I can America*

Today, in preparation for that good American holiday Halloween, I went to the fabric store to purchase materials to make a witch costume for Molly. She has very specific ideas about what her witch costume will look like - she drew me a picture. She carefully colored in the hat, and she added the tiny bow at the neckline.

It is to be black. No waistline. No zippers or buttons or ribbons or frills. Short sleeves because she doesn't like the feel of fabric on her elbows. It is to be mid-calf in length. When I told her I would have to find a pattern (because my sewing skills are rusty), she said, "No, no pattern! Only black. Plain black."

The closest fabric store I know about is a Jo-Ann's Superstore, on SE 82nd, in the middle of a territory that God -- or Portland land use zoning law -- has abandoned to strip malls and highways. There are no trees in "outer SE" as it is known. There are no sidewalks. There are cars going fast on the highway, or going slow at the traffic lights, or going slow on the highways during rush hour. The only people you see outside are unfortunates waiting for the bus, in a part of town deemed unworthy of bus shelters, sitting passively in the rain on sodden benches.

I was in JoAnn's for almost 3 hours. The store itself is a huge, clean, windowless warehouse of white walls, lit by cold fluorescent lights hung from a high white ceiling. While I was there, a huge rainstorm hit outside; I had no indication of the storm deep in the center of the store. I was surrounded by 9-foot high shelves stocked with amazing potential for whatever hobby you have -- needle-point, sewing, knitting, machine embroidery, decoupage, home decoration (pre-made and materials for), an assortment of unfinished wooden boxes and small furniture to be used in decoupage and home decoration; dried flower arranging, frames and framing, fabric painting, dying, card-making, and scrap-booking. More than four aisles were aimed for the scrap-bookers: colored archival paper, in matte, gloss and glitter; stickers; devices to create stickers; special scissors to cut shapes to fit into the devices to make unique stickers. Stamps for those who don't want stickers but do want color. Large stamps of color texture, small stamps of intricate Victorian curling ivy, alphabet stamp sets in 4 different sizes and 5 different fonts. And 2 more aisles of compartmentalized storage boxes to keep track of all your scrap-booking supplies.

Oh yes, they do sell fabric, but most of it is fleece (plain, striped, patterned and licensed patterns) and quilting calicos. At this time of year, they are well-stocked with fanciful fabrics for Halloween -- I bypassed several attractive tulles with multi-colored sequins, or deep red-black velvet with burned out skulls and crossbones, in favor of the plain black that Molly requested. Because I only needed a yard, I purchased some delicious velvety black panne (rejected by herself because it has "shiny parts") in addition to the more safe fine wale black corduroy (pronounced "perfect").

The problem was the pattern. Patterns for girls' witches costumes run to the Scary Witches (worn with big green noses and orange-and-white-striped stockings and with tight Victorian bodices and big puffed sleeves and capes) or to the Beautiful Witches (with brightly colored netting overlays, and tight corset-tied Medieval bodices over lacy insets, and long dramatic swooping sleeves). Eventually I found a plain girl's dress, exactly matching the drawing (except intended for a fun fabric, with pockets).

While I was wandering lost in the fields of too much potential, I was helped by three different employees -- a Southeast Asian woman, an Hispanic woman, and a white woman, each with accents (the white woman sounded like she just came down from the ranch -- very Western). The women who sat at the pattern-books with me, looking for Halloween costumes for themselves (not for the 5-year-old boy who patiently paged through the pattern books pointing out costumes for them to wear -- the Wicked Witch of the West for his mother, and Dorothy for her friend) were white, overweight and in their early 20's, wearing similar outfits of t-shirts under shapeless hooded cardigan sweatshirts and jeans.

With all the materials for the witch dress in my new wooden box (I was not immune to the sirens of all craft projects), I drove straight to Burgerville, the only hamburger joint that our family frequents. Burgerville prides itself on all the buzzwords of the day -- their meat is all locally grown in sustainable farms, range-fed, no antibiotics; they use no trans-fats, locally grown potatoes and other veggies, locally caught fish (I always get the halibut sandwich). They provide full health care benefits to their employees. They are reknowned for their seasonal shakes, made with real ice cream, all locally provenanced as well.

As I returned to the highway, sucking down my really excellent creamy and not-too-sweet Pumpkin Milkshake, I thought about how different my experience was from an equivalent shopping expedition that Kate might have taken in Toulouse. I'm not sure Halloween is celebrated in the same way in Toulouse, for starters. But the giant mega-store -- in a long strip of strip malls, miles from the city center -- filled with some genuinely cool stuff, but so much of it, and so much completely frivolous -- and not even particularly beautiful. Mostly it was cheap, and it feels like a lot of the crafts that JoAnn's supports, exist just to keep idle hands busy. There are some true technicians out there, I'm sure, some artisans of scrap-booking. But much of this stuff is just more consumable stuff, like plastic witch hats made in China and shipped here for use and discard on one day of the year. JoAnn's had 4 different styles of hats for witches -- and I wasn't looking at the pirates or the naughty maid or the monster sections.

The people I encountered there -- also an American experience. Recent immigrants and working class whites, virtually everyone overweight. And that includes me, finishing off my all-American experience with that so-American of meals, a drive-through of a zillion calories, carefully marketed as sustainable and "healthy" fat so I could feel good about myself while I consumed.

*With a nod to Stephen Colbert's new book, "I am America (And So Can You)".