On Friday, I didn’t find much at the estate sale. The only things that caught my eye were the flags in pristine shape. When I held one up, someone behind me said they thought it was either the Australia or New Zealand flag. I put them back. Useful for props, but not at those prices.

Meanwhile, a family member became enamored of an ancient vise in the garage. He planned to return later with his tools to remove it.

Today was 50% off everything. Removing the vise took a lot longer than planned, so I looked around again. The flags were still there. An elderly gentleman was checking out all the smalls on the table next to me. When I asked a seller the price, he said $5 for each. That seemed very reasonable for very large fabric flags. The seller said one flag had to be New Zealand, what with the British flag in one corner and the stars. The old fellow spoke up, and said it was the Hawaii flag.

I admitted I didn’t know what the Hawaii flag looked like. In my mind I pictured something like the Hong Kong flag, a flower motif. I didn’t understand why it would feature the Union Jack. The gentleman looked around, found a packet of maps, and said, ‘Here’s a map of Hawaii, maybe there’s a flag on it.’

It wasn’t really that important, but he went to a lot of trouble spreading the map out. In his ongoing conversation with the seller, he said he knew the man who owned the house, and that he was 93 years old to the owner’s 95.

I paid for the flags, and went out to the car to wait. When the family member returned, he said none of the sellers bothered to help him, but finally a really old fellow came over and gave him assistance.

The flag in question turned out to be Australian. But thanks to a 93-year old, I now know that Britain once had political authority over Hawaii. I will probably think of him every time I pick up that flag.

I had forgotten the frenzy that this can be, although we didn’t manage to go till the last day, which is always ‘by the bag’ day. While a lot of the good stuff is gone, there is still a wealth of books there. We got two bags at $5 each. So what did I do? I headed for the cookbooks, which were severely depleted. My stash of mysteries is at an all-time low, and at Palo Alto, the fiction is outside, where I was overwhelmed by the choice. The rest of the cookbooks were mixed in with the fiction, which made no sense.

It is always amusing to watch how people stuff their bags. The younger family members refer to this as ‘bin packing’, and I always thought they were indulging in some sort of codespeak. One day, one of them explained that in all honesty, they learned how to pack enormous amounts of material into small spaces because of some video game they used to play.

For a couple of years, the skin on my hands seemed to be deteriorating. There were odd patches that got itchy, healed halfway and then got itchy again. Late last year, my doctor said it was eczema, gave me cortisone cream and told me to stop washing my hands so much. I quit washing dishes, letting family members step up to the sink instead.

Actually, it seemed like the simple act of handwashing had become irritating. Was it something in the water? And how could I stop washing so often? Like many, I use a keyboard all day long. I also do a fair amount of cooking, handling raw meat in the process. I eat at the keyboard. I go to the bathroom. I go outside and plant things in dirt. I knead dough.

Meanwhile, the cortisone cream would heal the patches for a bit. Then they came back elsewhere. I still had spots on the back of my hands when I woke up, raised bumps that were excrutiatingly itchy. They would disappear after an hour or so, only to return the next morning. I was getting patches of itchy skin between my fingers.

Our liquid soap of choice was Softsoap, bottles at all the sinks, including the kitchen. A dermatologist mentioned years ago that Dove was one of the mildest bar soaps. Shower soap was either Dove or Oil of Olay liquid.

Once I read this, out went the Softsoap. And guess what? The eczema is all gone from one hand, and the one patch left on the other is healing. No new patches. No itching.

Check your soaps, dishwashing liquids, toothpaste, acne cleansers, deodorant and hand lotions (yes, even that). You probably don’t want this on your skin and in your system.

I’m always on the lookout for bears with character - used ones at garage and estate sales. They sit fairly still for photos, and if they won’t lean the right way, a well-placed heavy rock does the trick. (I know what you’re thinking, but I am very kind to my bears.) Tape sticks to plush badly, but given a little time and persistence, my bears generally do what I ask.

This morning found me at a Palo Alto sale where a very large old bear slumped in a dark corner with a pink pig. Quite used and full of personality, it was, sadly, missing an eye. Rejected.

At the next sale, there were masses of new stuffed animals. Not a good sign. Prices were high, but when I picked up the lone large bear, a woman exclaimed, ‘Name a price! We’re open to anything!’

The fur was suitably old-looking, but it looked more like a dog with upright ears. ‘Oh, no,’ she said, ‘It’s definitely a bear.’ I poked around the face, looking for eyes in all that thick fur. ‘You can trim back the fur if you like, but it’s got eyes.’

So what did we settle on? ‘You can have it for a dollar.’ Sold.

Friday night at the produce stand next to Trader Joe’s, two of them were flanking a woman sitting on the curb. One was saying, ‘M’am, we know you’ve some substance, we just don’t know what it was yet.’ By the time I finished and was heading to the car, here comes another cop, a woman, moving briskly to help out. There were four police cars in the lot.

Saturday, we were slowed down by cops directing traffic around an accident in Palo Alto. Back home, we crept along near Sunnyvale-Saratoga, where chunks of tire debris littered the intersection. Off to the side, a large family with lots of little ones was talking to the cops.

Due to the heat, we mostly stayed home, but whenever we ventured out, there they were.

The idea was for an afternoon of art supply shopping and photo prop hunting. However, the sprinkles here turned into real rain in SF, and never let up. I had the wrong shoes for puddle-jumping, and decided props could wait another day. Mostly, I was hungry.

There are times when the family cook (me) rebels, and on such a blustery, wet day, wants pot roast and mashed potatoes, or some such comforting equivalent. We were, I thought, in the vicinity of Mel’s, good for quick, if somewhat mediocre, fulfillment.

The family member who was driving thought that either Mel’s had moved or had gone out of business. This seemed unlikely(there are three the last time I checked). But the rain became a torrential downpour, so we headed out of the city into an even worse storm, the kind known as a gullywasher where I come from. Visibility was frighteningly low in broad daylight.

But so much rain in May can only quiet the water-rationing types, if only for a little while.

Last week I bought this camera. I’ve had my eye on it since it came out last year, but the planets, moons, constellations and animal intestines had to be lined up just so.

Sunday, I got an email telling me that I needed to call and verify. It being Easter, there was no answer, even though I was assured there would be. Calls this morning were mostly spent on hold listening to old Enya tracks, and after the sixth or seventh try, there was actual human contact. After making sure the address was correct, the salesman and I had a little chat:

He: So, do you have any questions for me?
Me: Uh, no.
He: Well, I’ll have to tell you what most buyers of this camera ask. They want to know how long the battery lasts. I can tell you it has a very short life.
Me: Okay.
He: We’re running this deal where you can get one for ($xxx) or you can get our special promotion of two for ($xxx).
Me: I just want the camera, thanks.
He: This promotion runs out soon. You sure?
Me: Yes.
He: Tell you what, I’ll give you the two for the one price. How about that? Comes with its own charger.
Me (thinking): Uh, no, I don’t think so.
He: Okay, then. Now you know it only comes with the store warranty.
Me: How much is the manufacturer’s warranty?
He: ($xxx).
Me: Actually, I’m still looking at how much I spent just for the camera, so not now.
He: Okay, you play a tough game. I’ll throw in the manufacturer’s warranty plus the two batteries for ($xxx).
Me: No, this is something I need to think over.
He: Well if you are budget-minded, this is a great deal since you aren’t paying for any shipping.
Me (having never paid four figures for a camera before): No, I don’t think so.
He: You think I’m coming on too strong? I’m not, this is such a great deal.
Me: Just the camera, thanks.

Note to self: next time, back to Adorama or B&H.

In line to pay, I glanced over to where a clerk or buyer was squatting on the floor in front of some merchandise. Her jeans were riding dangerously low and in grave danger of leaving her body altogether.

Isn’t that a little uncomfortable? Are people actually designing garments to accommodate this problem?

The good news is, I got in an hour of walking. The bad news goes on and on. The actual walking was at a frustratingly leisurely pace, behind small children and sluggish couples. A family member was left behind in Returns purgatory with a waiting area full of dead-eyed customers.

The idea was to meet up in the kitchens area, but with only one cell between us, this was a lesson in futility. I wound up going back and forth many times, trying to breathe the increasingly stale air, having to ask directions several times. In a miracle of sorts, our paths crossed at last.

Even after a decent lunch and hot cocoa, I’ve fallen into a post IKEA torpor.

The woman’s cart was loaded with shelving and assorted boxed up furniture. She glanced at the sign on the elevator regarding simple DIY instructions and snorted. ‘Hah!’, she said. ‘Simple, eh? Is that why there’s always a piece or two leftover from everything I try to put together?’

One of the Christmas presents didn’t work out, so I got to pick out a much-needed new Rowenta instead. (Normally, I don’t go for electrical appliances as gifts, but this was a little different.) For some time, I’ve struggled with a substandard iron, but the need for a better one didn’t really surface till I started doing more food photos with various linens as props. I debated whether to go with Rowenta or not because so many people online seemed to be unhappy with their experience.

The linens I pick up at estate sales and such are usually folded. In some cases, they seem to have been folded and kept at the bottom of drawers for centuries. When linens with fold marks started showing up in food magazines, I rejoiced.

Now I have no excuse. When the Rowenta emits a blast of steam from its many vents, my hair is blown straight back. Just kidding.

I needed some for a few food shots. Costco had them by the pound, but upon closer inspection, they were somewhat sad looking, dried and definitely lacking the glisten I was hoping for. However, at Trader Joe’s, a small container was sufficient, with enough sparkle to lend some life to an otherwise bland shot.

Why did I not just buy some pomegranates and scoop out my own? I was busy polishing spoons and forks when I wasn’t trying out my new iron on the large quantities of old linens in my prop boxes.

While we were waiting for our crabs (2.99/lb, one day only), an energetic customer at the live fish tank was shouting his order to the non-English-speaking clerk, ‘Tilapia! One tilapia! TI-LAP-I-A! Come on, man. It’s got to be close to the same in all languages!’

The names were committed to memory: Fra’mani, Boccalone and the restaurant La Ciccia. A family member in Seattle had every intention of visiting Salumi, the cured meats establishment favorited by no less than Anthony Bourdain.

Alas, a snowstorm thwarted the Seattle effort. The family member flew out of Seattle in the nick of time, just before another storm.

The Fra’mani was found at the Berkeley Bowl. A quick trip to the Ferry Building netted a sampler box of Boccalone salamis. A reservation at the restaurant was not to be had, but it is in the plan for the new year.

The recipient was surprised and happy.

We ran into a few, notably the fellow this afternoon at Trader Joe’s. I needed eggs, waiting patiently as he examined them. Then he examined some more. Being a hefty guy, he took up all the space in front of the egg display. I waited and rolled my eyes. He picked up yet another carton. He made no move to put anything in his cart. I gave up and moved on.

At Whole Foods a few days ago, I needed an item that was blocked by a woman on the phone. She was deep in conversation and had a list that was a legal-size sheet of paper, writing on both sides. Apparently there was some question about the price of needed items. If this was truly a concern, she was in the wrong store. Still, she loudly expressed her views on this and that, here and there, politics, religion - the while blocking my way. I decided that she would have been more organized had she not spent the last 45 hours working on her hair.

A well-dressed, ultra-thin mom saying to her two very young kids, ‘Now that I know I can’t trust you anymore, I’m going to treat you like little babies and put you in the cart.’

Uh-oh. Do you suppose Santa is listening?

Let’s see, when did I stop shopping at Fry’s. Was it after the time I bought a $3000 laptop from the clerk who couldn’t make eye contact with me, and addressed replies to my questions to the male accompanying me? (Yes, yes, I know I should have gone elsewhere.) A little over a month after, the CD slot quit working, and someone at Fry’s told me not to bother them, they were not responsible after 30 days.

Maybe it was after when I went with a female friend to buy her Mac. That clerk treated us like a couple of homeless people with mental issues. (My friend now takes her business to the Apple store.)

The comments following the SFGate article make for interesting reading.

Hooray for online shopping.

After a really long day of shopping in Berkeley and SF, we actually planned to go to La Ciccia, having heard of their house-made salumi.

But that was not to be at 7:00 on a Saturday night when we were all running on empty. Park Chow promised only a 15-minute wait. The considerable crowd outside the restaurant promised otherwise. Luckily, it wasn’t that cold, and it wasn’t raining. After a time, one impatient gentleman began grumbling loudly, ‘Tell them to eat faster.’ Large parties were seated. We waited some more. I double-checked the menu, only to be told by a family member that there was little question what I would be ordering.

From time to time, one of us will get a pasta or some fish. Inevitably, the rest of us will get the short ribs. The ribs come in three sizes, depending on the appetite, and are served over mashed potatoes. Not a real hearty serving of mashed, but adequate. The lone holdout will spend the meal gazing at the short ribs enviously.

Saturday, we all wanted comfort. Eventually, we were seated (fairly close to the fireplace), and were told that we would be getting two free appetizers due to our wait that had turned into 25 minutes. Service was very attentive, the food appeared quickly, the ribs meltingly tender.

We were in SF for some shopping, and needed a little something to fortify us for the duration. More and more people squeezed into the tiny space. An elderly gentleman seemed to be a regular, and like us, waited patiently for his order. From time to time he greeted other customers.

Another white-haired fellow breezed in, went straight up to him and said, ‘Hey, aren’t you Bernie Madoff?’

The first guy was a bit taken aback. But a minute or so later, he took off after the other, who was back examining the vast cheese selection. ‘Hey you,’ he shouted. ‘You look more like him than I do!’

The orange oil was only a temporary fix, sadly. Believing it would do the trick, confident the ants were banished, I took off with a family member to shop in SF.

When I returned, the ants had sent out word that they were in a citrus-scented tropical paradise. It was time to bring out the heavy salvo: the boric acid solution. However, this solution has been aging since last year when I mixed up a large batch. Whether it will have its usual deadly effects will be obvious when I check tomorrow morning.

How cold does it have to be before the ants decide to move in? Early this morning, a bunch of ice cubes from a big cooler were tossed onto the driveway. Most of them were still there at 1 p.m. When we returned from the city after 6 p.m., there they were, diminished but recognizable.

Shopping was abbreviated, but successful. I found a few places rumored to be THE sites for the objects I hunted. There was parking very close by, surprisingly. For all practical purposes, I am done with the shopping.

My triglycerides are kinda high. After find out that flax seed would be a helpful addition to my diet, I went looking for it at the grocery store. When I asked a clerk where to find it, she looked blank and said, ‘What’s flax seed?’

I found it in the cereal section. It makes my morning oatmeal a little thicker, and will help me get a little thinner, along with many other benefits.

It’s cute, but I’m keenly disappointed that the monkey-picked tea is out of stock.

Once in a while, I get a stack of Cook’s Illustrated magazines for nighttime reading. Because the photos are black and white, there’s less of an urge to eat a little something, which happens when I go through a regular cookbook.

In the January issue, there’s an article comparing dark chocolates. My lactose intolerance won’t allow me to eat milk chocolate anymore, but I don’t really like the dark. However, at Safeway the other night, I found a bar of Ghirardelli 100% cacao. For not very much. I’m pretty sure I can eat this, but whether it’s enjoyable or not is another matter.

The article rates Ghirardelli’s bittersweet chocolate baking bar second to Callebaut’s intense dark chocolate. Interesting to note that Scharffen Berger (which I don’t like) is way down the list, as are Guittard and El Rey. Here’s part of the article. The rest you have to sign up for, but I’ve given the more important results.

While you’re pondering about our friends across the pond and their chocolatey innovations, consider this: Mo’s Bacon Bar is a chocolate bar studded with applewood smoked bacon.

A chocolatier who doesn’t forget about those of us who are lactose-intolerant is a fine fellow indeed. His offerings can be seen at his site, but the photo accompanying the article is a stunner.

Just in time for the Christmas shopping season. Before you rush to buy a few, ask yourself, ‘Do I have man breasts?’. Although judging from the video, this is not a prerequisite.

This begs the question then, do women wear jockstraps? Somewhere, someone might be working on just that, and getting set to offer them at Etsy.

The concept was a good one: get new toilets and have them installed by Thanksgiving when more family members arrive. Long-suffering people who know how to use a plunger, and who can also get out of the way fast when unexpected overflows develop.

Both toilets are old and temperamental. One, the flooder, has been intermittently flushing itself for some time now. The other began doing the same, except in the middle of the night, not stopping till I go and fiddle inside the tank.

There we were at Lowe’s, having picked out the right color, price range and height. We thought we could pay and then take them home. Such naivete. Because toilets are heavy, and the accompanying family member threw out his back not long ago, we asked about delivery.

Clerk: Sure, we can do that, the fee is $85.
Us (silence)
Clerk: Uh, but if you plan to buy an appliance, we could waive that fee for you.
Us: What?
Clerk: There’s a rebate on the fee if you buy something big - then we would deliver the big item basically for free, and we could put the toilets on the same truck.
Us: By big, you mean . . .
Clerk: A refrigerator? Or a washer?

We headed over to Home Depot. The delivery fee there is $90.

For $90, I could actually buy another toilet, albeit a rather inferior one.

To be continued.

The man at the gate was a stranger, but he said ‘HI!’ in that suspiciously cheerful way that some people have. I stick my head out the door, and pointed out that there was a ‘no solicitors’ sign right beside him. (Actually it was taken down when the house was painted, but whatever.) Then he cried out in great indignation that he was most certainly NOT a solicitor, that he was there on behalf of JESUS CHRIST. He was yelling.

I don’t like being yelled at. Earlier, a telemarketer didn’t slow her spiel much when I told her this was the fifth or sixth time the bank had tried to sell me a medical plan. As I was hanging up, she was yelling, ‘But what do you mean, you’re not interested in FREE GAS?’

Costco was deserted tonight. When I remarked on this to the checker, he said that it had been like that for a while.

But the male ruby-throated hummingbird came to feed at the Mexican sage plants, and the chickadees scooped up all the sunflower seeds at the feeding station. I am starting to learn more about Egyptian applique quilts and pee shiver.

More on the latter another time.

I may have posted about this incident before, but perhaps I didn’t due to taste constraints. When the kids were small, we lived in another house. This was before the era of low-flush toilets. Some appliance was on the fritz, and a handyman was on the premises. He was not a plumber.

During the course of his work, he asked to use the bathroom. No problem. Or so I thought. He used the kids’ bathroom, and it wasn’t till after he departed that I discovered that he left something behind.

Jeez. Guys, I thought, and flushed the toilet. The offending object did not go away. I flushed again. There it was once more.

It would not leave despite my best efforts. And there it remained for what seemed a long, long time. Another family member dealt with it, and is reluctant to discuss the matter to this day.

As I browsed the toilet display at the store a few days ago, I read all the advertised promises posted above each model. One in particular caught my eye, the one that boasted of power enough to flush dozens of golf balls in one go.

I hoped the handyman had one.

It doesn’t like this 90s+ weather any more than I do. Now it’s getting audible about it, because it’s hard to get my attention otherwise. For the past few days, there’s been random static. Low, but annoyingly there. Today, it popped out a sparking noise (I’m rehearsing what to tell the Mac Geniuses), and set me to checking the Mac forums. Where this seems to be a fairly common problem coming from the left speaker.

As someone who is alarmed by the loud beep that sometimes occurs when the Mac restarts, I got worried. I hurriedly bought the AppleCare. Then I turned on the a/c.

Then I switched work areas. Someone mentioned checking the power supply, maybe something’s amiss with the outlet at the other desk. So far, no more popping.

Interesting that my old Macbook Pro had none of these problems.

After a few days baking in the high 90s, we headed for what promised to be a least 10 degrees less with fog coming in.

We had forgotten that most establishments in SF are ill-prepared for hot weather, and stale air from the previous days lingered, especially in stores with skylights. Back in the oven of a car, cold sodas in hand, we decided to see if it was easier to park near Paxton Gate on a weekday.

It certainly was, but a sudden braking meant I dumped half the contents of my Diet Pepsi in my lap. It felt great, but I looked like I had massive bladder failure. Luckily, I had brought a change of clothes.

Can you change pants in a car in the Mission?

Many thanks to the staffperson who led me into the nether regions of Paxton Gate where I was able to put on dry clothes.

Well, almost. A family member is outfitting his apartment, and we were returning to the point of origin after trekking through the entire store. I had spent the morning shopping in SF, underfueled. IKEA in Palo Alto was packed with a Sunday afternoon crowd - the phrase that comes to mind is ‘teeming masses’. Back to school time. Shoppers were sprawled on various pieces of furniture, some in a stupor much like mine. The air at IKEA could use some freshening.

A man holding a small boy lay across one end of a large sofa. Both were sound asleep. I sank into the other end, leaned my head back, and would have been unconscious except the family member kept walking back and forth in front of me. It appeared he would make a purchase at last.

Once in a while, I blunder into an interesting sale of collectibles. It really doesn’t matter what kind of items they are, if they can be useful as photo props, I’m in. Over the weekend, I went to see the goods of a most incredible collector, heavy on the weaponry.

The antique pistols were fascinating, if a bit pricey. As someone pointed out, most were replicas, but it was fun to heft a firearm so compact, yet so weighty. Toward the back, there was a table full of battle axes and morning stars. These I left for another day (when the prices were marked down), and went into a small room packed with Buddhas and assorted deities, demons and china of the sort I’ve been looking for.

When I returned on Sunday, a surprising amount of stuff was still available, including the medieval armory. I could use one of the morning stars, but hesitated at the axes. The seller gave me a deal if I got one of each.

Unexpectedly, the handyman tells me I need to take a ride with him to pick out another shower fixture. Apparently, the boxes of bathroom gear we picked out ourselves on Sat. at another store was not the right stuff. He tried to explain, but even with the inferior products in his hands and gesturing, I could not understand plumbing speak. But I got the gist.

Home Depot is even busier on Mondays than weekends. Except all the buyers are pros, and they know exactly what they’re doing. Well almost all. He led me to the showerhead department. Once again, it was all a blur. He made suggestions. A family member favored the ‘brushed nickel’ look, kind of a dull finish, as opposed to the more common shiny stainless steel. Although one company’s stainless steel is not quite like another’s.

However the family member left it all up to me, and was absent. As I moved over to the dull finish section and started pointing, another pro immediately spoke up.

New pro: Hey, I wouldn’t go for the brushed nickel.
Me: Why is that?
Np: Hard to clean right. You’re gonna have to wax it.
Me: You’re kidding, right?
Np: Nope. If you don’t do it right, you’ll get scratches. Then it’ll turn black.
Me: What?
Np: Yup. Wax it first, then less problems. But once it gets scratched, it’s no good. I’ve had to go in and replace lots of this stuff when it gets black. Don’t get it, if you ask me.
Me: Okay.

I got stainless steel, the shiny kind.

There it was, just set down on top of the big desk by someone in front of me who was less interested. The garage sale was small, the seller motivated.

Me: How much?
Seller: $5.
Me: Sold.
Seller (hesitates): But I can only sell it to an adult.
Me: You are doubting that I’m an adult?
Laughter from nearby browsers.
Seller (embarrassed): Well, I meant, it can’t go to a household with small kids (indicates sharp point of sword).
Me: It’s okay. No small kids.
Seller: Then it’s yours.
Me: A little history?
Seller: It’s from either Thailand or Vietnam, belonged to a relative.

It’s heavy with a curving blade, and will be a great photo prop.

Are you going to line up at the Apple store tomorrow for a new iPhone? Do you keep the packaging that Apple products come in because they are so well designed? Did you know that packaging for said iPhone is made from potato starch?

I won’t be there, although the heat is supposed to ease off, and even though I know there is this device in my future. But I do keep the boxes of all things Apple.

Info via Popgadget.

A whole week of temps in the high 90s brings joy to the heirloom tomatoes that are suddenly towering up to seven feet. However, those of us who are not fruiting vines cast a wary eye outside and note that it’s going to be hell if you aren’t in air conditioning. Especially with more fires murking up the already bad air quality.

There is one a/c unit here, but this being an open-plan house, there is no way to seal off rooms for maximum cooling. It makes the heat a bit more bearable, and keeps the laptop cooler, but that’s it. Nights can be stifling.

With mostly floor-to-ceiling windows, where to put a new a/c becomes a big problem. I will consult with the handyman who will be here tackling the dry rot problem later in the week.

In New York, they are hard at work designing ways to hide your unit.

Apparently, it’s a common thing to do, even with our endless gadgets. But if you insist, here’s something that won’t leave a lingering stain on your skin: To-Do Tattoo. Via Popgadget.

To get me through the upcoming sweltering days, I just might get one of these. Once only available to the military, they’re now for sale to all.

At Whole Foods last night, I wanted to get some chowder for a family member who was working late in SF. Alas, there was none to be had. There was shrimp bisque, crab and corn chowder, northwestern chowder, cioppino and a Thai soup. As I was pondering the matter, a customer walked briskly up. He checked the contents of each pot, letting the lids fall with a loud bang. He picked the cioppino.

The family member makes a very excellent cioppino of his own, and as I was debating whether to just forget the soup, another gentleman stepped up. He headed straight for the cioppino.

I got the small container. Then I headed for the ice cream section where, after much deliberation, I chose Rice Dream marble fudge, Ciao Bella mango sorbet and a dark cherry soy ice cream. More on these another time.

Turned out that the family member ate duck and fig handmade sausages in SF. He was still talking about those sausages during dinner tonight.

The bear collection was vast and highly priced. After much picking through, I found two with no trademarks or logos. The stock agencies where I sell photos are strict about such things, and one will only take the images where the bears are facing away from the camera.

I passed up the quilts, which would have made great backgrounds. Then I got in line to pay. The woman took one look at the bigger bear.

Seller: That can’t be the right price.
Me: That was how I found it on that sofa over there with the quilts.
Seller: And look, the tag is on upside down. We wouldn’t do that.
Me: Silence
Seller: I mean, I can’t believe that bear would go for $15.
Me (not really wanting to pay that much for a used bear anyway): Silence
Seller: Let me ask (indicates other seller) him what he really wanted for this bear.
Me: You are holding some antique measuring cups for me.
Seller (gets cups): Oh yes, these. And the little pitcher too. Okay, let me add these up (calculates).
Me (thinking if she offends me once more, I will leave) Silence.
Seller (smiling): All right, that will be $20 (puts stuff in a bag)
Me (warily): Thanks.

While I was not in line, technically speaking, I did have to lean against a display table while waiting for my repaired laptop to be brought from the back. It took a while because I decided to ask why the purchase date on the invoice was August of last year instead of January, which was when I bought it this year. Obviously they knew it was still under warranty because there was no charge.

The display was of iPhones. A customer was peering intently at one model, hunkering down to get at the right eye level. He wore an expression of intense delight. One of the geniuses was manning the greeter position at the door while the greeter was seeing to my laptop. I truly hoped the customer bought an iPhone, he was quite beside himself as he tried them out.

The answer to the odd date? It was probably the day the online store (not Apple) got a shipment of Macs. When I buy AppleCare, I need to bring this up so they will change it.

On the way to the car, I heard someone upstairs at Zibibbo’s singing in Italian. It was a balmy night, and my option key was fixed.

Last night, the woman behind me had two geraniums, a pot of New Guinea impatiens and a rubber tree plant. My cart had a vat of olive oil, some artisan sausages, chicken legs, steelhead salmon fillets, cashew nuts, and a bag of oranges. Plus a very large hydrangea bush for ten bucks.

It is spring, after all.

It was bigger than usual with goods spread from the sidewalk out front, along the driveway and into part of the backyard. On the little back porch, people were standing in line. I asked the fellow in front of me if this was the line to pay. Yes, he said, but it turned out he was mistaken. The sellers had roped off this area because of the jewelry. Rings were popular. In the back, one of the sellers confided that she recently lost ten lbs on a diet that removed inflammatory foods.

Finally, it was my turn. Ignoring the jewelry, I went for the masks arranged among the vintage gloves and hats. This week, I’m posing bears again. They generally sit fairly still.

I try not to stare at my fellow shoppers and the interesting combinations of food they buy. A few sidelong glances sufficed Saturday at Trader Joe’s (again). The gentleman in front of me was very wide through the middle with average size arms and legs. He was clutching three bags of the guilt-free potato chips in one hand, two jars of almond butter in the other. Then he offered his profile. If you recall the Nowhere Man from Yellow Submarine, this man was the almost-but-not-quite morbidly obese version.

After about three weeks on the South Beach, I’m coming unglued and easing back into carbs here and there. Not a lot, but some. I have energy!

One of the items I looked forward to as a snack was almond butter. Once you get the hang of natural nut butter, it’s nice to know there’s only one ingredient: nuts. However good for me the almond butter was, nutritionally speaking, it was unsalted and very bland. Even though I stored it in the fridge in the approved manner, i.e. upside down, the solids still managed to part company with the oils, and I sometimes had a gob of stuff to coax back to the creamy stage. Given the choice between that and the usual sugar-free popsicle, I made the obvious choice (can’t eat cheese and cheese-related items on the diet).

Three weeks without sugar will sharpen your taste buds. I bought some sunflower seed butter at Trader Joe’s last weekend, and was surprised at the sweetness. The ingredient list contains evaporated cane juice. Very tasty.

So there I was again at the Genius Bar, and it was a much busier night than Monday. When it was my turn, I had to lean in between a couple who continued their conversation as I tried to explain my laptop woes to my genius. I couldn’t hop up on a stool due to my back being thrown out of whack over the weekend. Sometimes I wish I were a larger person with extra jumbo elbows. The genius listened patiently as he fooled with my laptop while he monitored the talkative couple’s machines. He was annoyed but trying hard not to show it.

A family member picked this moment to ask the genius, ‘Say, can I get one of those Genius shirts?’

‘No!’ barked the genius. No glance up, no smile.

Apple stopped selling the shirts a while back. If you want one badly enough, you can find it at eBay and such.

In the Bay Area, it’s not as easy as you might think. Most of the time, we have no need for heavy outerwear, and even when it’s in the 40s, a surprising number of residents run around in shorts and a tee. Well, maybe shorts and a sweatshirt.

When a son needed such a jacket for an upcoming trip to NYC, I was coaxed along because, ‘Mom, I don’t know what to look for.’

Twenty-somethings usually don’t make requests like this. As it turned out, I desperately needed to get away from the horrific cough of another family member, whose lungs have been shaken, stirred and turned inside out these past many days.

After discovering that Macy’s and other such only carry lightweights, we wound up at Any Mountain. My son announced that he had a moral obligation not to wear Michelin-man down jackets. That culled out most of the choices, which included camouflage snowboarding jackets with fur-lined hoods. There was only one possibility, but it was on the pricey side. A quick check on the iPhone to Amazon yielded the same for a bit less, but not in the right size.

By this time, it was determined that the true test of a suitable jacket was the amount of sweat produced after zipping it up.

Exit another store. I don’t know how my kids got to be such picky shoppers. I quit taking them with me when they found that hiding under the revolving clothes racks was great fun. I always thought that guys made quick work of shopping. My other son can spend the better part of an afternoon in one shoe store.

On to Burlington Coats. Not my favorite store. I used to find things for my mom in there. I hung back, looking for hydrating shampoos and girlie socks at The Rack. When I caught up with my son, I had a movie moment, the kind where the camera pulls back to reveal the character is surrounded by endless desert or trees or crowds. In this case, he was in the middle of racks and racks of coats, lightweight, heavyweight, overcoats, peacoats, trenchcoats. And he was sweating.

We emerged about an hour later. He had his urban jacket in a tasteful, manly color, all lined with lots of down, but concealed in such a way that he only looked as if he’d had a really filling dinner.

He saved $200.

It lingers, the bug. Just when I thought I was free, back it comes this afternoon, a vague queasiness, tiredness, a froggy throat. The runs came back as well.

At dinner, I watched as a family member ate leftover barbecued baby back ribs and hash brown patties. It smelled good, but I was having none of it, even though my stomach was beginning to rumble. Nothing in the fridge appealed, most of it being raw.

We had to run out to Whole Foods, whose pastry department is the best place to get a surprise gift for someone who’s done something very nice for you and isn’t going to send a bill. After I picked out three of the big fancy desserts, including the one shaped like a coffee cup, I headed for the soups/stews island. Rejected most, settled for the turkey.

All this wearing my heaviest coat, which is heavy indeed, the kind with two layers of fasteners. I was happy to see other shoppers wearing overcoats, though none quite as extreme as mine. Then I saw something that made me feel much better, and finely dressed at that.

Over by the fresh mozzarella, highly favored by another family member, a couple was talking to a clerk. The guy was dressed in a light jacket, the woman had on black furry boots that looked to be made of bear. At least six inches thick. I must find these online and post a picture.

The turkey stew/soup was most excellent, I should have gotten the big container.

It fits in a mailing envelope, and weighs three pounds less than my current Powerbook G4. Mighty tempting. Mighty. Tempting.