Post by Selsie Turner on Nov 29, 2013 15:45:26 GMT -5
Next group! Happy Shopping!
(11/29/13 10:55:06 )
: .All.Dressed.Up. :
|.Selsie Turner.|
-Aftermath of the Dead-
-- is near the center of the compound, in one of the barns or sheds --
says to ALL: -It was perhaps the strangest version of a Black Friday “shopping spree” in human record. An orderly line of villagers moved at a snail’s pace up the gravel road that cut through the center of New Haven, the line terminating at one of the huge metal outbuildings near the grain silos. Its far end nearly reached back to the front gates, but no one was pushing or shoving. Some family units had even the smallest of their children in tow, the toddlers on leashes and the infants in prams; others were represented by a single adult, while still others had scattered themselves throughout the line, intent on keeping the results of their warehouse hunting a secret until Christmas day. Each holiday shopper old enough to hold so much as a washrag already had their arms laden on the way to the warehouse – a most curious procession, indeed!
-And there I was, in the cavernous doorway of the corrugated metal building, Selsie Claus incarnate, making a list and checking it twice as I accepted towels frayed beyond repair, threadbare blankets, holey sweaters, socks darned until they were nothing but keloid scar tissue made of stitches, jeans too dry-rotted to be worn without splitting at the seams, empty bottles that had once held shampoo, conditioner, body wash, dish detergent. Giant bins had been allotted for the cast-offs, those tired blankets and towels and sweaters destined to serve as dog and cat beds and the lining of rabbit hutches, the jeans and shirts to be cut into tidy squares and pieced into next winter’s quits or woven into colorful rag rugs that would grace chilly hardwood floors, the empty bottles to be sterilized and refilled with our home-made toiletries. The worst of the offerings were discarded in the tinder box and refuse bin; if nothing else, the cloth would burn, the bottles with their broken lids would dangle on smooth-wire fences to deter cows from wandering through the barriers.
-Nothing was ever wasted, and what wore out must needs be replaced, so what better day than Black Friday with Christmas just over three weeks away? Last year, Selsie Claus and the New Haven Elves had left gift baskets; this year, there were simply too many survivors to make this practical, despite our census records. I took note of the husbands and wives who had elected to shop for one another, the mothers who had dragged their children into the cold to gauge those growing shoes sizes, the teenagers who had insisted they would pick out their own clothes even if the pile was immediately handed to a parent for safekeeping until the big day. Each would receive a fair quantity of resources per household or particular need and the “purchases” marked off the carefully itemized list. We had our goods notated down to the last pair of underwear and baby’s bib.
-Thank God the wind that had plagued us for the past three days had finally died down, or the entire experience would have been absolutely miserable. As it was, I had to keep stamping my feet; it was only 45 degrees, according to the mercury thermometer attached to the side of the metal outbuilding.- Next group! Happy shopping! –I chirped, gesturing to a group of five teens with my red pen. That pen was about as festive as it was getting, today. I looked chic but decidedly anti-Christmassy in fuzzy gray leggings, a grey knit mini-skirt, a black turtleneck, and a grey knit sweater with vaguely military-looking brass buttons and leather lapels. I would have been freezing, if not for the skin-tight Under Armor beneath it all; as it was, I looked like a concierge at an upscale department store, which was just the look I was going for.
-Yep, I had officially decided I hated the holidays.-
(11/29/13 12:03:52 ): .All.Dressed.Up. :
|.Selsie Turner.|
-Aftermath of the Dead-
-- is near the center of the compound, in one of the barns or sheds --
says to ALL: -Elsewhere in New Haven, many of those who had finished their shopping were hard at work cleaning out the rabbit hutches, the dog kennels, the hay lofts where the barn cats slept, tossing the foul-smelling bedding on giant burn piles where others had gathered to gossip and enjoy cups of tea and hot turkey broth while they awaited their own work shift. When the animal pens and cages had been scrubbed by the first wave of laborers, these workers on reserve would line the dens with cast-off blankets and towels from the Black Friday recycle bins. The weather had well and truly turned, and winter had set its teeth in earnest; our domestic animals surely needed the extra insulation, and everyone had a hand in ensuring their survival, whether through donating bedding or cleaning the pens.
-In the commons, goose and turkey pot-pies, turkey and ham and egg salads, and Thanksgiving sandwiches – those charming mishmashes of everything that had been on yesterday’s plate smooshed between two slices of bread drowned in gravy - were the lunch du jour; tonight would be more of the same, along with a thick soup that was essentially the pot pie filling, plus a few more spices. We still had custards coming out of our eyes, too, an acceptable substitute for pies since bread had been more in demand for Thanksgiving; our remaining flour and sugar were now officially being rationed for one last baked goods hurrah at Christmastime – a fact I repeated to each and every holiday shopper attempting to replenish their personal dried goods larders.-
(11/29/13 10:55:06 )
: .All.Dressed.Up. :|.Selsie Turner.|
-Aftermath of the Dead-
-- is near the center of the compound, in one of the barns or sheds --
says to ALL: -It was perhaps the strangest version of a Black Friday “shopping spree” in human record. An orderly line of villagers moved at a snail’s pace up the gravel road that cut through the center of New Haven, the line terminating at one of the huge metal outbuildings near the grain silos. Its far end nearly reached back to the front gates, but no one was pushing or shoving. Some family units had even the smallest of their children in tow, the toddlers on leashes and the infants in prams; others were represented by a single adult, while still others had scattered themselves throughout the line, intent on keeping the results of their warehouse hunting a secret until Christmas day. Each holiday shopper old enough to hold so much as a washrag already had their arms laden on the way to the warehouse – a most curious procession, indeed!
-And there I was, in the cavernous doorway of the corrugated metal building, Selsie Claus incarnate, making a list and checking it twice as I accepted towels frayed beyond repair, threadbare blankets, holey sweaters, socks darned until they were nothing but keloid scar tissue made of stitches, jeans too dry-rotted to be worn without splitting at the seams, empty bottles that had once held shampoo, conditioner, body wash, dish detergent. Giant bins had been allotted for the cast-offs, those tired blankets and towels and sweaters destined to serve as dog and cat beds and the lining of rabbit hutches, the jeans and shirts to be cut into tidy squares and pieced into next winter’s quits or woven into colorful rag rugs that would grace chilly hardwood floors, the empty bottles to be sterilized and refilled with our home-made toiletries. The worst of the offerings were discarded in the tinder box and refuse bin; if nothing else, the cloth would burn, the bottles with their broken lids would dangle on smooth-wire fences to deter cows from wandering through the barriers.
-Nothing was ever wasted, and what wore out must needs be replaced, so what better day than Black Friday with Christmas just over three weeks away? Last year, Selsie Claus and the New Haven Elves had left gift baskets; this year, there were simply too many survivors to make this practical, despite our census records. I took note of the husbands and wives who had elected to shop for one another, the mothers who had dragged their children into the cold to gauge those growing shoes sizes, the teenagers who had insisted they would pick out their own clothes even if the pile was immediately handed to a parent for safekeeping until the big day. Each would receive a fair quantity of resources per household or particular need and the “purchases” marked off the carefully itemized list. We had our goods notated down to the last pair of underwear and baby’s bib.
-Thank God the wind that had plagued us for the past three days had finally died down, or the entire experience would have been absolutely miserable. As it was, I had to keep stamping my feet; it was only 45 degrees, according to the mercury thermometer attached to the side of the metal outbuilding.- Next group! Happy shopping! –I chirped, gesturing to a group of five teens with my red pen. That pen was about as festive as it was getting, today. I looked chic but decidedly anti-Christmassy in fuzzy gray leggings, a grey knit mini-skirt, a black turtleneck, and a grey knit sweater with vaguely military-looking brass buttons and leather lapels. I would have been freezing, if not for the skin-tight Under Armor beneath it all; as it was, I looked like a concierge at an upscale department store, which was just the look I was going for.
-Yep, I had officially decided I hated the holidays.-
(11/29/13 12:03:52 )
: .All.Dressed.Up. :|.Selsie Turner.|
-Aftermath of the Dead-
-- is near the center of the compound, in one of the barns or sheds --
says to ALL: -Elsewhere in New Haven, many of those who had finished their shopping were hard at work cleaning out the rabbit hutches, the dog kennels, the hay lofts where the barn cats slept, tossing the foul-smelling bedding on giant burn piles where others had gathered to gossip and enjoy cups of tea and hot turkey broth while they awaited their own work shift. When the animal pens and cages had been scrubbed by the first wave of laborers, these workers on reserve would line the dens with cast-off blankets and towels from the Black Friday recycle bins. The weather had well and truly turned, and winter had set its teeth in earnest; our domestic animals surely needed the extra insulation, and everyone had a hand in ensuring their survival, whether through donating bedding or cleaning the pens.
-In the commons, goose and turkey pot-pies, turkey and ham and egg salads, and Thanksgiving sandwiches – those charming mishmashes of everything that had been on yesterday’s plate smooshed between two slices of bread drowned in gravy - were the lunch du jour; tonight would be more of the same, along with a thick soup that was essentially the pot pie filling, plus a few more spices. We still had custards coming out of our eyes, too, an acceptable substitute for pies since bread had been more in demand for Thanksgiving; our remaining flour and sugar were now officially being rationed for one last baked goods hurrah at Christmastime – a fact I repeated to each and every holiday shopper attempting to replenish their personal dried goods larders.-