Rose Bowl, episode 2. In which Mari does the hula pie.

When my biological clock decided it was time to tick-tock past fifty, I was more than well-prepared with plane eTickets, TPIR reserved-seating tickets, and Nobu table-with-ocean-view reservations booked as far in advance as the powers that be would allow (that was thirty, not thirty-one, days if you recall).

And while Mari's 50th birthday technically landed on our August calendar, so did back-to-school and thus we were open to exploring a new-to-us Southern California fleamarket a couple months later when the weather would be (we hoped) a bit cooler and our experience more comfortably cooperative than 2016's mid-September steamy perusals at the Long Beach flea.

Occasionally, Mari will make a special request while I am trip planning, and I'm all about honoring a request and fulfilling her dreams... Yada yada yada.


Yada also includes a 25th proposal anniversary re-proposal at the top of the Eiffel Tower on Valentine's Day a few years ago if you recall. 

This time, Mari made her request while we were celebrating my 50th birthday. On our way up Pacific Coast Highway to my sunset birthday dinner in Malibu (I know how that sounds, but I'm owning it) Mari and I made a spectacularly surprising foodie favorite discovery.

We sighted our favorite restaurant along the way to Nobu. It wasn't exactly the site of our favorite restaurant because this was our first time driving PCH, but it was a new-to-us location of a favorite, Duke's Waikiki, where we had enjoyed one of our most memorable meals over seven years prior while celebrating our 20th anniversary.

We later learned that there are three Duke's locations in Southern California as well as two additional Hawaii locations, all of which honor Duke Paoa Kahanamoku, five-time Olympic swimming medalist and champion of the sport of surfing.

The restaurant chain's main site has a nice tribute to Duke and a timeline of his accomplishments which include heroic and humanitarian efforts.

Visit the site also to explore the menus at the different locations because if you are in SoCal or Hawaii, you'll want to add a relaxing meal of fresh seafood in an amazing oceanside setting to your travel itinerary.

dukesrestaurants.com

Mari and I exchanged cameras with a friendly young couple celebrating their own special dinner for this photo with a life-size statue of Duke himself.

I was fired up to share Mari's celebratory "Hula Pie" that was generously provided by our friendly server. Although I was tempted to lick the plate clean and drop it into Mari's purse for a shanghaied souvenir, we behaved ourselves and made a quick stop at the gift shop on the way out and purchased a pair of souvenir plates to enjoy with our own celebratory treats at home when overcome with travel cravings.

Like a couple of expert fleamarketers,

we are never hard-pressed to find a gift shop.

Our Rose Bowl fleamarket experience, dear reader, what can I say?

We would have been overwhelmed had I not explored the site before our visit to get the "lay of the land" and had it not been for the color map (and great scrapbook embellishment) thoughtfully provided at the market entrance.

Now, about that other thing...

You know, that thing I don't like talking about...

You know how I feel about paying to enter a fleamarket, but at least there was a plethora of free parking surrounding the stadium and plenty of friendly staffers to guide us to that perfect parking spot.

Although unfortunately unable to find any online discounts or coupons for admission, I did learn that all admission tickets must be purchased in person with cash on the day of the monthly flea.

Take a date because if you pay your $18 admission for two with a Tubman (still trying it out) you'll receive a crisp two-dollar bill in return along with your souvenir color map.

Visit the helpful site to plan

your own visit as a shopper

or to apply to be a vendor.

rgcshows.com/rosebowl.aspx

Trusty souvenir map in one hand, beautiful birthday girl with empty market tote in the other, I steered Mari into the heart of the vintage section to begin our Saturday morning hunt.

The colorfully eclectic and charmingly disheveled booth above yielded our first purchase of the day. Three of our six vintage tomato juice glasses are pictured here and have already been put to good use on a few weekend occasions.

More stories and rescued treasures from the Rose Bowl next time.

Rose Bowl, episode 1. In which we return to California.

There's a story, of course.

This photo was years in the making. The monthly Rose Bowl fleamarket landed with a huge wonderful blip on our radar long ago when we first started getting serious about fleamarketing. It was probably some show or other on HGTV or the Travel Channel and it probably had something to do with Lara Spencer, that creatively crafty temptress.

Mari and I were particularly tempted by the Rose Bowl flea last year when I was planning my 50th-birthday-California-here-we-come-weekend that included a taping of The Price is Right and a visit to the monthly Long Beach Antique Market. If you recall (California, here we come, episode 1), we did not visit the top-of-the-list Rose Bowl flea because my mother scheduled her Caesarean (me) a week too late back in 1966, but we had an amazingly overwhelming first fleamarket experience at Long Beach nevertheless.

It was Mari's turn to turn fifty-and-fabulous this year, and we made sure the trip calendar worked to our advantage (even if it was two months after the big day). 

When I turned thirty, I celebrated by "treating" myself to a long-fantasized convertible (which, if you recall from last year's California series, lasted 19 and a half years and was unfortunately not replaced by winning a brand new car on The Price is Right).

When I turned forty, it was a long-dreamed-of visit to London (and amazingly mystical Stonehenge) that scratched my Anglophilic itch that had its origins with Lady Diana's 1981 wedding.

Most recently, last year's (losing) bid to be a pool table winner on The Price is Right served as the marker of my 50th birthday milestone. It was also the first time I had traveled to California, but I knew it wouldn't be the last.

Here's a photo of Mari a few weeks shy of forty.

We were in Las Vegas for the first time and I couldn't think of a better location for her to scratch her own adventurous itch and celebrate a birthday milestone so I arranged a tandem skydive.

No, silly reader, had I been the other half of the tandem it is doubtful anyone would still be alive to write these fiercely finessed words.

A trained professional joined Mari on her first (so far) sky dive and a very proud (nervous) husband waited dutifully (sanely) on the ground with camera at the ready to snap this photo.

While Mari thought about revisiting her 40th birthday daredevilry as she turned fifty, our visit to Los Angeles/Santa Monica/Malibu last September for my big 5-0 inspired Mari's own 50th birthday California celebration.

Planned precisely (I wouldn't have it any other way) to coincide with our long-dreamed-of, top-of-the-list, and highly-hyphenated-and-anticipated Rose Bowl fleamarket, our second California 50th birthday weekend celebration included a few revisits and a few new adventures as well as a mojo-blast from our foodie potato past.

Before my gobbledygook gets too far-flung, here's a quick view from the flea.

We've been waiting a very long time to enjoy that spectacular SoCal view!

Here's another view which includes our birthday girl doing her best to fill up her favorite market tote.

More next time from the enormously expansive and ever-overflowing flea that is the second Sunday of every month Rose Bowl Flea Market and Market Place.

In the meantime, visit the official site for a quick browse.

rgcshows.com/RoseBowl.aspx

The Roosters. In which a collection roosts.

I thought it was about time to take the boys out for a walk so I'm letting them strut their stuff this week.

I'm not sure how or why or when the rooster collection happened, but (as many of you are thinking, looking around your kitchens) it just happened.

Visit Pinterest or eBay or Target or Wal-Mart or your parents' or grandparents' home or any fleamarket or antique shop in any state or in any country (including Iceland, as you know) and you will find roosters weathered and spanking new in the form of feathery figurines, plumed decor, or emblazoned on a wide variety of utilitarian items like kitchen towels.

I realize roosters are a very common collection and because of that it is easy to get collectibly carried away.  Trust me.

While undergoing our home addition a few years ago, we nearly doubled the size of our kitchen, but I also managed to lose the roost for one of my favorite collections when I made the decision to eschew upper cabinets.

The roosters had perched peacefully above the uppers for years and the collection had grown significantly (dusty) although without much significance. In other words, not all of them had a good story. They were either gifts or inexpensive finds that would excite me because they would help "fill up the space," a space I no longer had.

Sometimes (insert collectible name here) are hard to resist and sometimes they just seem to follow you home (or show up under the Christmas tree).

When you make the decision to become a collector you are often enabled along by thoughtful friends and family who see your collection as an opportunity to gift you every possible farm animal iteration available and soon your collection overflows its display space. 

Fortunately, losing my roosters' roost happened while I was reading Marie Kondo's The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and I was more than ready to purge.

I would like Marie to know that each and every member of my roost today brings me joy!

I'm taking this opportunity to coin "roost" as a collective noun for a collection or gathering of roosters.

Deal with it.

My roost began when I was a college student and I moved into my first apartment at Turtle Creek in South Bend (there were unfortunately no turtles, but there was sort of a creek, especially after a heavy rain or the first spring thaw). My mom gifted me that previously pictured Barcelos rooster (London, episode 9) which I suppose was a significant symbol that I may not have fully appreciated or understood at the time. My apartment was my first home and that tiny galley kitchen was its heart. The hand-painted hearts that highlight every Barcelos rooster reflect that nostalgic notion and the Barcelos' appearance in every Portuguese kitchen is a reflection of tradition, family, and love.

Those of you dear readers who have been following my secondhand travels for a while realize that Barcelos is not the oldest feathered friend in my (too) many collections. That honor goes to the twin weather owls purchased and rescued from my St. Teresa's Christmas fundraising kit (The Owls, episode 1). Barcelos, however, has more than enough sentimental value to ensure his roost's priceless position for a lifetime.

Barcelos is looking pretty good for 31!

Every once in a while I'm tempted by a friendly feathery figure while waiting for a Cracker Barrel table, but now that I've purportedly passed my younger and more vulnerable years, I'm (mostly) able to resist the temptation to add any more unsentimental tokens to the roost.

Mr. Hoosier joined the roost nearly five years ago during a Chicago-Indiana-Michigan visit during which I had my moment meeting Alice Walker at the American Library Association national conference in Chicago.

This 9-inch tall, dark, and handsome fellow was picked with pleasure at Picker's Paradise just outside Niles, Michigan.

You may remember that Picker's already has great sentimental value, if not a seemingly misplaced apostrophe (Chicago-Indiana-Michigan, episode 1), so you can imagine that my cast-iron Hoosier rooster is a most welcome member of the family.

Comrade Петух is the most recent roost addition.

The 6-inch wide, hand-painted, flamboyant folk figurine made the transatlantic journey with his recently pictured Kolaportið fleamarketed friends, but was discovered in a touristically-wondrous mega souvenir shop in St. Petersburg (along with a few souvenir bottles of vodka).

Петух is about the right size for a measuring cup or even a soup shot of borscht (or other savory souvenir libation), but has yet to be pressed into domestic service.

Like my beloved Barcelos, Señor Gallo is also a roost veteran.

Mari rescued him when her mom completed her own roost purge about a decade ago and he has been happily transferred to our home where his well-worn patina helps brighten up the inside of the antique display cabinet.

El Señor may have a little chip on his right toes, but he doesn't have a chip on his shoulder about it.

True collectibles wear chips

like a badge of honor!

Murano Gallo may have had his humble beginnings on Italy's island of Murano, but was discovered during our World's Longest Yardsale travels somewhere in Tennessee or Kentucky nearly a decade ago.

I thought MG would be more at ease with his fellow signori in the kitchen rather than drawing unwanted attention to himself among the uniformly rotund millefiori paperweights displayed in the living room.

Remind me to take the paperweights out for a blog spin.

It's always fun to discover a cross-collectible that has a place in two beloved collections. (Killing two birds with one stone didn't seem appropriate while romanticizing roosters, but would have been pretty clever.)

MG is not the only glass rooster in my kitchen roost, however.

This final favorite is a two-inch blown-glass blob that was cleverly and artfully formed into rooster-shape. With pointy posterior at one end and colorful comb at the other, my most delicate member of the roost was originally intended as a Christmas ornament, but I just couldn't bear to tuck him away for an 11-month hibernation until the following Christmas season.

Plucked from New York City's Bryant Park Christmas Market during our visit to Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in 2008, Christmas Rooster suspends from an ornament holder inside the display cabinet with all the boys' attention turned towards him. Not to worry, he owns his flamboyance and is more than comfortable with the attention.

My roost of roosters is once again roosting its roost and the brothers are keeping colorfully careful watch over their designated corner of the kitchen despite all the feather-ruffling excitement of our photo shoot.

I have a brand new (to us) and long dreamed-upon fleamarket to share with you next time as well as a bit of a makeover to celebrate my 100th episode. Hope you will tune in!