Monthly Archives: January 2015

Family Photo Fun Time!

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So there was recently a death in my family, and I don’t really want to talk about it here.  It was tragic and senseless and sad and we are all sad.

In our sadness my brother and I went to see my mother, because that is what you do when you are sad, you go visit one another to just make sure the remains of your family is still actually intact.

We lunched and talked a bit and then Mother broke out the big ol’ boxes of family photos.  We sought out pictures of our lost one and in the process we unearthed so many gems that I finally gathered up a little trove of them to bring home and scan.  You will not be disappointed, internets.

Exhibit A:  a young Me riding a preschool precursor to the mighty motorcycle.  This photo was taken in Rota, Spain, where my father was stationed at the time in the Navy.  I am sporting a shy little smile and an enormous cast, which I wore for seven of what I am certain are the longest months in any mother’s history.  I had had a tumor which necessitated a bone graft and this cast is essentially what kept the lower part of my wee tiny baby leg attached to the rest of me.

Deb 19 months April 1969Exhibit B: Dad gets a motorcycle.  Rota, Spain, February of 1970.  My mother sent this photo to my grandmother and notes on the back: “Rob & his most prized possession.  That’s $900 worth of motorcycle.  He’d sell me before he’d sell it.”  Note that he bears a passing resemblance to a young James Garner.  He now bears a passing resemblance to an older James Garner, if James Garner were of hardier German peasant stock than I suspect he actually was.

Dad Bonneville 1969Exhibit C: The children pose with Dad’s friend’s Bonneville.  We were probably not permitted this close to Dad’s.  Note the funky aftermarket pipes.  Also, Mother informs me that she made this dress for me, and that my brother Craig had a matching shirt that she also made.

Deb Craig BonnevilleExhibits D and E: Spanish Motocross.  Somewhere near Rota, Spain, December of 1969.  Does Mother not look extra glamorous in these?  I can’t get over it.  She is in the orange jacket.  May I bring your attention to Craig and I guzzling beverages from cans in the first, while he is also wearing someone’s golden astronauty-looking helmet?  And LOOK at the split-window VW bus in the second!  This is too much.  It’s too much, I say.  motocross 1969 motocross 1969aExhibit F: Mother and I pose with Bonneville and pregnant dog.  It is noted on the back that this was before the dog, Busta, had her pups.  What happened to Busta or the pups is lost to history, at least until I inquire of Mother.

motocross 1969bExhibit G is my grandmother, Vivian Irene Kuno, and I think those are cousins.  My Mother can certainly fill me in, I’ll have to ask her.  This photo is not dated but my grandmother was born in 1923 and looks around 7ish?  So in the neighborhood of 1930ish.  The names, from left:  Vivian, Francis, Bernice, Marjorie, Eunice, Jeannette.  How Grapes of Wrath is this picture?

Vivan Kuno and cousinsAnd lastly (for tonight, as this is all I have managed to scan in as yet, but more will follow), Exhibit H: Grandma Vivian, stylish and young, 1948.  She looks as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and it probably wouldn’t, and I say that with tremendous love and respect.

Vivian Kuno

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Fernichers

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So recently The Lovely Rhonda and I decided to replace our bed, which was becoming a canoe.  We both spent our nights clinging to the edges and trying not to roll into one another, except when I would somehow (allegedly) end up in the center of the bed and (allegedly) wallow there in all my glory, thereby (allegedly) restricting her to a thin strip of the mattress.  This is entirely hearsay and she can’t prove anything, but to humor her we spent an insane amount of money on what had better turn out to be the nicest bed anyone’s ever slept on, including Elvis Presley and the Queen of Anyplace.

Off we went to a mattress retailer and procured a mattress that cost more than my first car.  It cost, in fact, more than 3 times what I paid for my first car.  Of course, that was in like 1994 and it was a ’66 Chevy BelAir beater, but still.

Then we thought to ourselves, well, I guess it’s time for real furniture.  We already had a sort of a real bed in that it was a wooden headboard and footboard and all that, but it was from Ikea.  Which is like real furniture except flimsier.  Now we were upgrading to a bigger bed, so…  we found ourselves in a big-box furniture store which for the sake of argument we’ll call Por, for that is similar to its actual name and nicely describes the feeling we left with, searching for a sturdy, heirloom-quality bed set.

We wandered around, marveling at the many truly hideous collections and occasionally appreciating a few items.  After narrowing it down to two styles, we hunted down a Ferenghi and commenced with the haggling.

I kid.  I’m not a haggler.  I find it stressful.  I’m not scrappy in that way.  Just tell me the price and let me get this over with.

The nice salesman, whom we shall call Tad the Wonder Boy, oiled his way over to us and opened the faucet of smarm.  I believe he may have even referred to us as “ladies,” which just goes to show.  I’m not sure what it shows, but it does.

It turned out that the one collection was completely out of stock, so we decided to go with the other.  “Oh, well, that one’s mostly in stock,” said Tad the Wonder Boy encouragingly.  We hashed out the details and arranged to pick up the in-stock items at the warehouse.  I signed away some of my future earnings and away we went.  (It’s okay, though; no interest and no tax, if you’re worried about our spending habits.  It’s on time but at least it’s not on time and racking up interest!)

We arranged with a friend and her pickup truck to fetch the in-stock items, which was promised to be all but one item.  This occurred in the rain and dark, the friend got lost, and I was fighting the flu, so yay.  Goooood times.  We squeaked in at the last moment to get the stuff — but no.  Only the bed frame was in stock.  TAD YOU LYING BASTARD COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, I wanted to say, but I held it in.  Just keep swimming.  We tied the gargantuan boxes to the truck and inched our way home.  Unloading the boxes was sure fun.  Not only were they huge, and now damp, they were also ridiculously heavy.

A couple of days later here comes a message from Tad.  He does not understand why they did not provide me with all of the furniture items promised.  He insinuates that the warehouse folk are perhaps enthusiasts of certain quasi-legal herbal remedies. He offers to have the remaining items delivered, free of charge.

Uh, no.  When I call back to schedule delivery, the very nice lady tells me that if they deliver, they will have to charge state tax.  Instead we are promised a gift card at the conclusion of the deal.  Fine.  I’ll take it.

Oh, and also.  Tad had his head firmly lodged way up his posterior regions when he told me we could pick the items up when we planned to, because the items (aside from the bed frame) wouldn’t actually be delivered to the warehouse until days later.

Then the other night I finally got off my lazy, trying-not-to-get-the-flu butt and measured the room.

Um, you guys?  We have a problem.  The furniture is too large to fit.

Today I returned to Por and informed them of the problem.  They congratulated me for at least measuring before I got the furniture home.  We swapped out the dresser/mirror for a taller, skinnier chest of drawers.  Which sadly won’t be here for a month.  I then drove to the warehouse and took delivery of the existing, miraculously in-stock nightstand and chest of drawers, which equally miraculously fit nicely into the back of the Minivan of Justice.

While I waited for the alleged herbal remedy enthusiasts to gather my items from the capacious warehouse, I observed a well-dressed couple returning a mirror.  It possessed a flaw, they said.  This led to the following text message exchange:

Me: Watching a bitchy yuppie couple inspect a mirror for distortion.

TLR: Oh boy.

Me: “This mirror has the same flaw!” *stamps tiny high heel impatiently*

TLR: Wow.  I can’t even imagine.

Me: I believe they are fetching yet a third for inspection.

Me: Meanwhile mr and mrs bitchy resting face fume silently

Me: Now he has his arm around her protectively.

TLR: Must protect her from flawed mirrors!

Me: She will blame him for her ugliness and he will say it’s not the mirror! And she will shoot him with his own gun.

TLR: HAHAHAHAHA