fledge capable of flying, from Middle English flegge, from Old English -flycge; akin to Old High German flucki capable of flying,
Old English flEogan to fly -- more at FLY
intransitive verb, of a young bird : to acquire the feathers necessary for flight or independent activity

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Peace Love Venice

It's easy, if you try.


Sometimes the field of daisies is in bloom,
and sometimes your precious little girl is all dressed up,
and sometimes you have a camera. That is a really good time.

FYI: Ponte Rock Venice, available soon in Europe from Farbenmix.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Lach mich schlapp!

I am a very, very, very lucky person to be blessed with such generosity. In one of my moments of low blog wit, I mentioned how much I like European sewing pins. Lo and behold, look what I get in the mail! (What if I mentioned how much I like German cars ...?) Not only the sewing pins, but--looky looky--an authentic appliqué from the often imitated but never, ever duplicated Creabine (I'd show you how very detailed and carefully crafted this darling bug is, but darn it, if that girl's brilliant ideas don't get swiped out from underneath her ...). And some awesome Stoff!

I don't spend hours at JoAnn's combing the racks (the muzak is enough to make me harbor mean thoughts). I get some basics, like denim, eyelet, maybe some specialty cotton (and only because it is located next to the denim), I get my notions, I stock up on the bias tape German- Democratic-Republic-style, because JoAnn's always runs out and then takes six months to restock ... and I then I get the heck outta there before Whitney tells me that the "Greatest Love of All" is happening to her.

I don't get all that jazzed about fabric. I get excited about texture and hand and weight, but I don't think too much about the color or the print. All I ask my Internet suppliers is, "Tell me what it feels like." Really. Seems odd, but let me explain. I like to find out what a material does. I like to see where a seam placed this way or that will have an effect. Seams are where the alchemy of clothing design happens. Fabric selection conveys the cultural reference or mood the seamstress is trying to strike. I make road maps and the fabric is too close to the final destination for me to think about. Still, I need fabric. Therefore, my favorite fabric to work with is fabric picked out by somebody else for me. I recently stitched together a new pattern from a fabric that was given to me. It was a material I probably would have passed over at the store. And yet, when I stitched the two halves together and saw how the fabric fell and flowed, it was one of those really happy moments when I knew the design would work. I like it so much, I'm putting this particular design example on the cover of the pattern.

Thank you.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Relay team

This is a picture of my son after the City track meet. He could not leave the field fast enough. His event was the 400m Relay. Let me tell you this: Jack was the anchor and he passed two kids in his 100m stretch. Still, his team finished 4th. "I hate Robert." That was all he managed to say after several minutes.

"You might be angry at him right now, but you don't hate him. Everybody messes up once in a while. "

I guess Robert was a bit confused and jogged instead of sprinted his first leg. Jack thinks he was just goofing off. And somehow, to Jack, his personal absolutely outstanding performance did not matter. The saying goes you learn the most through disappointment and hard times. I hope Jack learns that each member of a sports team or a project team is important.

It got me to thinking about Sabine and the Farbenmix team. Never once have they jogged when they should have sprinted. Never once have they dropped the baton. Never once said a discouraging word. I'm so lucky to have this team on my side.

I get asked once in a while, "So, how do you make sewing patterns?" Well, it's really not anything more than getting the pieces drafted and graded and then sending the sheet to the printers. Just like that, you've got yourself a sewing pattern! Well, there is more to it. For me, at least, you need a few people, whom you admire, who believe in your design and whose honest opinion you respect, and who will invest their own time and ideas to make your idea work. That is the input that makes a sewing pattern a good sewing pattern. Absolutely essential.

Thank you.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

If I could save time in a bottle ...

She's all the inspiration I need!

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Seven ...

Darn it. Princess Tomato tagged me. Seven facts, huh? About me? Well, Tomato is one of those people, for whom I will do whatever she tells me to. I’ll keep it short and no photos of my scars. Here goes!

1. I am a mafia princess in the witness protection program.
2. I was on the grassy knoll.
3. I hung and dimpled all those chads in Broward County. Blame me.
4. Elvis is alive in my crawl space.
5. I like piña coladas. And getting caught in the rain. I’m not into health food. I am in-to cham-pagne.
6. I’m from the planet Quimmerix. Surrender now before I quimmirerate your heads.
7. I’m one sarcastic, sardonic hausfrau and could go on like this all day.

Seven things: I’m not that big on self-indulgence (yeah, yeah, and I blog: I’m a hypocrite—let that be “1.” Not that self-indulgent all at once, maybe). Part of the reason I really love the German language, is the fact that the word “I” is “ich”: Lower case (while forms of “you” are capitalized), and therefore “ich” is somewhat demoted. Plus it is pronounced “EEEE” and ends in a cat hiss. If you’re lucky, that is: In some of the lovelier parts of Germany, “ich” is “EEEE” plus above-mentioned cat coughing up a hair ball. “Ich” is just a sound to avoid. I prefer to talk about ideas. I don’t like to talk about people. Oh, let that count as “1” instead. Six more to go. All right, already …

2. I have 400 pages of a novel on my hard drive. Pure pulp. But I’d show it to a literary agent, if I ever run into one.
3. I’ll go to a museum of anything. If somebody took the time to put it in a glass case, I want to know about it. I stop the car at historic landmarks.
4. I’m still going with the mafia princess thing. That will give me some street creds and will strike some nice anxious fear into the hearts of all the literary agents I run into. And the planet Quimmerix stuff: Totally true. But not the sarcastic bit, no, not one bit of truth there.
5. I used to fly sailplanes and I have a deep, unrequited love of aviation.
6. My mother died of cancer. I think that will be my fate, as well. You can’t do much about the length of your life, just the depth and breadth.

I’m supposed to tag other people? Shoot. I’ll tag K.P., because she’s self-indulgent in a good way. See, she was taking steroids for this horrible shoulder-neck-nerve nasty pain and now she’s stopped taking them. And since steroids are basically chemical hormones, the girl is going through some hormone-induced mood swings: In other words, basically, K.P. is a teenager. She’s coloring her hair pink and is saying things like, “Gawd, people are SUCH idiots!” Just like that. Let’s see if she’ll tell us if Doc Martens really are flame retardant, how to dye a cat pink … but, oh please, nothing about high school home ec class. Please.

Diana: To me, she’s like the other new kid at school. We started our blogs at about the same time and she helps me. I hope she likes me, too.
Chris: Chris has got a lot to say. And she needs to practice her English for the test.
Diba: Up to this, Barbara darling? I can read your mind, so I could do this for you…

I don’t know seven blogsters that well! Um … Cree’s already been tagged … I might just have to hit the “next blog” button.

Sabine: Yeah, Sabine-Sweet Caroline, because she’s visits my blog and is consistently positive.

Some folks I know need their space ... who? Who? Who? AHA! All the Jaynes: Get on your blog. That's close to seven.

Guess I better go tell ‘em: Tagged! You’re “it”!

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Who knows?

This glass basket vase filled with roses and jasmine and orchids (are those orchids?) fresh from somebody's yard was left on my doorstep. I don't know who left it. There's neither card nor note. This surprise produced a two-fold blessing: First of all, a basket of roses, jasmine and maybe-orchids is something to inspire Patrick Süskind. The second blessing was the fact that while I was playing the guessing game of who this thoughtful person might be, I realized the anonymous gifter could have been a number of different people. It made me realize how many good and gracious people I know: Neighbors, parents or friends or all three. Thank you, dear flower-basket-leaver-behinder, and thank you, dear neighbors, parents and friends, for my happy suspicions.

That brings me to my next idea. Some weeks ago, I was thinking about the people, with whom I had lost contact. I asked Duke and Karen what they thought of a certain idea and -- shazam! -- no more had I said what I thought about doing, than they made these pieces of metal art: Hearts with butterfly wings.

My plan is this: I am going to mail these to long lost friends, perhaps anonymously. I will include a note saying, that my life has been enriched by having known that person and I will always be grateful for having had his/her friendship. The recipient may keep the item or, if the recipient so chooses, he or she may pass on this piece of metal art on to someone else, with whom they lost contact. I'd like to set up an email and maybe a flickr, where the recipients may leave a message or post a picture of where these pieces travel.

This is one of those things, that may land on it's face. I know that. What would I do if I received such a thing in the mail? I'm not sure, really. My hope is that it would have some of the same effect as the flowers on my doorstep yesterday. Agape and random kindness/senseless acts of beauty: That is what I am shooting for. Walk the walk, not just stick the bumper sticker. Agape is a word I came across in the Jamba Juice, you know, waiting for my smoothie order in a book on the Shelves of Should. The Shelves of Should is the display in the Jamba Juice of books on the Pilates you Should do and the marathon-for-the-cure you Should run and the vegetarianism you Should ascribe to and the path to spiritual Enlightenment you Should follow. I usually skip over the yoga and Pilates stuff and go straight to the Kharma for Idiots books with the great ideas, quotations and ways to put yourself in the moment--without being double jointed.

I'm hesitant, sure, to do this (Is this something for which I could be sued?). So far, these pieces of metal art were made out of unconditional friendship for me. The theory goes that love knows no end. So, sure, I'm willing to land flat on my face with this. I'm trying. Maybe the idea will soar. Maybe something good will happen.

Feel free to consider yourself "tagged" to do something similar.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Thanks, Mom.


I don't spend enough time with you. And I leave things all messed up. And I take you for granted. And I take much more from you than I'll ever need and give so little back. I just assume you'll be there for me, no matter what I do. You get angry sometimes. Really angry. But mostly, you're so very beautiful and so very giving and forgiving. Happy Mother's Day, Mother Earth.

Ich komme nicht oft genug zu Besuch. Und ich verlasse Deinen Haushalt in einem Durcheinander. Ich nehme Dich für absolut selbstverständlich. Ich nehme von Dir viel mehr als ich jemals gebrauchen kann und gebe dafür so wenig zurück. Ich nehme an, dass Du für mich immer da sein wirst, egal was ich Dir antue. Machmal wirst Du böse. Richtig böse. Aber vielmehr bist Du so wunderschön und grosszügig und versöhnlich. Herzliche Grüsse zum Muttertag, Mutter Erde.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Eye of the beholder

As I creep out from my shyness and write on Fledge, I should consider finding somebody to play me. Somebody to Milli Vanilli me. I should hire an adorable out-of-work actress to pose with my kids and frost any cupcakes I might bake and stand "creating" at my sewing machines. My Milli Vanilli would be hip and svelte and willowy. Definitely svelte, definitely willowy and look terrific in this outfit.

Alas, I kind of have huge ankles and stubby fingers and broad shoulders and I'm squishy all over from having kids. Well, squishy all over from having kids and then having tiramisu. For Breakfast. Regularly. Alack, I pretty much look like a transvestite when I dress up. I've been out of practice at being a pretty girl for a pretty long time. In fact, it may be impossible for me to be pretty. Case in point: I wore my prettiest camisole under this. I bought it in Hamburg back in the day, back when I had all that disposable income, in that one Passage off Neuer Wall near the Leyseiffer ... my Hamburg girls know the shop I'm talking about, right? Anyway, I put it on and the camisole begins to disintegrate on my skin! I kid you not: I put this on and the 75% Polumid/Nylon and 25%Elastin/Spandex dissolves into this granular stuff all over my torso. My person has a chemical reaction against being pretty!

Despite everything, I wanted to dress up pretty for my girl's Mother's Day program at school. And I wore this.

Anna told me I looked, "Beautiful." Eye of the beholder, I suppose. I could have cried.

Now let me tell you about this skirt and top: They were Handmade by Hannah. And when I say handmade, I mean I emailed Hannah my measurements, she took the fabric, she screenprinted her designs by hand on the front and back pieces, stitched it all up, wrapped it in pink tissue paper and, finally, made my daughter say I looked "Beautiful." The fact that Hannah is some sort of reincarnated Brothers Grimm heroine, who lives amidst gnomes and toadstools and works in a enchanted cottage decorated with hearts and green shutters, well, that makes my new clothes magical.

Now, to my readers who make regular forays into the magical fabric land of Holland: Can you think of a better outfit to wear? If you'd also like magical clothes Handmade by Hannah, just go to her online store. But wait until I order my Apple Pickin' skirt: I don't need you messing up her very reasonable prices with your inflated Euros!

The first email to Hannah to the package on my doorstep was less than two weeks.

My purse is also magical. My mother made it ca. 1973 and would take it out on special dressy occasions. Thanks, Mom. I'm taking good care of it.

Naturally, public humiliation in motherhood did not end with weening: Here, it is the paper hat each mommy had to wear (no, no cheating by hanging the hat from the yarn on your back!). Well, on this day, watching her sing--beholder shmeholder--in that paper hat, I am beautiful.


Wo ich nun so langsam aus meiner Schüchternheit heraus krieche und auf Fledge schreibe, eigentlich müsste ich jemanden finden, der mich darstellt. Um mich zu Milli-Vanillien. Eigentlich müsste ich eine bildhübsche arbeitslose Schauspielerin finden, die neben meinen Kindern, beim Gebäck glasieren und beim “kreativen” Nähen fotografieren lässt. Meine Milli Vanilli wäre cool und dünn und gertenschlank. Auf jeden Fall gertenschlank und in diesem Outfit toll aussehend.

Wie das so ist, habe ich dicke Waden und stubbelige Finger und breite Schultern. Und ich bin wegen den Schwangerschaften überall matching. Wegen den Schwangerschaften und wegen Tiramisu. Zum Frühstück. Regelmässig. Leider sehe ich so ziemlich einem Tranvestiten ähnlich aus, wenn ich mich hübsch mache. Ich bin schon lange ausser Übung, wie das so geht mit hübsch sein. Es kann auch Tatsache sein, dass ich nie wieder hübsch sein kann. Und ich angele nicht nach Komplimente. Pass auf: Ich zog meine hübschesteste Damenuntertaille unter diesem Teil an. Ich hatte sie damals in Hamburg gekauft in der einen Passage nähe Neuer Wall mit dem Leyseiffer … Ihr Hamburger Damen wissen welches Dessousshop ich meine. Auf jeden Fall, habe ich diese Untertaille angezogen und es fing an, sich aufzulösen. Kein Scherz: Dies 75% Polymid/25%Elastin aus Frankreich fing an auf meiner Haut in einem granulösen Staub zu zerbröckeln. Meine Person ergibt eine chemische Reaktion gegen hübsch sein.

Troztdessen, wollte ich mich für den Mutterstagprogramm auf Annas Schule mich hübsch machen. Und ich habe dieses Outfit angehabt.

Anna sagte, ich sei “Schön”. Auge des Betrachters, nehme ich an. Ich hätte heulen können.

Nun möchte ich ein wenig zu diesem Rock und diesem Shirt sagen: Sie wurden von Hannah von Hand gemacht. Und wenn ich “von Hand” sage, ich meine, ich habe Hannah die Abmessungen geschickt und sie nahm den Stoff, hatte ihre eigenen Grafiken per Siebdruck per Hand auf sowohl der vorder als auch der Rückseite dekoriert, dies dann alles zusammengesteppt, in pinkes Seidenpapier gepackt und meine Tochter mich als “Schön” zu bezeichen animiert. Und die Tatsache, dass Hannah in Wirklichkeit sicherlich eine wiedergeborene Gebrüder-Grimm-Heldin, die umgeben von Zwergen und Waldpilze wohnt und in einem verzaubertem Häuschen mit Herzchen und grünen Fensterklappen arbeitet, das bedeutet, dass meine neue Kleidung auch magisch sind.

Nun, liebe Leserinnen, die oft regelmässige Reisen in das magische Stoff-und Nähreich Holland fahren: Könnt Ihr ein besseres Holland-Ausgeh-Outfit ausdenken? Wenn Ihr auch zauberische Kleidung von Hannah möchtet, besucht den Onlineshop. Aber nicht bevor ich meinen Apfelrock bestellt habe und Ihr mit Eueren Euros die günstigen Preise platt machen, gell’?

Vom ersten Email bis zum Packet vor der Türschwelle dauerte es nur knappe zwei Wochen.

Meine Tasche ist auch magisch. Diese hatte meine Mutter ca. 1973 gemacht und nahm es zu besonderen Anlässen heraus. Danke, Mom, ich passe gut auf die Tasche auf.

Natürlich hört die öffentliche Beschämung der Mutterschaft nicht mit dem Abstillen auf: Diesmal ist es der wunderbare Papierchapeau (und nein: Nicht schummeln und den Hut vom Garn am Rück hängen lassen. Richtig tragen, meine Damen!). Naja, an diesem Tag, während Anna sang, in diesem Hut fühlte ich mich schön.

Top 10 Reasons to Love Mom

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

If it ain't broke, don't Bend it.

The L.A. Galaxy has put all its eggs into one Beckham. Frankly, I don't think if Posh Spice, her fine self, got out there and sang "I tell you what I want, what I really, really, want .... uh-huh uh-huh" to David Beckham dancing the macarena in his birthday suit that that would do anything to improve attendance to Major League Soccer in this city of a measly 10 million entertainment-obsessed people. I don't know why. I really don't. But, really, look at that, um, "crowd". Admittedly, Mr. Beckham will not don the cleats and grace the grass until July. And perhaps it will take a while for not a few of us to not confuse soccer's most recognizable player in his new blond do with the former goalie, Kevin Hartman. All in all, I don't think soccer will displace football, or, for that matter, curling or professional log rolling in popularity. And if that's the case, that's fine with me. Galaxy games are great, just the way they are: The tickets are inexpensive, those in attendance are real fans, there are no crowds, parking is easy, no lines for food and no traffic jams getting out. I always seem to run into somebody I know from the school or the neighborhood or the AYSO. The kids always get autographs, friendly waves and high fives from the players. I kind of imagine that was how professional sports was half a century ago, when sports provided a comfortable living, but not new, heretofore unimagined tax brackets. A few of the players stop by every year to hand out autographs, play games and generally goof around with the kids in the local AYSO. I cannot imagine an NFL or MLB player doing the same. One Galaxy groupie, a lumpy lady close to sixty, chatted me up: She had a pleasant personal anecdote to share about just about every player. I can't imagine that the ladies, who hang around the Lakers could share their personal NBA encounters with the kids sitting right there.

While the investors surely will not agree with me, I hope Mr. Bend-It doesn't do much to improve Major League Soccer. It's perfect just the way it is. Don't Bend it, if it ain't broken.

Galaxy won against New York Red Bulls, 3 to 1. All four goals scored in overtime! What a great game.

P.S. I'll be back to musing on making stuff soon. I've got several things in the pipeline; I just need to keep them under wraps for now.

Saturday, May 5, 2007

Cable guy

Anybody ever struggle through a simple computer class? I remember GOTO a lot. I think that's all I remember, in fact. You'd use GOTO to skip over the other stuff and jump to another line of code. I think. It's probably not even used anymore. What do I know? Anyway, it can create some really screwy code.

Since I usually jump from one topic, idea and/or task to another and another and another and then another, I think I am programmed with a lot of GOTO. (See the image up there? I wanted to post a comment on one of your blogs and to prove that I was posting, and not some something spamming something, I would have to enter "gotos", because that is me: All GOTOs).

Well, since I'm not programmed very well, I'm not the most patient person. I’m likely to encounter fatal system errors especially when shopping. I am programmed like this: GOTO the store GOTO the rack of cables GOTO the cash register and GOTO home. Please don't take me into nesting loops of browsing and impulse buying. Not at the Best Buy, anyway. You can easily get trapped into such a nesting loop there: They have all kinds of things at Best Buy. I'm sure Q's job has become much easier in the last 10 years: He just stops in the Best Buy and purchases, say, a Hello Kitty Digital Camera and the vacuum cleaner that NEVER looses suction, outfits it with a GPS thing from Aisle 6 and a few poison darts—voilá!—Q’s got a weaponized jet pack in Her Majesty’s service! Still, me, all I want is a cable. Specifically, a cable with a USB on one end and a nine pin on the other. USB and a nine pin and the wires in between.

Best Buy is a big, giant, loud place, featuring lots of televisions and iPod skins, but few cables. GOTO Best Buy Guy. Make eye contact. I know you are ignoring me, Best Buy Guy. Eye-eye-eeeeeeye: Contact! Gotcha! "Hello. Excuse me, I am looking for a cable with a USB on one end and a nine pin on the other. A nine pin on one end and a USB on the other.” I say this complete with the universal hand signs of a deformed claw hand for the nine pin and the other hand drawing a line in the air to indicate the cable part and ending in a cute pinchy finger smidgeon to indicate the USB. I think I am pretty clear on what I want: Nine pin/USB. Deformed claw hand/pinchy fingers. And then it comes. You know it's going to come (death, taxes, spider veins, in-laws), but still, you hope it won't:

"What are you going to use it for?"

Blogs are a good place for people, such as myself, with extreme esprit de l'escalier. But that wasn't the case this time: This was ripe hanging fruit, right there, right there in front of me. My possible responses were overwhelming. I swear, they seemed to form a fluffy pink cloud of snarky wit right in front of my eyes. I'm trying to gaugue Best Buy Guy to see if he could handle something slightly risqué or maybe macabre or just plain bizarre. Weighing, weighing, calculating ...

Best Buy Guy breaks my concentration with the Multiple Choice Test:

"A PDA? A monitor? A digital camera? A peripheral drive?"

The fluffy pink cloud is dissolving ("I'm going to use it to hang myself, but I’ll only do it if I have a nine pin and a USB cable." ... "Check out double u double u double u nastygirlswithninepinandusbcables, but have a credit card" ... See? The responses are losing quickly on quality …)

All I manage to answer is, "I just would like a cable with a nine pin and a USB."

"A cell phone? MP3 player?" Again with the questions! He will not let up.

"A PDA, right?"

Best Buy Guy seems to be on a real need-to-know basis, so I answer, truthfully, "For an embroidery machine."

"OH." he says, "We don't have anything for embroidery machines."

Now, seriously, Best Buy Guy has never, never, ever, ever, ever had any requests ever for embroidery machine anything. Seriously. He does not even know what an embroidery machine is. He doesn’t know what embroidery is. And I know this. It’s not ignorance: I know nothing about 30 inch spinning wheel covers or the World of Warcraft or why? why? why pants must hang half-way down the butt. Best Buy Guys knows stuff about stuff I don’t. But for exactly that reason, I just asked specifically for the deformed claw/pinchy fingers cable. Nonetheless, Best Buy Guy denies having a cable that could fit an embroidery machine so matter-of-factly, like I was asking if Best Buy sold live penguins.

I look away and ... can it be? Right there at about the level of my waist? In a blister pack (I hate blister packs) ... I think, maybe it is! My personal sit com has been stage set perfectly: It is!

"This is it." I say.

"That's for a PDA."

So, we're both right. "May I please buy this? Please? Can I just please buy this?"

GOTO he-- I mean, GOTO cash register.

Wednesday, May 2, 2007


The chair is from the Farmers Market at Third and Fairfax. If I can get the table in the corner near Benton's Ice Cream with my back to the wall and big cup of Bob's coffee and a couple of those kind of squishy raspberry thumb print cookies from that baker in the middle and pretend I'm not eavesdropping on the elderly Jewish couple debating Canter's vs. Nate & Al's delicatessens, and keep my glances to the fellow with a bouncing leg and a manic typing tempo on his Mac infrequent and generally just watch all that is going on, I am very happy. Very happy indeed. I know, I agree, that whole Grove thing is close to an abomination. But that is a whole different thing. Really. I hope. I think by crossing that street, you are actually stepping through a wormhole, an anomoly in the time-space continuum, because these two things simply cannot coexist on the same plane of existence. Except in Los Angeles, of course. Well, the Grove has an Apple store. But parking validation for the Farmers Market is different than for the Grove, so that proves it: Two separate things entirely.

Make an apron!

Tuesday, May 1, 2007

See and be seen scene (CNBCnCn)

I like to see the people who like to be seen. I appreciate la bella figura on the piazza every evening. No piazza here, just Sunset Boulevard and Rodeo Drive. Think those guys are almost famous? I think they think they're almost famous (just helping them along with this post). The girl with the trench coat, striped tights, slouchy sh*t-kickers and sissy pink purse? What a great look. Dude with a Gucci fanny pack? Um, not so good.

Iconography Made Easy

No guesses? How about some more pictures and you tell me if the chair from the previous post doesn't make a great Eifel Tower for L.A. Dude writing music in the souvenir t-shirt shop. B-movie inspiration, Attack of the Monster Donuts. Puritan Poultry: Sure, you want to go with alliteration on "poultry", "puritan" is a good choice. And the absolute, hands-down most darling shopping carts in Western Civilization, probably. Sights, sounds, tastes, smells, the sunshine peeking through, or the fresh rain dripping in between (I like it here best when it rains) ... but, ultimately, it's the people here. And the chairs.

What would you choose as the icon for your town?


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