orientation last year, an ASU counselor told us that students tended to pick majors based on popular TV shows. Because they've been watching "CSI," students wants to go into forensics. Or they do until they get the bad news that majoring in forensics involves studying lots of science.

Years ago, incoming college students wanted to be lawyers. When the ASU counselor asked them why, she would get vague answers about wearing great clothes and going to good parties. This was the vision of law as advanced by the TV show “LA Law.”

I want to be a lawyer to promote justice. While my reasoning may be higher-minded, it is equally vague. The sad fact is that although I have been accepted to law school, I have absolutely no experience with the legal system. Your average “Judge Judy” fan probably knows a lot more than me.

Luckily, law schools don’t care about this. In some cases, they prefer ignorance as they want you to be a lump of clay for them to mold. They are keen to train you to “think like a lawyer.”

I’m not sure yet what thinking like a lawyer does for you. I know it doesn’t prepare you to pass the bar exam. After three years of law school, you will need additional study, and preferably an expensive private course, in order to become a licensed attorney in whatever state you wish to practice.

But I thought it might be a good idea to learn a little bit about what real lawyers do. I would hate to invest all that time and money for law school only to say, “Never mind. This wasn’t what I want to do, after all.”

So this week, I did a volunteer stint at a free family legal clinic downtown. Actually, volunteering is the wrong word. It implies I added some value. I am so useless, I just observed. I sat in a tiny room with a volunteer attorney who met with various indigent clients. In one morning, I got enough material to fill a couple of blogs. Unfortunately, I had to sign a confidentiality agreement so I don’t get to write about any of it!

With three whole hours of experience under my belt, I thought being a family lawyer looked pretty fun. It was a lot of listening and problem-solving, along with heavy doses of filling out the right form. Sounds sort of like being the mother of a high school student, doesn’t it?

But family law is only one type of specialty. I also need to learn what business and immigration lawyers do. And while we’re at it, I wouldn’t mind observing those attorneys who specialize in wearing great clothes and going to parties. But I’m not sure where I have to volunteer to get that gig.

My Egg-cellent Day

Today I hosted a traditional Easter dinner celebration. Although I had spent hours making and assembling the stupendous Frog Commissary Carrot Cake, it was my Mile High Biscuits (which took all of 15 minutes to prepare) that garnered the biggest praise.

Adding to the egg-citement, Alec and Saori and I had decorated Easter eggs using my Russian Easter egg kit. I had to remember how to do these as the instructions were all in Russian. It wasn't difficult. You take a hard boiled egg and place a printed cellophane wrapper around it. You then hold it over bowling water and the design shrinks onto the egg. This is as close to doing crafts as I get.

While Saori was eyeing the polka dot ones, Alec talked her into choosing the Russian Orthodox art design. So we had decorative medieval Madonna and Child eggs which we displayed along with my Cambodian Buddha. (I seem to offer equal opportunity on religious symbols.)

Easter was Saori's first opportunity to participate in an Easter egg hunt, as this is not a big activity in Japan. This event was short-lived as it took her, Alec and Taylor less than five seconds to find the special eggs filled with candy I had carefully hidden for each of them.

When it comes to eggs for Easter egg hunts, I want to say one word to you. Just one word: plastics. When Alec was 5 years old, he ate a hardboiled Easter egg he found in our yard weeks after Easter. It’s one of those Panic-Stricken (!!!) Mother Moments you remember clearly regardless of how much time passes. So for any Easter egg hunts since, only the garish plastic eggs will do. Madonna and Child could just be the eye candy.

After lunch, we sat around the table, relaxing and playing cards. In effect, we were doing our own impersonation of an egg--an over easy one.

Photo right: Cambodian Buddha holds Russian Orthodox egg.

Not So Easy Rider

In between pricing stuff for the garage sale, Taylor and I also checked out a bunch of classic 1960s films from the library. (It was spring break so all the current classics were already checked out.)

No matter. Neither of us had seen “Midnight Cowboy,” which was WAY better than “Michael Clayton,” even with that annoying “Everybody’s Talkin’ At Me” song played at every opportunity.

Taylor, found “Dr. Strangelove” a bit slow. Meanwhile, at the other end of the sofa, I am laughing out loud at such classic lines as, “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room!” And it didn’t matter one little bit that I’ve seen this film at least ten times.

After Taylor went back to school, I watched “Easy Rider.” It starred Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson, all looking impossibly young. It reminded me there was a time that people actually became violent over hair length. (And we aren’t talking about stabbing your salon stylist with her scissors over an especially bad haircut.) I was especially taken with the scene of Fonda and Harper driving though the desert on motorcycles to the tune of “Born to Be Wild.”

Man, I’d like to do that. Wait a minute! Me, riding a motorcycle through the desert? What’s wrong with this picture? I realized that as much fun as it looked in the movie, in real life that ride meant hot desert winds and the dead bugs accumulating between your teeth. And instead of that hard-driving 60s soundtrack, I’d be hearing LOUD motorcycle noises.

Still, I do enjoy tooling around in my quiet convertible sports car listening to my “Hairspray” soundtrack. I guess my version of “Easy Rider” is just a tad bit easier.

Cheaper by the Yard

Last weekend I made $650 by letting random strangers clean out my garage. Yes, I had a yard sale. I said adios to such family treasurers as Disney VHS tapes, my 30-year-old golf clubs, and a rusty machete.

Most surprising to me was the popularity of my old shoes. I marked them at $5 a pair and sold all but one pair for full price. (I did let my 7-year-old hiking boots go for $4.)

One guy stopped in front of my driveway, which was full of old sporting goods, linens, and furniture to ask, “Is this the yard sale?”

I wanted to say, “No we just like to haul all our old stuff outside for fun.” But I guess that’s not a very welcoming sales technique.

I was most happy to get rid of our old 18th Century-style buffet. Larry and I bought the massive piece used 15 years ago and it is hardly in pristine condition.

When a woman stopped to admire it, I pounced. She spoke practically no English which, of course, was no problem for me. I am USED to bargaining with people who speak practically no English.

But I did try to find out what language she spoke as my translators happen to be on hand: Taylor for Russian, Saori for Japanese and Alec for Spanish. My buyer was from the Ukraine and was thrilled to chat with Taylor in Russian. Warmed by that experience, she offered me only 10 percent less than my asking price for the buffet.

“Yes, yes, yes!” I screamed inside. But I made myself hesitate a few seconds so she wouldn’t feel she could have gotten it for cheaper. “What do you think, Taylor?” I asked. Taylor, right on cue, paused for a moment, and then said, “Hmmm, I think you should let her have it.”

“My son says yes,” I said, “So okay.” She practically jumped for joy. Negotiating is such fun.

But not all our customers were so enjoyable. Taylor got stuck with a woman who spent 15 minutes trying to decide if she wanted to buy our computer speakers. They were all of $3. She finally decided it was too much of a financial risk before taking off in her new SUV.

And I got stuck with a woman who, like the Ancient Mariner, felt compelled to tell me the entire history of Perkinsville, Arizona.

At two o’clock, we took down our signs and pulled our leftovers back into the garage. With as much as we sold, we STILL have enough for another sale. So if you’re interested in that monogrammed bowling ball, mismatched coffee mugs or a ratty bookcase, you’re in luck. We’re going to do it all again next month!

Playing Hooky in Pumpkinville

Thursday, Taylor and I met Alec for lunch at a trendy uptown bistro. We had so much fun, we talked Alec into playing hooky with us for the rest of the day. Of course, rather than heading out to the old swimmin' hole, playing hooky to us consisted of touring downtown and listening to Alec talk about architecture.

We ended up at the State Capitol Building which is located across from the Wesley Bolin Memorial Parking lot. Okay, technically it is an “urban plaza,” but it looks exactly like a parking lot. This being Phoenix, it has actually been named a Phoenix Point of Pride. I can see that. After all, how many cities have a memorial parking lot? Folks in other states like to have parks and hospitals named after them.

Anyway, we parked at the “urban plaza” and walked over to the capitol where we were just in time for the daily tour. The price was right (free) so we decided to tag along. The guide told us that Phoenix was originally named Pumpkinville. It became the state capitol when Tucson and Prescott were both fighting for the honor. Legislators being legislatures picked Phoenix so that nobody was happy.

But the fledging state needed a capitol building. The problem was, nobody wanted to pay for it. The federal government thought that if Arizona couldn’t cough up the funds, maybe they were just too poor to join the Union. The legislature solved the problem by building the cheapest building they knew how. If a state could have had a mobile home as a capitol building, the legislators would have thought that was a fine idea.

As that didn’t occur to them, they hired an architect who brushed off plans for a federal building he’d already designed in Texas. No point in wasting money on a new design. Once building started, the legislatures found other ways to cut costs. For one thing, why buy furnishings? Everybody could just bring their own chairs. And do we REALLY need an elevator? No, let’s just leave a giant shaft in the building where we had planned to put it. The empty shaft remains today.

The first floor of the capitol features a mosaic of the state seal, which got completely screwed up. The seal was supposed to incorporate all five of the State’s five C’s: climate, citrus, copper, cattle and cotton. But two of them got left out. The artist pointed out the state had approved the drawing and if they wanted it fixed, they’d have to pay for it. They didn’t.

The capitol does have an impressive copper dome. The legislators had decided the copper industry could pony up for that. The copper industry just said no. Finally, in 1974, the legislatures picked an easier target: Arizona school children, who collected pennies pay for the cost to finally get it installed.

The statue on top of the dome was easier. They just ordered a standard one out of a catalogue.

The last stop on our tour of Arizona’s Dollar Saver Capitol building were rooms devoted to the Battleship Arizona. Battleship Arizona was sunk at Pearl Harbor when the Japanese got lucky and hit an ammunition magazine below deck, causing a cataclysmic explosion. The ship remains sunk in Hawaii, but they salvaged the silver service which was on display here.

It’s a great honor to have a battleship named after you. (I’d certainly prefer that to a parking lot.) But while the federal government built the ship, they expected the State to provide the silver. As Arizona couldn’t find any at garage sales, they did the next best thing and cut a deal with some silversmiths hungry for more commissions. The silversmiths agreed to give Arizona a discounted price, as long as the silversmiths had complete creative control. The State, who thought getting art out of catalogues was just fine, quickly agreed.

The craftsmen traveled to Arizona, researching what made us special and incorporated unique Arizona patterns into their beautifully detailed designs. The results were something to gush over. Most impressive to me was the silver and copper punchbowl with etched scenes from the Grand Canyon. Pumpkinville really scored. And so had we, learning a little more about the interesting place we live.

Invitation to a Frisk

When Alec was a senior in high school, I took him to Tucson to check out the University of Arizona. As I walked around campus with him, I remember thinking, “I still feel like I should be the student. How did I get to be the parent?”

Yesterday, I got to be the student again–the prospective student, anyway. I attended U of A’s Admitted Law Students’ Day. Six years ago, I was impressed with U of A’s grounds and traditional red brick buildings. Apparently the law school isn’t on THAT part of campus. The biggest landmark around was the multi-story concrete parking structure.

I arrived a bit early and wandered around. They are remodeling the law school so it is currently a fenced-off construction site. The law library and classes have been shifted elsewhere but the complex will reopen, just in time for me, next summer.

At the appointed time, I wandered over to the specified building and picked up my name tag and information package. I ended up chatting with other prospects, answering questions like “What’s your major?” One of my fellow prospects had a 25 year old son, so I wasn’t the only one who could remember life without a microwave oven, cellphones, or the Internet.

Almost everyone I met, including me, is still considering other schools. U of A accepts only the top 15 percent of all applicants and we have choices on where to attend law school. The school was well aware of this. The day was a nice mixture of useful information interspersed with rah-rah comments about U of A.

ASU ‘s Law School had marketed themselves as a private school quality education for a public school cost. U of A talked about how they were the Cactus Ivy League. (Huh?) U of A emphasized the quality of their faculty and the community environment within the law school. They seemed to see their competition as higher ranking schools out of state.

As part of the program, we sat in on an actual class on Civil Procedures. I heard these constant click, click, click noises and realized it was the law students throughout the room taking notes on their laptops. At the end of class, the professor invited us to a “Frisk Down” the following day in the parking lot. The local police would be demonstrating proper procedures for being frisked. This may be a "Procedure." I'm not sure how "Civil" it will be.

While that was the only class we attended, we did hear from many other faculty members. The criminal law professor told us he requires his students to spend one night driving around with the police. Oooh, I don’t even like to watch police reality shows on TV. Whatever kind of lawyer needs this kind of experience, is not the kind I want to be. Maybe I can hang out with some nice victims or some immigrants who need help with their visas instead.

U of A served us a fairly good Mexican lunch. (But it’s Tucson. They better get Mexican food right.) Law school students joined us for lunch for more one-on-one conversations.

After lunch, we heard a few more faculty speeches on things like financial aid and job placement. U of A closed out the day with a panel discussion of current law school students. As about 20 of them filed in, the faculty left the room. Prospective students asked about a wide range of things including if there was any time for a life outside of law school. The answer was “Yes,” but you better be good at time management.

The students also praised the faculty’s accessibility and U of A’s sense of community. The incoming law class will have 150 students, divided into sections of 25. They described sections as being kind of like homeroom. You have most, if not all, of your classes with this group. Third year students said that they still hang out with people in their section from the first year.

When asked about how to prepare for the first year, we were told, “Do fun stuff now because you won’t have time later.”

The most memorable comment for me came from a third year law student. She said, “Has anyone ever lived overseas? Going to law school is exactly like that. It’s a completely new culture.” So maybe I’ll do okay.

Music of the Night

Alec invited me to join him and Saori at the opera Friday night. I readily accepted, knowing that unlike in Abu Dhabi, an evening of professional opera meant a strong performance where you could count on the costumes arriving and the scenery not falling down.

On the other hand, at least people in Abu Dhabi know how to DRESS for the opera, unlike Phoenix, where many seemed to have wandered in off the streets from a PTA meeting in sweaters and khaki pants. (And those are just the women.)

We drove downtown to Symphony Hall, lingering outside to watch people walked by. I realized how much I enjoyed the energy of the city. I don’t get that much in Ahwatukee. Lingering in the Safeway parking lot just isn’t the same.

Years ago, when we were living in Scottsdale, I took Alec and Taylor to Symphony Hall for their first opera. Taylor, who was in fifth grade, remarked, “I didn’t know Phoenix had a city!” He also pronounced his new dress shoes “no good” because it was harder for him to take the steps three at a time inside the concert hall.

Tonight’s opera was Mozart’s Magic Flute. Mozart definitely wrote this one for the cheap seats. The opera was full of silliness and the Arizona company took full advantage of that. But the story and the music seemed disjointed to me, as if Mozart gathered up all his leftover material (it was his last opera) and threw it all in with only the flimsiest of connections.

The highlight, of course, was the Queen of the Night’s aria, an acrobatic event for voice that’s Cirque Du Soleil-level impressive.

Taylor came over to do his laundry today and we watched Made. Made is an MTV show where young people get to be “made” into some fantasy. In this edition, the high school theater gay theater geek wanted to be a pro-wrestler. Taylor asked me what I'd like to be “made” into. At first, I thought I wanted to provide back-up for a soul singer. For example, if Gladys Knight had an opening for a Pip, I’d like to apply.

But now I’d have to consider being a diva, being lowered onto the stage riding a wooden camel and belting out an almost impossible combination of notes. I wonder if MTV is interested?

Happy Trails

Photos: Bajada Trail at South Mountain Park.

It's wildflower season in Arizona, reason enough for a photo safari.

I slathered myself with sunscreen, donned my Maiden Aunt Camp Counselor attire (long shorts, new hiking boots, thick socks, backpack and goofy-looking hat), and met Alec and Saori at South Mountain Park.

I felt a little unprepared as I didn't have my space blanket, emergency whistle or first aid kit. I cavalierly decided just to live dangerously for the duration of our three mile daytime hike. (I'm a wild woman. Don't try to stop me. )

With over 16,000 acres, South Mountain Park is the largest municipal park in the U.S. There are 51 miles of hiking trails. One trailhead is even a five minute drive from my house.

All those law schools in cold and nasty places can just keep their brochures. The desert has great appeal to me. And never is it more appealing than when the wildflowers are in bloom.

Photo right: Saori and Alec.