18 August 2020

Wonder Woman and Moonshine

Big Sis (R) and Me (L). circa 1978
These are the faces of backyard sprinkler antics fueled by 
 Chocolate Nestle Quik and salads with roquefort dressing.

This past weekend, I visited my sister. Its only an hour away and its great to be able to see her and her hubs, Chris...and my mom. They invited me down to sell and help in their town's annual city wide garage sale. I had a van full of goodies to sell and planned time with family. Win, win.

It was fairly hot outside. I showed up early in the morning. We lounged in retro, reclining dining chairs lavishly equipped with four roller casters and wood trim. Upholstered in swirly blue, cream, and sand colored durable fabric, these were the epitome of 1980s dining. 

After brainstorming to get more traffic at our sale, Chris went down to the Dollar Store and bought balloons for the end of the drive. It helped a little. We kept to the shade, sipped drinks, and soaked in vitamin D while the masses descended. All five of them. 

Our little sale was what they call a bust.

I take that back. Dev and Chris made out better than I did. I earned enough money for a value menu nuggets at Wendy's. It was too hot outside, I think. and we were tucked back in a flag lot in a subdivision.

This is the part where we called it an afternoon. Rolling up our proverbial tables and jonesin for fish and chips, we had limited dining options, no thanks to the risible Gov Kate Brown. Although, our saving grace: when you want pub food, the best place to go is....well, a pub.

After a good Porter, excellent fish and chips, and prize winning onion rings, we threw a few bucks in the slot machines. Did you know pubs have slot machines in Oregon? I had no clue. Silly victory dances ensued. Wins punctuated with dinging and whistling.

$1.25 win?

Three matching symbols...
*110 decibles*

Needless to say, my weekend of debauchery did not end in eating fried food, in front of Wonder Woman slots, at a pub in the wild countryside of Oregon.

We stopped at the store on the way home so I could pick up supplies for Shark Week. You know...Girl Flu. Lady Business....but Oregon doesn't want you using a plastic bag to carry your supplies out of the store. Living just across the Washington Oregon border on the Washington side, I've grown accustomed to the differences between the states.

(I do have a point to this. Quit whining or go make me a sandwich.)

In Oregon, you can't pump your own gas, you do pay zero sales tax but a hefty state income tax, and you can't buy wine at the gas station. Oregon is also an anti-plastic bag state unless you are wealthy enough to pay five cents for every reusable plastic bag you bring home. It is widely acceptable to skirt environment laws if you have enough money to pay for every bagging convenience. Conversely, five cents a bag is an affordable way to line your diaper pails and bathroom garbage cans. You can't buy them cheaper. But I digress...

A red-faced teen boy was my cashier. He looked mortified. I got outside and pulled off my mask while waving my sole purchase in the air like I just don't care

I'm over thirty, the approximate age where you stop getting embarrassed over inconsequentials. You know why? Because I really just don't care and it'll probably make my sister laugh by holding pads up to my face like some Orbit Gum commercial. 

Kind of like this, but I never wear 
a pith helmet or white jumpsuits.

Dev was in the car with the AC going. I'm waving pads around like, "HEYYYY, BAGLESS OREGON, CANT YOU SEE? I GOT A PACK OF ALWAYS THIN PADS WITH WINGS, BITCHES!"  

If you didn't realize, I'm ridiculous sometimes. Dev just grins and rolls with it. She is also over 30 years old.

We got home and hung outside until we abandoned the sale in the driveway before dinner. Dev got an invite to a block birthday party from the neighbors. Apparently, the neighbors were all related in that corner of the subdivision. Lots of siblings, aunts, and cousins; all with big families. It was a crazy shin dig. 

 BBQ smelled amazing, lots of food, drinks, and two large dogs chasing so, so many kids. Kids everywhere, cycling, running around, playing Barbies, trying to sneak cake, drinking too much soda. Everyone was so welcoming and genuine. 

 Most of the guys were crammed into the house with the fight on the big screen. Occasionally, the grunt volume would increase depending on who was winning. Moonshine was passed around in a canning jar. One of the brothers, offered my sis the first sip of a newly made jar and I tried it next. I wouldn't have tried it otherwise, not during COVID from a community glass. From the strength of that sip, I would assume homemade hooch kills COVID as well as your liver. And also strips varnish or make you see God if you drink too much. Then our host issued the warning to those imbibing: avoid open flame and driving. Safety first kids.

We sang to the sweet, 15 year old, birthday girl and the adults lit off fireworks and mortars. That was about the time the police drove up the cul de sac warning the owner about a noise complaint. The policeman was a nice guy doing his job, no mention of fireworks, social distancing, drinking outside the house on the lawn, or even face masks, just letting everyone know it wasn't 10pm...yet.

At 10pm, we disbanded and walked back home. I ended up falling asleep at 11 or midnight on the couch while my sister made bigger signs for the next day. Garage sale flop didn't matter much, it was a great weekend with my sis and the family.

Bee thought moonshine was delicious.
Listening to September by Earth, Wind, and Fire (you know why, Dev!)

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"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."

~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe