dreaming and scheming -- again

So -- I'm back at it. Trying to figure out a way to fill my time and maybe my wallet, while I wait for the anonymous rich uncle to gift me enough money to sell my books which will all become runaway best sellers. I'm not to sure which will (not) happen first.
I think they are tied.

What I've been thinking is that if there was a venue -- a venue that didn't cost too much -- I could pay a monthly rental fee. Should be able to get a discounted rate, too, if I could do it that way.
Or I could partner with someone(s) also at odds with their current lifestyle and in need of flowing cash every now and then. Even so, we could do the monthly rental thing with its potential discount.

I (or we) could also sell used books online. I've looked at a couple of free make-your-own-websites. Weebly is the one that looks most interesting to me. But -- and this is a big but -- how do you make lists of books visually appealing?
One could take pictures, of course, but how long does it take for the eyes to tire of looking at pictures of books? Not long, for me, .and I am a book lover! There needs to be a something extra.

Then there's shipping. While I wouldn't mind counting shipping as a cost-of-doing-business, I'm not sure that's prudent. Either many small orders or one crazy huge heavy order could break the bank.
Business over.

Since I don't have a business, that's not really a concern -- yet.
Since there's no viable venue, there's no overwhelming concern about splitting the rent, either.

Besides the books, I'd like to offer used clothing as well. Not quite thrift shop quality, but too good to throw away. For now, I usually give them away, often to a local charity that jams them in with all their other donations. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I'd so like to see my granddaughter's outgrown clothes go to a good home. Silly of me, perhaps, but that's how I feel about some of the  garments and toys.

There are household items and knickknacks, too, although I have few of those.

I'd really like to sell handcrafted items, but my hands aren't too  crafty, and there's no money to buy things for resale.

Not yet, anyway.

Oh, but I can see it so well, in my mind. A front table and a side  table, boxes and or shelves of books, some type of clothes rack. The tables have white plastic tablecloths taped to them. A pedestal fan flutters the edges. Padded folding chairs for my fat behind to fall off of. Children looking at toys, people talking together.
Yeah, right. A talker-to-strangers I am not.
But I can be. I've never had too much of a problem speaking to customers as a server of sorts. (I may have problems after they have walked theirs stupid selves away, but I can be polite enough while face-to-face.)

Well, those are my maybe-babys for today. They aren't getting me anywhere -- not today. 

But, it's possible, someday in the future, if I keep dreaming and thinking, that these plots and plans will come to fruition.

It's even possible that the fruit will be good.

Yard Sellin'

As you may guess, I'm having a yard sale. It's a time when I have to do something, and this is what I can think of. I never do well holding these sales, but I do well enough.

According to guidelines and how-to articles, I do everything wrong.

I don't buy advertisement in every local publication. Why not? Because the reason I'm holding the sale is because I need money. Not a lot, just enough to get by.

I also don't wash, dry, sand, dust, paint and in general pretty up stuff. The reason for that isn't because I'm lazy. It really isn't. The reason depends on what types of item it is that I'm selling.

I have a box of miscellaneous saucers, bowls, and plates. I just put that type of discard into that box, and when I do a yard sale, I haul the box out to the yard. Besides, even if they were sparkling clean and shiny, anyone buying them is going to wash them anyway before using. (I have to admit, that does sound lazy. So I guess that is a factor.) I don't see the use in unpacking, washing, drying, waiting, repacking (god forbid a speck of water get in the box.) I'm probably not going to sell any mismatched dishes or serving sets of one. Those seldom sell. So I'd end up  hauling them in and out and back again, over  and over, until I can donate them somewhere.

I have some power tools. I could sand off the metal, I can wash off the gas tanks, I can put in a new spark plug. But I can't start the darned things -- part of the reason I'm selling them. I can't tell anyone how they run. Since I can't start them, I don't know if they run, let alone how well.
Also, I've been burned buying prettied-up gear at yard sales. The seller will tell me, "I just replaced the spark plug." He won't say, "but that wasn't causing the problem." But, because it looks good -- and possibly because of the amount of time and work that went into the prettying-up -- he asks for good money for the item.
My stuff may look old and used -- that's because it is. Unapologetically and unabashedly. But no one has to pay me for sanding and scrubbing.

I have some secondhand bicycles. They were secondhand when I got them. I don't know their pedigree or any event history. I do know that no one in my home is riding bicycles. It's been so long since anyone has ridden that the tires have all gone flat. You fix that with air.

My prices are lower for these reasons.I don't ask pretty prices (although I myself would call them nice-looking.) I ask what would I pay for this at a yard sale. Since I'm a frugal buyer, I add a little more. I know normal people will probably pay more than I would.  I'm always open to offers, too, and expect that. Older-looking stuff brings out the haggler in people.

Heck, I'll even barter if you have the right stuff. That's what I'm going to do with any money made -- trade it in for different goods. Your goods even have an added benefit  -- you came to me. No gas/driving expense or time.

So bring me a sack of taters or a box of eggs -- I'll give you a box of saucers and a rusty Weed-Eater if that's what you want.

We'll both be satisfied that we got the "best deal EVER!."

Back to the schoolroom

It's back to school time, and the news is out. All over the broadcasts are good schools, bad schools, charter schools, school levies, buses, teachers, backpack programs, and a lot of discussions. Most of the discussions are about costs.

Anyone who thinks free public schools are free hasn't gone to one for more than two generations. When I was a child, we had school fees every year  to pay for workbooks to go along with the textbooks. These workbooks were not and are not optional. There are more programs today than there used to be to help parents pay for them, but that's not the point.
The point is that free schools aren't free.

There's been discussion, too, about the school year. About the whole school year concept. The September-to-May concept is fairly recent .  School, in my lifetimes, started after Labor Day and ended by Memorial Day. Many things have happened to change that -- standardized Monday holidays, for one thing. Memorial Day isn't the 30th of May anymore.

The school year somehow changed into a certain number of days in school instead of a season of education. I have a lot to say about this ridiculous concept. My daughter had to make up absent days one year by going to school during her Christmas vacation. She didn't have to learn anything -- she wasn't making up tests, or reviewing chapters she missed due to her injury. She just had to have her butt in a seat at the school building, so they could have the requisite numbers of students on the minimum number of days.

Education is not the goal of school. Attendance is.

Some of this -- most of it -- is due to funding formulas. #of students, multiplied by # of days = $$$. Never mind the learning. No child can learn in 52 days, they absolutely need to have 53 days. It's the law.

It's the law.

Schooling should never have been made a matter of law.
Once it was a matter of law, it should have remained a matter of local law.
Not state.
Not Federal.
Not run by dollar dictators who want only a return on their investment.

To get that return, they turned to athletics. The games children play at recess for fun have become big business and are the secondary purpose of having school.
Again, if you think school athletics are about equal opportunity, you haven't been living in the real world. All sorts of personal gear and equipment have to be purchased. One year it was name brand shoes decided by the coach, because they were best and safest. Problem was, the shoes cost more than the monthly electric bill. Without the proper shoes, the students aren't allowed to play.

Doesn't sound very free or equal to me,and kids have always been pretty good at playing games without help. Just because the town council can get a cut of the gate and the state can run the concessions doesn't seem to me a sound educational platform.

It's back to school time.

At least we don't have to worry (too much) about what's required of us or our children. All we have to do is make sure they get there (Attendance) and encourage them to play games (Athletics.)

That's what school is all about.

What I Wanna Do

What I really want to do is what everyone (well, working everyone) really wants -- my own business. I could have a nice little niche business -- but it would work so much better (Translation: make more money, interest more people) if I lived somewhere else.
Not that I couldn't live here and commute, as so many, many people do, it's just that IF I'm going to have my own business, I'd expect to have it on my own terms.

Ideal terms would be to have a big ol' house, and the business could be in the front rooms. I'd have a big picture window for displays and for light inside, and inside there would be dimmer areas, for computer work and desk work and things of that nature.

My business is a "Writers World". For profit and pleasure, I'd sell office supplies -- papers, inks, pens, pencils, posterboards. For pleasure, I'd have Book Nooks and Reading Rooms, with coffee and maybe vending machine type snacks. I'd like to offer sandwiches and stuff, but that would be too much starting out. There are necessarily more complicated health and safety standards when selling made to order foods. So, I'd start out with packaged foods. People could pull up a chair, curl up on a couch with any Recycled book from the shelves, tables, or baskets.

Of course, they'll be able to buy the books if they want to. Or trade them. I expect the books to be the real draw for most of my customers.

I'll also have a 'business center' for people who want to work on computers, or draw at desks. Maybe a few phones -- probably not pay phones as I once envisioned -- for those who need to use a public phone of some sort. There are so few, and still a need for them for a few people. It wouldn't be difficult to include a few within an established business. It would be good for those needing this service to have a place to sit and a desk or table top where they could spread out their paperwork and write down their notes from the calls.

I'd have a children's section, and mats, and maybe a play area -- I'd have to check local laws on that. I won't be a babysitter at my business, but I love having kids around as long as someone else is responsible for them. I'd have books for them, and easels and crayons and miscellaneous creative stuff, because kids should have fun. I'd probably need "Not Responsible" signs, and maybe waivers, and would still need an exorbitant amount of liability insurance anyway. (Or I could 'take my chances'. That's usually not a good business option.)

And I'd have a selling section -- I'd sell handmade stuff and arts&crafts and self-published books and even secondhand stuff. I'd have to be careful there, because I could turn anyplace into a Hoarder's Haven with secondhand stuff. I hate throwing usable things away. I'd sell this stuff for a percentage, so I'd probably have a decent chance of making money -- or traffic -- with that aspect.

Lacking the big front rooms, I could rent a storefront. There are plenty of storefronts empty here in town, but they aren't for rent, and, at this time, I couldn't afford them. Doesn't stop me from looking and wanting and wishing, though. That blue house would be perfect. One window for books, baskets, and chairs, the other window for the best of the crafts and clothing.

That's what I ultimately would like to do.

For now, I would be happy to find a flea market close to home where I could sell my recycled books and 'stuff'. They are all too far away and possibly too expensive, especially after adding in gas and food and drink.

But that's what I want to do, and how I think I could start. Would you like to be my customer? I'd love to have you as one.

Fear of Phobia

I'm becoming, I'm afraid, a borderline agoraphobic.
No, I have become a borderline agoraphobic.
The becoming I'm worried about is the full blown phobia.

I don't think that will ever happen. I have too many chores and a granddaughter. That should be enough to keep me getting out on a fairly regular basis. And there are doctor's visits for my husband, and going to the pharmacy, and grocery shopping.

Those things should all keep me going, keep me out and about. I'm not so sure they will. Even if they do, I'm not sure that some of those things count. I don't enjoy them. I don't relish going to Walmart after prescriptions. I don't stop at this store or that and peek and poke and just enjoy myself, just enjoy getting out, even though God knows I rarely get alone time except in the car. Maybe alone time isn't really that important, anyway. I can always be alone inside myself. Inside my computer, or lost in a book. (That's not really alone, though. There are people in those books, and some of them are stupider than the ones in real life. Who'd've ever thought that was possible?)

In some ways, I feel I've been heading that way -- this way -- for all my life. I've never been able to easily or naturally speak to other people, sometimes not even those I know well. I have had my electricity and my water shut off because I was unable to make the telephone calls to make arrangements to pay. (Many years ago; not recently.)

But now I leave reluctantly. Not even my writers group holds the same interest for me, because my life has so changed. For a year I had limited contact with the real world.
I had no telephone and no internet. Because of Rex's hospitalization, and his doctor's and medicines, and having to pay other people gas money, the bills got way behind. So there was little talking with anyone, except when I needed something. That doesn't encourage socializing from either party involved. At least I didn't feel that it did. .

No car -- I had to get rides, or arrange rides, everywhere and anywhere. Few trips were worth the trouble. My writer friends were the ones with the most available help, but my sisters were always there also. The writers happen to live and work closer.
But even with their help, I was isolated and alone, and there's too much to handle alone, but I did it.



I did it all, from the safety net of my home.

I'm afraid, often. I'm afraid to leave because I worry about Rex getting sick or falling when I'm gone. Some nights I can't sleep, because I'm afraid I'll wake up and he won't be breathing. I'm afraid to drive anywhere, because what if I'm involved in an accident and get hurt? What will happen to Rex when someone else brings him that kind of news? Who will take care of him while I can't?
My God, what if I get crippled?
What will happen to Rex if I get killed?

Rex, bless his heart, encourages me to go to my group, and to go to family events, if he knows about them. I usually don't tell him, because he won't /can't go. And I don't want to leave him alone for hours at a time. All the what-ifs come alive when that happens.

I can't let this progress. It must not be allowed to get any worse. Even I cannot live that self-contained. There are chores that must be done, errands that must be run. And what kind of example am I setting for Hailey if I turn myself into the Hermit Grandmother? It's bad enough that Pappaw is already that way.

Thank goodness for summer, for the season of picnics and reunions and weddings. Thank God for sisters and friends and other family who will coax me or bully me out of my little blue hole. They, more than anything I can do, are what keeps me straight, keeps me trying. Keeps me on the sane side of the line,

I can thank none of them enough. Ever.

As I lay dying (or so I thought)

Yesterday I thought I was entering my final illness, persistent cramping diarrhea. The pain was worse than childbirth (except for the actual birthing). The effects of dehydration were debilitating, as you can imagine. My sister and my nephew had both commented on bellyaches, so I thought there's probably just something going around, and it was nothing major.

As the day wore on, I changed my mind about that. If there had been gas in our car I would have had my husband take me to the hospital, even though I have no insurance and every test, every procedure, every help would have to be paid for by us. At that point (about 3 in the afternoon) even the IV for dehydration would have been worth the cost. Because I was afraid to drink anything, even warm water.

Instead, I went to bed.
While in the bed, I reviewed my life. It's the first time I ever did that when I wasn't contemplating suicide, so it was a novel experience in its way. The results of the review were more satisfactory this way, I have to admit, but there were some things not so satisfactory.
Of course.

I wished I had played more with my girls when they were young. More walks, more pushing on swings, more silly talk, more books read together, more time. Just more time to enjoy them. But pushing swings is boring after the first couple of shoves to get them going, and neither of my daughters had any great interest in books when they were young. We did walk, from time to time, and the walks nearly always had that 'special' air. I suppose that's a good thing. The regret over not taking enough walks is partly because it indicates a lack of special times, so if the times it happened were special -- well, there's just a balance there, so that one is probably okay.
I hope.

I wish I'd had more patience at some times in some of my jobs, but I have no big regrets over any of those. I gave every job I ever did everything I could, everything I had. Sometimes I didn't have much, and sometimes I hated the work, but I gave it my all. Sometimes my all was more, often less, but it was what I had and I put it into the work.

My writing? I have four completed novel manuscripts on top of the bookcases. I have three of those novels on floppies, which do me  no earthly good these days, but maybe somewhere, someday... someone. I have various writings here and there. It would be nice for my family if I could become posthumously famous, so that I'm not leaving my family nothing but a hole in their hearts.
I hope.

The good-bye letters I wrote a few months ago worried me a bit. I thought about tearing them up before I died, but decided I'd just leave a note with them. Don't remember if I dated them or not. Probably not. I wanted them to be generic, any time. I have letters written to Tracy and to Rex and, I think, to Jean. I haven't been able to bring myself to pout anything in writing for Tammy-and-Hailey. No good excuses for saddling her with my responsibilities, which she would be the one carrying the brunt of the load after the dust settles. No good excuse, no reason.
Anyway, I decided to just write a note, or maybe I'd get a chance to tell Jean before I expire in the hospital. "Hey, never mind those. I wrote them for Christmas last year, or maybe the year before."

It was a different thing to look back at my life this way, from this new angle. I didn't have no instant conversion to wanting to continue living in spite of all its pain, which I have seen happen. I wanted the pain to stop. I wished that I had done some things differently, but feel that I did the best I could at the time.

That's what we should all be doing. The best we can, with what we have. The what we have can be time, or energy, or even interest. Money of the lack thereof is a partial excuse, not a good one.

Be the best you that you can be.

Do the best you can with what you have.

Watch and work and learn and live.

Then,  you can contemplate death with equanimity. Is there any better way to live?

Bygone Books

Just last week, I found an original publishment of Mystery Ranch, a "Boxcar Children" book. It was dated 1958 and it has a plain hardcover. It's just a beautiful book to have.

I used the word publishment, because I don't want to call it a 'first edition' or 'original run' or anything like that. Those are all official categories, and I don't know if it really qualifies under the formal definitions of those terms.

I have other older books, some equally as original, but mostly not in as good a condition. They are almost all children's books, and children's books are notorious for being either pristine or well-loved (which can mean mangled.)

I used to call these books "My Legacy", but then came tv shows like Pawn Stars to let me know that my legacy isn't really worth much in terms of cash. What a disappointment.

 I'd like to leave my children something of value.

Then my granddaughter sees me reading, goes and gets a book and seats herself beside me in my chair, showing me pictures and asking me questions and turning a page whenever I do, sometimes peeping into my book to see if there are any pictures or Ts or Hs.
She'll snuggle in and the book may drop from her hands.

 My Legacy has plenty of value.