June weaves a tale

I saw a meme that read, “The time between Christmas and New Year’s, when you aren’t sure what day of the week it is and you’re full of cheese.”

That sums it up.

I did stick with my plan to try to go to new places all week.

First, I headed to a coffee shop downtown that’s always looked cute.

Closed. Stupid inconvenient Christmas.

So then Ned and I bowled. Technically, I’ve been there once, in January 2012, but it was the best I could do after my coffee-shop visit was thwarted.

The bowling experience was 100% stupid Ned. We walked in at 4, and the guy with the shoes–I don’t mean he wore shoes. He did. But he rented us bowling shoes. In case you’re unfamiliar with the exotic rules of bowling.

Anyway, the guy with the shoes said, “We’re having a special today: $10 per person unlimited bowling till the leagues get here at 5:30.”

Ned looked concernedly at the clock. “It’s an hour and a half, Ned. I think we can squeeze in a game.”

And squeeze in a game we did. We had (delicious) fries from the bar and Cokes from Columbian drug dealers. “Wow, it goes a lot faster with just two people,” said Ned, who bowls with his family, all 600 members, each year at Christmas in a tradition they call O Bowly Night, which you have to admit is clever.

Once our first stellar game (see below) was done,

Why do I try to compete in sports with Ned?

we bowled another. I’d bowled an impressive 77 and 96. Yes, I AM available to join your league. Then it was 5:00. I started taking off my bowling shoes to put on m’Uggs.

“What’re you DOING?” asked Ned, incredulous. “We still have half an hour!!”

And, see, I knew. You know how you know a person, and you know their annoying quirks and foibles and you anticipate them and get irked before they even do the thing? You know how that is? Ned has to


every ounce of life out of every situation. He doesn’t have fear of missing out. He has HORROR of missing out. No party will end without Ned still there, raising the roof. No animal at the zoo will go unwatched till said animal clocks out in exhaustion. No the-outcome-is-obvious sporting event will be left until the Zamboni machine glides past to clean the ice and the arena is cleared. Doesn’t every sports event end in a Zamboni? Asked the person from Michigan.

“Goddammit, Ned,” I said. “I’ve hauled 8 pounds of ball down an alley 40 times now.”

We bowled a third goddamn game. Sometimes I want to punch Ned. Then he’d be the very last one to leave the emergency room.

Yesterday, after I took down Christmas, removed every single last thing out of the old bins (found a pizza receipt from 2009. I musta ordered pizza to keep up m’decorating strength that year), cleaned them out, then categorized each bin’s contents. One has all the linens and so forth. One has all the breakable ornaments. There was one bin that was almost entirely reindeer statues. I do love a reindeer statue. Sparkly ones. You know me.

Bin there. Done that.

After I did all that and hated self and life and hauled each damn tub to the garage and hated self and life more, after that, I went to the mill.

As you know, from your Big Book of June’s Cats, I recently purchased a mill house for $4. Because I am a financial genius, I decided this was a smart move. This hood is right near two mills that had been closed for decades, putting the mill houses near them in decline, but now they’re both being renovated with apartments and shops and restaurants, and my theory is the property around it will begin to shine again.

Meanwhile, crack is so convenient! No more traipsing to the edge of town, you’re ON the edge of town!

My neighborhood is on the national register of historic places, as is my vagina.

Anyway, I fell in love with the house cause it’s so cute and was in great shape and I knew the owner–a thing I hadn’t known till I’d made my first offer, but still. It helped solidify my obsession with it. I mean, I literally fell in love. I got all tingly and my-blood-is-carbonated-y.

The point is, the mill that’s already done is less than a mile from me and it’s lovely. It has shops I’ve never visited and so that was my trip to someplace I’d never been yesterday.

Everyone who lives there works as an actor at Pixar.

The shop I sought out, a place where you get to create your own scented soaps and candles (“Yes, I’d like ‘Mask the multiple animals scent,’ please.”) was closed.

Stupid inconvenient Christmas.

But! BUT!


I cozied up to the security guard, as I’d been walking about looking at all the other shops and workplaces and art.

This is not the security guard. This is art.
Also not the security guard. This is someone’s office I creepy-crawled.

The security guard showed me THE MILL HISTORY MUSEUM in the building and oh my god, it was so cool!!!

What also happened here: fine photo cropping.


I don’t know what this is but I LOVE the color. Apparently it makes the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ man-part socks.
This is right near me! That sign is still there!
I operated all these yesterday. Lost 12 fingers and made a quilt.
Of all the cotton-pickin’…
YOU’RE a picker dropping.

Anyway, they also had phones you could pick up to hear recordings of folks who used to live near and work in the mill. IT WAS SO COOL.

It was so spool! I’ll be here all week. Full of cheese.
I shuttle to think of how many puns Ima come up with.

Anyway, they had a map on the wall, and the lights shining through it made it impossible to photograph, but THERE WAS MY LITTLE STREET. “June Gardens lives here.”

And? AND?

You guys, that could be my kitchen.

Oh, I want to see a whole mill house in photos. These are all built just the same, so if I see one, it’d be just like seeing mine. Also, I want that Hoosier cabinet so bad, I do.

Also, on display? They had this…

In all, it was a fruitful trip to the mill. I milled around.

Hey, did you get my text[ile]?


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At one point, I was sort of hot, in a "she's 27 and probably a 7" kind of a way. Now I'm old and have to develop a charming personality. Guess how that's going.

32 thoughts on “June weaves a tale”

  1. My ex and I were recently talking……ok, bitching…….about my parents being The Lingerers. We recently sat behind them at a Christmas concert. The concert concluded, everybody got up and gathered their belongs and children, and there sits my parents. Not moving, just staring at an empty stage. My ex wondered if the concert was still going on in their minds. They did the exact same thing at a show we all went to see last night! I do not get it. I have, throughout my life, had to clean up at the end of every party because they don’t know when to leave.


  2. I’m late to the party a gin – I cotton get here earlier – but wanted to add my “lovely post lovely June”.

    We have some very dear friends who are the exact opposite of the lingerers. One second they are there, the next they are gone. My kids call this the Irish goodbye. It’s a bit disconcerting the first few times, but once you get used to it it’s a very endearing trait. The next day there will be a thank you note or flowers delivered to the door with a “sorry we had to leave in a rush – wonderful party!” attached. So much better than the people who keep you standing at the door for 45 minutes saying goodbye.


  3. You are the only person who could make a museum trip about the mill both hilarious and interesting. Those chairs are so you.


  4. I love museums too. My husband has been treated at Pennsylvania Hospital, the nation’s first, for five years. Ben Franklin was a founder. There is a muesum with the original operating theater, etc. It took an admission of him to the ICU for me to get to finally see it last June. He was safely ensconced and after I ate in the cafeteria I took a wrong turn and found that area. I’d asked to check it out many times and he refused, just wanted to get going. It is several sets of stairs but they are wide with huge landings to rest on. I really enjoyed the history and the architecture.
    I would be very into that mill. Thanks for the photos. My late paternal grandfather worked in hoisery mills in Philadelphia many years ago.


  5. I’m stealing O Bowly Night. We have my husband’s grandparent’s 1940’s yellow table and chairs with sparkles. I have a picture of Ken at about 5 sitting at the table in his jammies. The picture is framed on the wall near the table.

    Great post Junie. I’m still so happy that you’re back.


  6. When I do my Greensboro vacation, I’ll go to the mills. Looks like fun. Love seeing the ladies in their dresses and coats on their way home. Almost bought a Hoosier cabinet, but got a vintage pie safe instead, which I still love to pieces.

    My first job out of college, I was in the old county courthouse. Built in 1870 in the Italian Villa style, the walls were a foot thick, and we even had the original bank vault door with an office behind the door. Later, I worked in an old International Harvester manufacturing plant in St. Paul, with 75-foot ceilings, those cool old-fashioned windows, and lots of light. My last historical work building was the old Munsingwear plant in Mpls. It was converted into the interior design showroom and marketplace. Has a six-story atrium that was right outside my office, lots of cool, funky nooks. Great space for parties. I love old buildings.

    Happy New Year June!


  7. The things that won’t leave are the reason I don’t have more parties. I love entertaining, but when I’m done everyone needs to get out so I can sit on the couch in my sweats and watch old Chuck episodes.


  8. I love the mill photos. I understand your excitement over it. I work in one of the old BF Goodrich tire factory buildings. They had their own police and fire departments because there were so many buildings. A lot of the buildings are gone but the leftovers are being renovated. We just got a brewery and we are supposed to get another. Yay beer. There are several buildings I still haven’t explored because I’m weird and this since i work in THIS building I should not go into those OTHER buildings but that’s dumb.


  9. Lovely post! Love the 1940s “shift change” photo. I don’t get that dressed up to go anywhere, much less my job at the Mill.

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Oh Bowly Night! My bowling scores closely resemble yours and sometimes that’s WITH the children’s bumpers in place. Do you have a sore butt cheek? I always have one sore butt cheek after bowling. The asymmetry of that bothers me. (Should we call that ass-ymmetry?)
    I LOVE museums. Meandering around, taking my own sweet time to see how life used to be is an activity I will never turn down. What a perfectly delightful way to spend your afternoon! I admire your Do Something New Each Day plan.
    Lovely post, June!


  11. My question is what was your score for the third game??

    So cool to see the history of your new area!


  12. It amazes me how you plan to do things and then… you actually DO them! I want to be like that. I never get past the planning stage. Loved this historical post.


  13. Hoosier mama, queen of puns. I actually have a white Hoosier with enamel pull out and fruit decals, I do quite like it.


  14. Bin there. Done that. FLUMP! Ned, Ned, Ned. Love the mill museum. I would definitely visit that place. We had a dinette set like that, except it didn’t have sparkles. It wasn’t the fancy set, just basic.


    1. My grandparents had a grey set. I would love to buy a reproduction set for my kitchen but Q) they are really expensive, and 5) I think it would stick out like a sore thumb with my other decor. But I really love those table and chairs!


  15. Looks like an interesting tour, Joon. Wonder if that old flannel mill could make me some pajamas. I’ve been looking all over for flannel jammers and all I can find have Christmas all over them. Gawd.


  16. My husband is just like Ned when it’s time to end something and go home. I call him the Hotel California, “You can check in but you can never leave”.

    Liked by 2 people

  17. This certainly wasn’t a…run of the mill post!

    I’m sorry for that.

    I had a FOMO Ned for many years who would watch me fall asleep on the couch at parties around 2am and decide that meant we were staying until 5am. He would rather die than not be the last person to leave. Like anybody even wanted him there to begin with. Neds of the world. Ugh.

    Thanks for the Friday morning laugh. I’m gonna need it to get through the Friday afternoon lunch hangover.


    1. We refer to those people as The Things That Wouldn’t Leave. You could be turning off lights and putting on your pajamas and they wouldn’t take the hint. We had a neighbor who would be The Thing That Wouldn’t Leave. I was not sad when he moved away.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. This is great. I heard through the grapevine that he still does this to people, so I’ll have to “hip them” to the term.

        I bet they all love hearing his story about that thing that happened in college that one time, for the fiftieth time. I know I did!


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