Another Chapter Closes

Why surely you didn't think JunkThief could make a swing through the Heartland without a visit to the mothership of all things junk, Lazy Acres, did you? While this will not be my last trip here, it's one that marks the close of one major chapter. My sister and I did a final walk through before the estate sale team descends tomorrow morning. Beginning with the close of the holiday season, we began sifting through those things to keep, those to store and those to sell. It all climaxed in the Great Junk Sort featured on the epic two part JunkThief TV episode #19.

Closing this chapter is a bittersweet. It will be nice not having to worry about ALL that stuff but also a chore to sort through the things I have claimed and will be taking to California. And after always seeing my mother's house as the model of well ordered perfection with everything alphabetized and color coded, the sorting has turned it into our own Grey Gardens minus the racoons but with a few impromptu fashion shows.

Seeing her purple irises in bloom brought back many positive memories of this time of year and convinced me to transplant some more. For whatever reason, past ones that I've lugged across the Mojave have lived but not blossomed.

Finding a bag of the 2003 crop already has me misty eyed about saying farewell to the 25 pecan trees on the property. It's not the same buying a bag at Trader Joe's that I used to be able to have fresh from the trees my grandfather planted in 1957.

While sorting through some of the last few jewels, I came across some stray accouterments from Halloweens past and snapped these shots. Perhaps this should be the new signature photo for JunkThief. Whaddya think?

In Its Right Place

This weekend has not been without mixed emotions, the first Memorial Weekend where both of my parents are gone and a three day estate sale is going on at Lazy Acres, the house that has been in our family for 50 years. Though I did not grow up there or ever call it home, it was built by my grandparents who developed the neighborhood and named the street after me. Over the past nine months, our family sorted through more than a century of heirlooms, keeping many things, pulling items from our own personal stashes and combining them for the huge sale this weekend.

Was it the right thing to do? That question has come up several times, and one of our cousins attended, as a sort of reconnaissance work, and he sent us his glowing approval. There was also the fear that no one would come (during heavy rains) or that nothing would move. Having assigned the sale to a contractor, we did not attend the event itself, but my sister has been giving me twice daily reports. She stood vigil across the street from a movie theatre parking lot. Though the sale began at 9 a.m., there were over 60 cars at 7:45 a.m.

This afternoon, I went to the little close out book shop at the SF Public Library. Along with the book section of the Community Thrift Store on Valencia, it's one of the most under-rated book sources in San Francisco. As I picked up a book titled Bungalow Nation, a young woman volunteer beamed at me and then disappeared as I continued to search for other finds. When I was checking out, she cooed, "Oh, the bungalow book. I was cherishing that for an hour before I started work and wondered whose hands it would end up in."

Seeing her obvious penchant for the volume I asked if I was grabbing something that she had already planned to purchase herself. "No, my husband would kill me if I brought home one more book. I just wanted to know that it was going to be in the hands of someone who would relish it the way I do. Seeing your face made my day."

Junk Teen - Circa 1976

In preparation for his dismantling of Lazy Acres next week, Junk Thief has been going deep into some of the California archives at JunkThief central. Back in the 1970s as a teen, Junk Thief had aspirations of becoming what would eventually be called graphic novelists, inspired mainly by intense reading of the Village Voice in the basement of the north oval OU library. These two examples show where JT's head was in those days.

My Moment in the Maize Maze

This afternoon, my sister and I drove a couple of miles north of Lazy Acres and experienced the Maize Maze, an official Oklahoma Centennial event.
We took the short version of the maize maze, which had five "riddle stations" where you had to test your knowledge of a topic in order to be told whether to go left or right.
You had the option of picking six different topic tracks. We chose U.S. history. Did you know Wyoming was the first state to give women the right to vote? I knew that, but my sister insisted it was New York. Thus, we went right when we should have pursued my suggestion of going left.
The purpose of the maze was to promote agritourism, something that I would argue is a good reason to go to Oklahoma and closely tied to its roots (pardon the pun) and worth taking pride it. It was much more fun than SF's Pride event or Folsom Street fair. And, thankfully, there were no 68 year old guys parading around with their pierced scrotom. If they were there, things were appropriately tucked away in their overalls.
We begged off on the tractor ride, but we both took three shots on the corn cannon.

Sepia Saturday: Christmas in June

(Here is our contribution to this week's Sepia Saturday. Check out the others here.)

I am fortunate to have a wonderful sister, but for much of my childhood I longed to have a brother and can see ways that plays a role in my life to this day. The above photo is from the Christmas of 1965 when I was nine and my cousin Jeb was three. Jeb lived with us at different stages of his first eight or nine years, and it fulfilled part of my longing to have a brother.

Today we see each other at best once a year, and we are about as different in appearance and temperament as could be possible. But, looking back at these photos (and the one of me below in 1958 during my second Christmas), I am amazed as how similar we looked. That may be one of the great gifts of participating in Sepia Saturday -- looking back at one's own past as something of an outsider and being surprised by the insights that come from the view.

That Christmas was the first Christmas spent by our family at the digs called "Lazy Acres" built by my grandparents and later the home of my parents. It was in the family for exactly 50 years. For the Christmas of 2006, our family gathered there one last time, and I did a multi-part slide/video/music show for the experience. Below is the "finale" that featured the various "cast members", many of whom have appeared in here in past Sepia Saturday installments.

On the Edge of Civilization

I never thought that I would describe Gilroy as an urbane, sophisticated place with great restaurants and shops and a mild climate. But after the past two days of weaving through the desert, it sure feels like paradise as I make my final stop before returning to the JunkPlex and unload the treasures from Lazy Acres.

Ah, those final miles of the towns on Route 66/I-40. Don't forget Winona? Oh, I sure wish I could. Having been on the road non-stop since last Thursday and weaving through a total of ten states and more miles than I want to tally, I must say that the folks in those little desert towns were the spookiest. For all the reputation that Arkansas, Missouri, Kansas and Oklahoma have for being backwards, they look like Paris compared to Kingman, Needles and Bakersfield. Never have I heard so much crappy country music (yes, a redundant phrase) as I did in those towns. And bad food and horrible radio stations. Arriving in Barstow at 8 a.m. where it was already nearly 90 degrees I had a caffeine orgasm if there is such a thing when I spotted Starbucks. After two days of McDonald's coffee, my java g-spot had me quivering and would have dropped my scowl if it hadn't been for all that friggin' sun. Supposedly McDonald's has upgraded their coffee, but they still use those hideous foam cups that make you feel like you're being baptised in a vat at a Dow Chemical plant.

And Barstow actually had radio stations that were a variation from the only two options during the past 300 miles -- horrific twangy country or screaming evangelicals. Hearing Duran, Duran ask "Is There Something I Should Know?" made my heart race even before I hit Starbucks. Nothing like '80s pop and caffeine to start a good day.

Regardless, I look forward to heading north and home tomorrow. Let's pray no one breaks into my UHaul tonight. UHaul. I hope I don't call that 800 number for at least another decade.

And what i thrill it is to be in even Gilroy where it's in the 70s compared to Ludlow which I went through at 6:20 a.m. before it reached today's high of 116.

Theme Thursday: Bells

The bell above is in my back garden and was originally a part of the aforementioned Lazy Acres. The bell below is from a long ago trip to Nepal. I plan to join in the ringing around the world at 2 p.m. EST for recent blog acquaintance Barry who will be doing the same to mark the end of his round of chemo therapy. It's an encouraging ritual and reminder of the temporary nature of all aspects of life and reminder that blogland can be a nice place to do more than just be snarky and leave LOL comments.

Adoption Papers

While wrapping up family business at Lazy Acres this weekend, my sister and I were recalling various family stories and legends. She recalled that for a couple of years she insisted that she was adopted, and I wanted to be adopted. Not that I was unhappy with my parents. It wasn't that they were Beaver Cleaver/Ozzie and Harriet enough. Maybe it was that they fit that model TOO much.

I went through various adoption fantasies. Claudine Longet would have been a fun mom, but then I'd have Andy Williams as a dad. Ew. I sort of thought of the Brian Keith/Sebastian Cabot/swanky Upper East Side, all male digs, but I felt there might be something a little off there. Nico would have made a great glamour mom, but I suspect her nurturing and cookie baking skills were weak.

All the women in my family sort of resembled Babe Paley, but then my dad was never as cranky as Bill.

I thought the perfect adoptive parents would be Burt Bacharach and Angie Dickinson. It wasn't as if I didn't already have an attractive Jewish dad, but Burt Bacharach was just a little more swingin' and with it. He also started out as the arranger for Marlene Dietrich whom many people said my mom was a brunette shadow of which was equally ironic.

I always loved the Bacharach TV specials, especially when he sang his songs himself in that whispery, raspy offbeat voice. No wonder Elvis Costello and Oasis eventually idolized him. One of my favorite tunes of his was Hasbrook Heights, probably the best song ever written about a New Jersey suburb. I came across a rare original recording or Burt singing that tune in the 25 cent bin at the Alemany flea market a few years back.

In my dream scenario, papa Burt would noodle away on the piano while mother Angie recounted stories from the days of the Rat Pack and Camelot.

Like all fantasies, this one finally burst. After a few dark phases such as the theme from the Arthur movies, Burt made a comeback in the late 1990s. Angie made such classics as Big Bad Mama (1974) and Big Bad Mama II (1987) -- not to be confused with the equally marvelous Shelley Winters' vehicle Bloody Mama. And she was the best Westchester housewife gone wild in Dressed to Kill (1980).

When I was watching the new version of Casino Royale, besides being impressed that the swimsuit moment was for Bond not the Bond girl, I really missed the soundtrack of the original 1967 version. Though that version had somewhere on the order of 20 directors, it had wall-to-wall Burt and Herb Alpert. Herb Alpert...but that's another childhood fantasy we'll discuss in the future.

Garden Variety

Is it a sign of one's impending dotage or is it the absolute verification of a full blown, now officially in advance stages dotage to keep a garden journal? I've kept a life journal since I was age nine with never more than a three week gap in entries. There are also travel journals, gym journals, house journals, spiritual journals, and journals on...oh, I'll just let you use your imagination. I swear, I am truly carrying the torch of Brigid Berlin.

One of my exes, a Jewish-Italian American from Connecticut who always said I reminded him of the people from the other side of Connecticut, once remarked that the garden journal was actually the quirk that he found most endearing about me. He kept cooking and entertaining journals. The fact that he was one of a still to be disclosed number of ex-beaus of Jewish-Italian heritage from the states of Connecticut and New Jersey that are a concurrent theme in my life should, perhaps, inspire me to keep a journal on that topic. But, believe me, I've written and typed endless pages on those boys in the other journals.

Regardless, I've had a few recent nudges asking me to post shots from the aforementioned journal. While not spectacular, at least they show my nifty birdbath and those rose rocks in the background of the iron lantern that come from the famed Lazy Acres estate. How many of you have rose rocks in your garden?

Grapes of Wrath - 2007 Version

JunkThief has packed up the U-Haul with items from Lazy Acres for the route west. The vehicle is filled at about 8% capacity since his requestion cargo van was not available, and this was the smallest vehicle available in the state. Either hell or an adventure begins tomrrow.

Junk Thief TV - Episode 19 - Part 1

So here is the first installment of the parade of junk and jewels from beneath the walls of Lazy Acres. Mysterious rituals happen in the wee hours of the night when the creatures living there perform their captivating antics that are captured in this rare footage

It Doesn't Mean I'm Gay, You Know

After all the pressure getting ready for the Memorial Day estate sale at Lazy Acres, I really enjoyed doing my mini-stoop sale with J today and managing to come up with enough cash to buy some DVDs at Amoeba and a jumbo burrito. Not bad for three and a half hours work and plenty of great street theater.

That hideous thing at the top that looks like something that was inspired by a 1986 Bill Cosby sweater was sort of the pièce de résistance (as in anyone with an ounce of class would resist it) of the sale. It was actually a birthday gift to J from an ex who insisted that they were being sold for $180 at a shop in Ghiradelli Square and that Bette Midler has one in her home. (Yeah, maybe as a memento from Ruthless People.) Sometimes called the menorah from Hell, it's been a running gag for a couple of years, something to drag out at parties to see people's mouths drop in horror. We just wondered if there'd be someone who'd actually have such bad taste that they'd buy it.

It managed to be a good source of humor with our customers, but finally there was a woman late in the day. We didn't catch her name, but we'll call her "Phoebe" -- 4osh, mildly hippie-chick who said she'd been spending the day buying shoes along 24th Street in Noe Valley. She has a thing for butterflies, and J gave her a small packet he had of them as an enticement. Phoebe was really drawn to the menorah from Hell and then went on a rant about how horrible it is that some people will come to a shop, try to bargain someone for a great piece of art and insult the artist and gallery owner. After agreeing to pay $3, she left paying $2. We tried to get her to buy a pair of beaded curtains. Phoebe said she already has some in her Potrero Hill home that are purple with sparkling turquoise accents. Oh, I can just see her and her Wednesday night nude women's yoga group with the menorah ablaze as they strike their sun pose to the sounds of Zap Mama.

One of the best parts of the deal, was that I got cash for crap left over from a number of exes, some of it going back 15 to 17 years. I unloaded the emotional baggage years ago, and it's liberating that none of their literal cargo is still festering in my closets or offsite storage. If I ever needed a sign that it's time to get back on the boyfriend hunt, this was it. Always smart and sassy, Junk Thief is now available for your dating pleasure. Bring it on!

Precious, J's tripod, was a great traffic builder in his 1950s house dress.

Best come back line I wish I'd said but waited to long: A couple really funny, Jewish-looking boho/bobo dudes in a mid-1980s Volvo station wagon bought a zebra striped vase. I razzed them about being so grand as to call it a vaz. Their parting shot (said with love, of course) "Now just because we're a couple of dudes buying a fancy vaz with pussy willow in it, I don't wantcha to go around saying I'm gay." My comeback, of course, should have been, "Whatever you say, Senator Craig."Woo hoo! I can upgrade from the $2 to $4 bottle of gin and treat a couple of the homeless people to their own bottle tonight. Now, this is what I call a holiday!

Le Jardin de Junque

Just when I think I know what will be a hit with my JunkThieves, I am sent for a loop. I've had more comments and emails about those irises at Lazy Acres than I have had about just about any image to date on JunkThief. (Hmm, I just knew that shot of JunkThief with the fake waxed mustache would result in at least a couple of marriage proposoals.)

Out of concern that folks may think that JunkThief is living in a wasteland out West, we decided to post these photos from Le Jardin de Junque taken this afternoon upon arriving back from the heartland.

Granted, by our standards, this is not blooming beauty. But with May being a mostly non-travel month, it promises to be a chance to upgrade the garden and make a visit to the new location of Flora Grubb.

Miss Millie Plays the Oldies

A few people have asked the question: "What's become of Millie the Glass Eyed Wonder Cat?" Some have speculated that Mr. Sullivan is allergic to felines. Or that Bow won't let another four-legged creature upstage her rightful role as the reigning diva.

Miss Millie is still with us but keeping a low profile.

It's hard to believe that it was almost three years ago that we spent a couple of weeks at Lazy Acres, sorting through the junk and jewels there as it went on the market, now in new hands for more than a year and a half.

At the risk of hitting the rerun season before it's even spring, we thought we'd share this two part episode in which Millie makes a vainglorious appearance with a mirror as well as other residents of the estate that come to life after the sun goes down.

Today

I am thankful that:
* I will be working from home and looking at this view, not having to be out in it.
* I will be flying Tuesday, when there will be another storm but much weaker, and not when by 9 a.m. SFO had already canceled 30 flights.
* I will not be going over one of the bridges where there are 50-90 m.p.h. wind gusts.
* I remembered to charge up all my mobile devices last night before the power started going on and off every 30 minutes.
* I got a five minute break from the gale force winds to take down all the flower pots on a precarious railing in the garden.

I am not thankful that:
* I heard SFO spokesman Mike McCarron say "On days like this, we have a real problem trying to guess (my emphasis) which direction to take off from."
* My middle bay window that always rattles in even mild winds is threatening to fly away. And I still need to call FEMA about the tree damage from the ice storm at Lazy Acres last month.

Okay, I've got four days to try to block that comment out of my mind before popping down in my aisle seat.

Further Jewels from the Vault

Hey, ain't that jewel above just the grooviest thing you ever saw? It's an old purse of my mother's that around age 10 or 11 I turned into my case to hold 45s and stash of kiddie records. My aesthetic sense developed at a very early age, though some might argue it hasn't evolved much. I've got the original "Mommy's Little Helper" (not the Stones version but the one done by Joan Harris and the Toppers Orchestra on the Tops for Tots label) and other great hits.

It was one of the treasures I rescued from the basement of Lazy Acres this summer before the big estate sale. Since my folks held on to it for so many years, I just couldn't let it go. Since I've seen original issues of Abbey Road and other Fab Four discs fetch $100+, I'm curious what that little rarity below might go for on eBay. Naw, I think I'll hold on to it.

Buy me a couple of Jello shots and tell me you think I'm pretty, and I just might pull it out and play it for you. Uh, the 45, of course, what were you thinking I meant...

Which Way Goes the Wind?

I've completed the famed junk sort! Now to do something of the same back at home and begin consolidating heirlooms of the Great Plains with all my Pacific acquisitions of the past decade. Add in a few years in the Atlantic states and travels from Kathmandu and Ouagadougou, and the scale of this task starts getting overwhelming. Thank God for off site storage.

Today I met with our last realtor finalist -- gold shoes, Lincoln, jewelry and all. She is actually very good, and we will likely sign with her. How long this process will take is to be determined, but I hope to close this long chapter by the end of the year if lucky.

I hope to have the first YouTube document of this trip up tomorrow. In the meantime, here is a snapshot of a favorite feature of Lazy Acres. I am really tempted to climb up to take the weather vane with me since it is so emblematic of my grandfather's vision for this place 50 years ago. But, alas, it's one thing I will likely leave behind with the hope that our buyer has a similar vision.

The Great Junk Sort Underway

This vision of loveliness and style on the right is just one of thousands of examples of the items I am sorting at Lazy Acres. Many still and photo snaps will follow, but I must get back to the sorting!

Down the Street from Grey Gardens (almost)

As exposure to all things Grey Gardens is moving from saturation point to overkill, I was intrigued to hear Little Edie make passing mention of one of her brothers who lived in Tulsa and Oklahoma City and began wondering how many degrees of separation there might be from Junk Thief. As it turns out, about four to five blocks. The brother, Phelan Beale, died in 1993, as evidenced in the obituary below. As I prepare to dismantle my own version of Grey Gardens, Lazy Acres, next month, I could not help but be intrigued to know that Little Edie and I might have passed on Rockwell Avenue 14 years ago. (Junk Thief milestone note: This represents post #200 of our site as we near the six month mark.)

From The Daily Oklahoman (Oklahoma City, OK), on 1 July 1993

Deceased Name: Phelan Beale Jr.

BEALE Phelan, Jr., 73, died June 26 in Oklahoma City. He was born on June 16, 1920 in New York City to Phelan Beale, Sr., and Edith Ewing Bouvier Beale. He grew up in East Hampton, Long Island. He attended Westminster School for Boys in Simsbury, Connecticut and studied journalism at Columbia University. He was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1942 and sent to Camp Gruber in Oklahoma. He served in World War II in the Pacific theater of operations and participated in the battles of Saipan and Okinawa, where he was wounded in action. He was decorated with two bronze battle stars and a purple heart. He married Rosella Ramsey in Tulsa, Oklahoma on December 26, 1942. Mr. Beale had 30 years service with the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission in Tulsa and Oklahoma City, and consulted on unemployment compensation law following his retirement. He was also an American Kennel Club licensed dog judge and toured the U.S. judging obedience trials. He was an accomplished speaker and writer. He delivered speeches to numerous organizations on a variety of subjects, and wrote magazine and newspaper articles. He also won hundreds of writing contests. He appeared in television commercials for MCI Communications. He liked to fish in Galveston, Texas. He remained active writing, speaking and judging dogs until his death. He is survived by his widow, Rosella Beale, Oklahoma City; daughter, Michelle Beale, Houston; sister, Edith Beale, Miami Beach; and brother, Bouvier Beale, Glen Cove, Long Island. Funeral services will be 10:30 a.m. Friday, July 2 at Bill Merritt Memorial Chapel, Bethany. Burial will be at Forest Park Cemetery East in Houston. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the 50th Street Church of Christ, 6035 N.W. 50th, Oklahoma City, 73122 or the Gulf Coast Conservation Association, 4801 Woodway, Suite 220 West, Houston, 77056.

Junk Thief Is an Evil Bastard!

Oh, that Mr. Junk Thief is one cruel man. Here it was a perfect, sunny (but not too hot) day in San Francisco, and little Greggy was hoping that after plowing away on overdue work projects most of Saturday, he could go play in the park today. But noooh, Mr. Junk Thief made poor little Greggy toil away like a singular band of elves, cranking out copies of the two set DVD of the first season of Junk Thief TV to give away to his far flung and local friends. Granted it looks and sounds 100 times better on DVD than with the tinny sound and fuzzy images on YouTube, but it's not like his show is that exciting.

With that project finished, you'd think he'd let our poor boy have a break, but then like an insane combination of Tina Brown and Busby Berkeley, he demanded content and two -- count 'em tw0 -- production numbers for the second season of Junk Thief TV. And then poor Greggy had to edit the thing, first on dinosaur Microsoft Movie editor until it just crashed, and he finally got around to learning to use Sony Vegas Movie Studio Platinum 7.0 that he bought months ago but has never taken the time to learn to use. It's infinitely more complex but also much, much more efficient and produces a gorgeous product. Unfortunately that product is as a few hundred MBs and thus won't load directly onto YouTube. Thus the product posted on YouTube is out of sync, the Vincent Minelli worthy colours are washed out and blurred, and the sound is like a 1971 transistor radio.

After all the work little Greggy had done, Junk Thief gave him no thanks and just went into a profanity laced rage and called our boy an incompetent idiot and was ready to hold him down and strangle him until...oh, yeah, wait, Gregg is Junk Thief.

Okay, folks, enough of the ever confusing mix of third, first and now second person. I'll just step out from the curtain and say that if you're one of my far flung blogger friends and would like the DVD set of Junk Thief TV, just email me at junkthief@gmail.com with where you'd like me to send your copy. It's really worth it for music and images on the second season preview.

If the "aesthetic" looks familiar, or obvious, it's no mystery that it heavily borrows from Kiss Me Kate, with the MGM Orchestra's version of "From This Moment On," reaching heights worthy of Charlie Parker or Miles Davis. This song plays heavily in the family memoirs section from which these two photos are borrowed, the first showing my mom, her dad and the infamous sister whom readers seemed intent on trashing in my previous post. She was a complex, conflicted, stylish, controlled, distant, compelling woman whom I simultaneously adored and feared. Our relationship was more about mutual admiration than love, and I have really been struggling to write something of significance about her suicide last December. Her only living heir, her son, has encouraged me to write something but it just won't come.
I truly adore this picture since it speaks volumes about the relationship between these two women and their radically different styles, and I am eternally indebted to both. What's especially telling is that this is not taken at the time of a formal event, but how they dressed for a casual Saturday supper. Though that supper would probably be meat loaf and brussel sprouts. Their high sartorial sense did not translate over to cuisine until the mid-1970s. Not only did this living room in Kansas City (my grandparents home) look like a Douglas Sirk set, the dramas that took place there were the same with everyone speaking in affected, clipped MGM English.
The other shot (just look at those drapes and the continued riot of pink!) features none other than baby Junk Thief and his family. And it was in this living room that Junk Thief was first introduced to "From This Moment On" from the Kiss Me Kate soundtrack. For years he hated that movie and the rest of the tunes that were played repeatedly, the only "pop" music allowed in a household where Chopin, Satie and Debussy were the ruling sounds. The movie itself never held appeal, mainly because it had only been seen on late night TV with drained colors, fuzzy sound and scratches on the print. But "From This Moment On," which is primarily a dance number, always got little Junk Thief leaping around that Douglas Sirk living room, performing balletic leaps as his grandparents looked on in delight, never fearing he'd knock over some priceless vase or tear the rug. (If you've never seen the video "Big Round Up at Lazy Acres," it tells you about how Junk Thief's macho grandfather had no problem with his little grandson being a flaming, dancing nutcase.)

Years later, Junk Thief would have the pleasure of seeing Kiss Me Kate in 3-D on the big screen, and it was as if a hideous building had been sandblasted to reveal a hitherto unknown architectural jewel beneath. Alas, you really can't appreciate the tune on the web.

So, if you're a local, let's plan on a screening soon and I'll give you your DVD. If you're not local, fly out soon or I'll happily mail you your version.