charlotte harris

Does everyone know about Etsy?  It’s where I buy little goodies for myself, and it’s where I’m doing about a third of my Christmas shopping this year!

There are crafters out there creating products that are more unique and higher quality than most of the manufactured mainstream stuff you’ll find in the malls.

Sure, you’re gonna encounter some of Grandmaw’s crocheted potholders but more often you’ll find some AMAZING and CLEVER artists and products.  These are artists and businesspeople who CARE about their craft and their livelihood. 

Every seller I have worked with so far has been enthusiastic and professional.   The products have been shipped promptly, packaged neatly and securely, and I have paid via PayPal every time.

This is a link to some of my favorite shops.  And this is a link to a list of some of my favorite things. 

I wish I’d discovered Etsy sooner.  I spend many hours there browsing and bookmarking.  I may never go to a mall again except to buy clothing.  I’m serious.

I swiped my debit card and pressed the buttons, lifted the pump and flipped the lever. 

But rather than the hissing sound of fuel pumping, I was provoked by a series of high pitched beeps sounding, I assumed, to advise me of some user error.

“Whatttt!!!“  I turned 180 degrees on my heel and yelled curtly at the gas pump. 

Over a thousand miles into my round trip and with 2.5 hours of driving still ahead of me, I finally lost my s#!t.

Yelling at the gas pump was impulsive but felt rather therapeutic.  It was the only “talking” I had done all day.  But I didn’t expect the pump to… talk back…

“Yes, ma’am, hello.  Your card was accepted.  Please lift the handle and press the start button.“  A gas pump with a friendly Middle Eastern accent was speaking to me.

Speaking to me after I screamed at it.  So I bitched right back again, ”What did you say!“ I felt like I was a crazy person in a bad B movie in which the gas pumps come to life and terrorize exhausted holiday travelers.

“Yes ma’am, your card was accepted.  Please lift the handle and press the start button.“  I realized it was just the attendant speaking patiently to me over the intercom.  So I ate crow, lifted the handle, and pressed the start button. 

While the gas pumped, I climbed back into the drivers’ seat and called a warm body back in Virginia.   “I’ll be home in a couple hours, out of the shower in three.  Then I’ll need a long hug and a big glass of wine.  I think I need to get out of this making-me-crazy car!” 

My “cuz - Pheebs,” as she is known in the comments sections here at charlotteharris, suggested I create an ancillary blog along the lines of “things my mom says” and write about all the wacky… well… “things my mom says.” 

And then we observed her this past weekend… and realized there’s no way to do her justice with only written word.  It would have to be a video blog or at least with sound clips… because she doesn’t just say funny things, she makes faces and puts on voices and wiggles and gestures.  Manfriend told me yesterday that I always make the funniest faces.  I know exactly where I get that from. 

Anyway… it got me thinking that I could easily write about the “things my Grampa says” instead.

Cousin Jess was showing us her sonogram pictures and pointing out the little lima bean.  My Grampa examined the printouts and, knowing perfectly well it was a sonogram, exclaimed “that looks like a tornado!  Is that a cyclone?!” 

“Yes, Grampa,” Jess replied, “I got a Doppler reading of the baby.”  She’s quick and funny too.  Years of Grampa jokin’ her and she can almost out-zing him!

Thanksgiving night, dressed in a Pilgrim costume that my Gramma sewed for him, Grampa was ready to head home when he was accused of loudly passing some gas.  Mom begged him teasingly to “take it back.” 

“I’ll take back the sound but I’m leaving everything else behind,” he laughed and kept on walkin’.   

I know exactly where my Mom gets it from.

There’s a yellow post-it note stuck to the fridge in the break room at work.  In the careful and elegant handwriting of a woman whose penmanship has not atrophied as a result of typing all day, a polite note is written, “To whom it may concern, it is very RUDE to eat someone else’s lunch.”

I don’t know who posted the sign or what lunch got eaten, but the guys in my office keep stopping by and asking me if someone stole my lunch.  Why me?  I am the only woman in my office, or on my floor at least.  Naturally everyone assumes I am the only one who could have penned such a gracious and polished memo and contained it to the tidy space of a sticky 3×3 yellow note.

They’re mistaken.  If my lunch had been stolen, I would have booby trapped that b!tch of a fridge,  launched surveillance in the break room, left a nasty note belittling the scavenger, and best of all reported the incident to security.  After all, theft may be a fire-able offense.  And if someone is petty enough to steal my Gladware full of pork ‘n bean chili and cornbread, then consequently I am petty enough to lose them their job. 

The office lunch theft is a universal problem.   Folks too cheap to spend $2.50 on a tuna sandwich run around raiding fridges and drink our milk, eat the toppings off our pizza (yes, ate just the shrimp off the top and left the crust behind), heat up our frozen dinners and slurp down our yogurt.  What office building these days doesn’t require employees to badge through at least one or two doors to get in?  It’s not like hungry bums are wandering in off the streets and raiding our fridges… it’s our coworkers who are stealing.  Coworkers who take home their own paychecks (read: their own grocery money).  

I don’t want people thinking I’d be so meek and diplomatic about finding my personal property stolen.  My only guess is that our receptionist left that note.  She’s a nice lady and the handwriting seems to match someone her age.  I just wish people didn’t think it was me! 

So I’ve been slacky with the blog this week.   A couple of excuses…

I spent an entire day with my Mom on Saturday and that should have been good for at least one or two posts because she’s freakin’ hilarious, but I was so caught up in having fun that didn’t remember to scribble down any of her wacky quotes.  Like when she was looking for her glasses and accidentally pulled a pencil out of her purse instead.  She held it up like a weapon, narrowed her eyes, snarled her bottom lip and out of nowhere exclaimed, “in case I encounter a mean Sudoku!”  Ya know, I would have loved to have written about all the funny little stuff like that.

I have a new manfriend.  It’s official and we’re exclusive and it’s really nice.  But because I am private about the really personal stuff in life, I am not going to blog specifically about him.  And because I have been spending a lot time with him, and those moments are where a lot of my anecdotes would have come from, I’ve eliminated some good blog material simply because it involves him.  He likes to hear my voice at the end of each day, so if we’re not actually together then I get stuck talking on the phone when I would otherwise have been writing.  See what’s happening?

I am still juggling about 8 workouts per week, a lot of math homework, settling into the condo, dealing with new homeownership crap, and work and life’s little details in general.

However, next week I will be traveling to Vermont to eat turkey with twenty-something of my favorite relatives and there will be no shortage of nuttiness happening.  If I don’t drink too much red wine and forget it all, I should be back online and tapping out the tales of who fought it out for the last turkey ball*, who came to dinner dressed as a pilgrim, and how many snaggletoothed locals dressed in hunting vests we met in the bar that Friday night.

So internets, don’t worry. I am not bored, withdrawn, or even kidnapped by the beer-drinking hobos in the woods.  Just distracted by life and keeping it to myself!

* turkey balls:  rolled-up balls of stuffing thrown into the hot oil after the turkey comes out of the deep-frier… yum.

My carbon monoxide alarm rang out late Sunday morning, only minutes after I emerged from the shower.  Unclothed and still damp, I held my breath and searched for a sweatshirt and some jeans to throw on.  I ran to my patio doors and flung them open.  I stepped outside and, cell phone in hand, dialed my sister. 

My mom answered Sis’ phone and I cried, “I’m scared.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.  Will you guys look it up for me real quick?”  In all seriousness, I envisioned someone running to the computer and Googling my question.

Mom yelled back to Sis, who already knew what to do and who calmly instructed my mom to tell me to get out of the house and call the fire department.  “Wow, that’s really it!” I thought to myself.  “Holy crap, I’m actually having a legitimate emergency.”  I’d never had to dial 911 before. 

I’d been prepared my entire life to make this call.  Don’t talk to strangers and dial zero in case of emergency were two of my earliest safety lessons.  Yet for some reason, I first called my sister instead of the fire department and when I finally did dial 911, subsequently fumbled through my conversation with the dispatcher.  I only gave him half my address.  Rather than answer his questions as he asked them, I told him what I thought he needed to know in the order I thought he needed to know it.  I was flustered.

So after my brief chat with 911, I stood out in front of my building with no bra under my ratty old sweatshirt, a wet mop on top of my head and my purse slung over my shoulder.  I waved the engine down when they pulled into my neighborhood.  Four firefighters emerged, two in full protective gear and the other two in some sweaters embroidered with the word Captain.  “How are you today, ma’am,” asked one.  “Scared,” I replied, as I led them upstairs where they each went off in separate directions with their meters.

My C02 levels registered consistently at a 7-8 parts per million on their meters, and twice alarmed at over 10 parts per million.  So what we had was a legitimate alarm, but not a clear danger.  They could not pinpoint the source of the carbon monoxide, but we surmised that it could have been that I spent the morning baking in the gas oven, cooking on the gas stovetop, and running laundry through the gas dryer.  The gas furnace was cranking, as was my gas water heater.  I was burning a lot of gas in a small space that day, and burned gas creates carbon monoxide.

I slept with the detector next to my bed last night and was relieved that my eyes opened when my alarm clock sounded this morning.  Now that the danger has passed, I feel like it is appropriate to mention that Fairfax County sent the four best lookin’ firefighters in the department to my house.   It was pretty thrilling to ride all crammed together in the elevator but when we got upstairs I was slightly embarrassed to have them traipsing around my house where I had just-washed panties and bras hanging from the doorknobs and towel bars to dry. 

They say you should always wear clean underwear in case you get in a car accident, but I say always hang clean undies around the house just in case you need to call the fire department.

I could hear her jogging behind me, greeting other folks as she passed them along the trail.  In theory, we were all part of a group run, but a bunch of strangers with varying paces just pretty much ended up running as individuals. 

It was dark.  Most folks had climbers’ headlamps and I was armed with a small LED hand light.  I aimed it at the ground a couple pace lengths ahead of me as I plodded along at 5.8 MPH.

The friendly voice grew louder as she got closer, and eventually a tall girl with a blonde ponytail ran up along side me and said “hi, how’s it going?”  We exchanged pleasantries and I told her it my my first time out for one of the Weds night runs.  It was only her second, but I think she must have felt like she should “adopt” me, so I picked up my pace to meet hers halfway and she fell into place at my left.

My new pal and I ran 5+ miles together that night, trading the usual vital stats: names, jobs, hobbies, hometowns.  She’s planning on running the MCM in 2008 and I’m just trying to double my running endurance by next Spring.  Different goals, same approach.  It was nice to have a conversation to take my mind off the dark, the quiet, the hills, the cold and then the fatigue.  As we neared the end of the run, emerged from the trail and back into the streetlamp flooded suburban streets, I caught a real glimpse of my new friend for the first time.

It was like when you meet a guy in a dark bar, talk to him all night, then hope he’s as cute in the light of day.  It was sort of like that… I had been talking to this girl for almost an hour, but never actually saw her face.  When we got up to the street and stopped in front of the running store which marked the end of our route, we finally turned to one another and, under the streetlamp, looked each other in the eye and shook hands with a smile.  She was sweet and cute and totally normal-looking. 

We promised to look for each other next Wednesday night or at one of the upcoming local 5 and 10K races.  I will, but it will be OK if we don’t.  I was thinking about how we make connections with people, even if just for one hour, and solely for the purpose of getting ourselves through a 5 mile run in the dark.  

I added a grand flourish to the end of my workout by bounding up the stairs to the 6th floor of the parking garage.   I have a few true friends, then several more friends that fit a specific niche in my life and I in theirs, and an even greater number of acquaintances.  And then the random people who flit in and out like my Weds night run buddy. 

It is satisfying to embrace and enjoy the various people we know, and for whatever their role is in our lives:

But first be a person who needs people
People, people who need people
Are the luckiest people in the world.

Today is my 34th birthday.  Whenever I start to stress about getting older, I just remind myself how much better life is, the longer it goes on.  Maybe I haven’t quite hit all the “traditional” milestones, but I’ve achieved so many others in the category of living life!

Loads of cool stuff has happened in the short year since I turned 33. 

+ 1 first home purchased
+ 1 more state visited (21 to go!)
+ 1 little blog started, which brings me great joy
+ 2 clubs joined: swim team and running club
+ 3 triathlons raced
+ 3 A’s earned in grad school (and 1 B)
+ 5 open water swims to overcome my fear
- 10 long, expensive years of undergrad student loans paid off
+ 16 men dated (yes I counted through my datebook, wish it were fewer)
- 20 pounds lost
+ 327 workouts (yes, I counted those too)
=====
+ 329 Do the math on all that and I have a lot of bonus points heading into this next year!

I can’t wait to see what age 34 has in store!

“… Last seen giving directions to a tourist couple from Britain, Charlotte Harris is believed to have disappeared mid-day Sunday…”

The possible missing persons police report and news headlines flashed through my head.  How long would it take for people to suspect foul play?  Would that friendly but very lost couple see my photo on the news and recognize me as the woman who told them how to find the Air and Space museum then call the police and offer a tip to my whereabouts? 

I was nearing the end of my short run, and had only to cut across the park, through a break in the fence, and into the rear of my complex.  The couple in the silver sedan idling on the side street caught my attention.  I paused to give them directions and I caught my breath before the quarter mile back home. 

I knew when I rounded the baseball fields, I’d see three dirty, creepy, up-to-no-good grown men hiding under the willow just near the break in the fence.  They had been there when I went out for my run, and with a full case of beer to drink sitting there on the ground, I imagined they’d still be there when I came back through.

And yes, they were still loitering, only drunker and out of beer.  They blocked my narrow path through the break in the fence, so as I got closer, I hesitated and slowed my speed.  I maintained my distance and looked each of them in the eye as if to warn them to move very far out of my way.   One of them removed his cigarette from his lips and gave me a perverted smile. 

I planned my escape.  There were plenty of other ways to run, and I knew some of my neighbors were actually playing with their dogs on the nearby baseball diamond.  But at that moment, the three creeps parted to the side and gave me a wiiiide right of way.  I decided to run for it, as they appeared a little sluggish on their feet.

I think they were back there in the woods just choosing not to contribute to society.  I have a pretty good guess they’re homeless, and an even better guess that they’re illegal.  I can’t be sure whether they have the desire to do harm but I am certain they don’t have the desire to do good in the world.   They are troublemaking lowlifes who can only manage to crap up the place with their creepy stares, beer can litter, pissing on the fence, living in the woods, and terrifying lone female joggers, all on the edge of a cute neighborhood park where little kids go to play. 

I had been so tired during my run.  Still not fully recovered from my bronchitis, I was winded after only 3 miles.  But let me tell you, my adrenaline kicked in and I forgot how breathless I’d been feeling, and I am positive I could have run for my life today if I had to.  Once safely on the path in own my neighborhood, I contemplated calling the police.  But it was probably too late.

I decided to wait until next Sunday to sic the cops on them when their case of beer is on the full side, when I know it’s less likely they’ll leave their secret spot so soon.  I want them gone.  I want to jog in peace and without fear and I don’t want my missing persons report or anyone else’s to be real one day.

There’s a photo of us kids lounging around on the floor in our nightshirts wearing 3D glasses and huge grins.  Circa 1982 or so… the 3D glasses were the paper kind with the red and blue stripes and thin plastic “lenses.”   We probably shared a big bowl of popcorn that night.  My Dad would have been in his recliner and my Mom on the couch. 

The movie had been advertised for weeks ahead of time.  “Hyped,” as my Dad put it.  It was to be a huge network broadcast event, and viewers could pick up the special disposable 3D glasses in advance at 7-11.  Funny, none of us can remember the movie, but we can still remember the buzz.

I was so excited.  The ONLY thing on my mind was… did Mom get the 3D glasses from 7-11?  OMG, did Mom get the 3D glasses from 7-11??

I never watched another 3D movie after that… until this Halloween night!  I got tickets to see The Nightmare Before Christmas in Digital 3D at the theater on Wednesday.  I thought a Tim Burton film popping off the screen at us would be a fun and unique way to celebrate Halloween…  

But then I forgot the 3D glasses.  OMG, I forgot the 3D glasses.  Just before the lights dimmed, I left and found a box full in the hallway and grabbed a couple pairs.  Scurrying, smiling, back up the stairs inside the theater, I raised the glasses in a gesture of victory!

I had baked brownies that afternoon and snuck in the still-warm treats by stuffing them under my jacket, then shared them with my date in the dark.   When Sandy Claws tickled his nose and went flying up out of Halloween-land, I let out a “yay” heard by all in the quiet theater.  That made my date smile and squeeze my hand a little tighter.  

It was a fun night out, and the 3D effect was so cool.   I suppose I won’t wait another 25 years to see another!