The Life Tax

Seeing the Holiday Market listed in the Weekly's calendar this week was amusing. I have had dreams already of manipulating my inventory, trying to figure out how to sell the next day and feeling too late, somewhat like those missed-exam dreams that are so common. It reminds me how fleeting things are; they seem so important but then they are history and everyone is on to the next thing.

I've been somewhat bereft of subject matter this week, since this blog has been so Market-focused. No one wants to hear that I've set up my inventory sheets and will spend the next week counting and resorting all that stuff so hastily packed at the end of HM. I do want to give a huge thanks to my maturing son and his wonderful girlfriend, who helped me pack and were the great kind of help who need minimal instruction, since decision-making is so impaired at the end of shows. He is the world's best packer and we did use the car, getting it all into two loads and three hours. That was all terrific, and some resting was done over the week now ending, that special, quiet week that is suspended time between Christmas and New Year's, extending a few more days this year with the weekend. The town is empty, everyone is lazy or off skiing or something, and I normally don't do any work at all during this week.

However, my cousin popped in on Monday, which was my first real day off since my son was here until Sunday. He insisted that everything was hinging on me making a label for my aunt's pickles, which he has grand schemes to sell. They are pretty good if you like sweet pickles, and apparently take two weeks to make, and are part of this lovely service he has been performing, having my aunt, who is in her nineties, teach him to cook all of her specialties. They are good old Nebraska recipes and mostly very comforting and delicious, although she puts bananas in her coleslaw which I never have gotten used to. Anyway, I did her label, spending hours drawing the lettering and the rendition of a photograph, drawing little cucumber vines around her head. I hope he likes it. I hope she likes it too.

Of course he promised lots of money (eventually) but I told him to pay me in pickles and fish, next time he catches some. I only resented the work a little bit, because in truth I get uneasy without work. Fortunately there is always plenty to do, with the house and the yard and my various ambitious and plebeian projects and the many steps in between from one to another. I went out today to see if I could buy dyes because I want to paint things, am hungry to paint scarves so I can feel productive and already started on my new year.

I didn't find any, but bought a few other little things, and got a pile of library books to do some research. Maybe I will sit around and read this weekend. I hope I will. I biked yesterday because the sun was out and it was kind of warm, and hung some washing out today which promptly froze. Had the washer repairperson in to assess my appliance, my Speed Queen which I love. It got the death sentence. Parts and labor are so expensive, more than what I paid for it originally. I just don't think I will fix it myself, though it could be doable. There are just enough little things I don't know to make it likely that I would spend the $300-400 on parts and mess it up in some small way that would put me right back here. I can only hope that I can replace it and someone else will rebuild this perfectly useable high quality washer.

I might change my mind over the weekend, but it's just a bit too stressful to try to do everything myself. I know I could probably do it, but I don't think it's the best decision. It's kind of a stubborn decision. I'm trying to be less stubborn. It's the kind of thing that reminds me how nice it would be to have a partner, though. A washer-fixing type of partner. I did luck out and my good friend Pamela went to Xenon with me for lunch, where we commiserated on broken appliance stories over some divine comfort food. I feel fortified enough to blithely ignore the passing of the Old Year in favor of the New Year. By ignore I mean I am not going out. I don't have to.

I will soak some black-eyed peas for tomorrow though. One must eat them on New Year's Day to insure prosperity and abundance or some such thing. Then next week I will pay the life tax and buy a new washer, dispose of the old one somehow, and maybe even take my cat to the vet and work on my year-end bookkeeping, because it is certain that if I don't pay this installment of the life tax, another will soon be upon me, and I will wake up anxious and feeling that I am late again. I've missed the exam and will get a bad grade and fall and break my leg and lose the house and then I'll be cold and wet and catch pneumonia and die. I'll find out I am human and it will spoil my day. I have a big plan to watch a lot of birds, play with art, write some stories, and generally enjoy the next few months under no pressure, and I am determined to make that happen anyway. So anxiety doesn't fit. Nothing but sweet dreams, lots of warm bread and good books, just the right amount of heavy cream and olives and capers. I think it might be a good year. At any rate, it will be a turn of the calendar page, and a cold slog until spring.

Just keep working

This is the last Sunday of the HM, with the three weekdays left to go, culminating in the Christmas-Eve-until-four-then-pack-it-all-out-celebration. Needless to say, it is exhausting, but fun too. It has been quite successful for me this year, sales topping the records. I made some correct inventory guesses and some not so correct.

It looks like I will sell out of quite a few things, at least the most desirable forms of them, like the two-tone hats of some of the popular groups. I have some blank hats and have Monday and Tuesday to make a few more, but I'm really trying to let some things sell out. It's an unfamiliar concept to me to end the season with empty inventory, but it makes sense. Almost all of my products will spend the next three months in a box, and some stuff won't be needed until July.

My booth is still too full and progress is slow in simplifying my style. I've made a few gains but overall my style is still my style. I don't want anyone to go away after not finding what they want. I'm practicing with the kids shirts, which are dwindling gradually and just might not appear at next year's HM. Let us hope. I still love them but change is inevitable.

Ah yes, the season of change whether you like it or not. I'm just not a fan of cold dark weather, and after all these years I still resist it. But pain comes from resistance, right? I got proper footwear, I know I have the biking gear to make riding (and thus exercise) a faithful part of my week, and everything is in place for me to have a lovely, warm winter season within which I will recharge, try some new directions, and fill my senses with art. I just have to remember not to hit the wetlands on the days when the head wind is on the way home. A person needs a tail wind on the way home.

I finished a few scarves that were hanging around, kinglets in bamboo and tulips. I tried printing the new calla design in gutta on silk and was somewhat successful. I've dyed three copies of it, two with mistakes, and one that I overdyed the green with blue and it got a bit too dark. I have more to try. I think printed silk items will work for me once I get the process down.

My big challenge will be to buy new dyes, the kind that you steam to set instead of using chemical fixer. I plan to enjoy the process from research to end product. I'm going to buy real flowers during the winter to paint, which will brighten my days too. I also have my big Jell-O Art projects to work on, which involve lots of new directions, so I'm excited.

Apparently I need something to look forward to. Christmas itself is just okay for me, with the tiredness and the flown kid (he is coming home for a day or two, with his wonderful girlfriend, so that should be nice). Once that forced sentimental stuff is out of the way, and the buildup of desire in every type of media is over, (except of course the amount of energy needed to block out all the Valentine's Day hype) I can just focus on art, health, refinement and improvement. Maybe it will snow.

I got up way too early today but now must go immerse in retail again. I really can't complain. I won't complain. No complaining. Everything is just super.

Lots to look forward to. Looking forward to it.

Gratitude

Nicest firing ever. I went to receive my thanks and got this most excellent loot. I guess they really did like my work, and maybe even me. I didn't cry until after I got home. it must have been too much chocolate cake.

I like having farmers for friends. My grandmother on my mom's side homesteaded in a soddy in Nebraska, and my mom grew up on that farm, so I have farming in me deep. I wish I were a farmer, except they really work their bodies much harder than I would be able to at this point. But anyway, they will still have my heart, even if I don't get to participate on the same level.

This other photo is the Christmas present I got for my nerd son. There are two more erlenmeyers still on the way. He wants these to use as dishes in his kitchen, a domestic statement I find delightful. I just use canning jars myself, pints for coffee and quarts for herb tea and ice water. This is more officially scientific.

The apron in the background is for me, one of the things I got at Holiday Market last week, made by Anna. I couldn't believe it was still there on Sunday, must have had my name on it. I make a practice of buying myself gifts at Christmas, since I just hate not getting them. My family all opts for the giving to charities in the name of the giftee, which is of course a noble practice and one for which it would be tacky and graceless to raise an objection.

I myself can't afford that, though technically I suppose I could make small donations, because everything helps. Maybe in a way I do that, attempting to buy from as many local businesses and market people as I can, spreading the Holiday Market money around. It's not that I'm selfish, but I like the personal aspect of gifting, the delight part. I guess I like the small scale.

My relatives live bigger and have more money, so that is what they want to give, rather than stuff. None of us really need more stuff, the thinking goes. Probably none of them need more money, plus it would be silly for us to give money to each other. Still, my inner two-year old feels like they are giving away all my presents. I guess I still need lessons in not being greedy and acquisitive.

This craftsperson's life isn't all that different from farming, with the selling outside and the weather-adapting that comes with that, and the cyclical patterns of the productive year. Working for oneself is always risky, though not as risky as farming. There's plenty of working tedious jobs in isolation, planning on future return from producing now, and depending on the vagaries of the marketplace. I really see little difference in the people on the two sides of 8th, or presently, down the hall.

I do feel wonderful about the orientation of the Saturday Market toward people. We have so many members, with such a strong sense of equality. In our isolation we think each of us is having a unique, often imperiled existence, but really we are bringing our commonality to the marketplace. We all want to be at least moderately successful, to receive praise and reward, and to get to go back to the studio with the means to make more of our art. Most of us make all kinds of art, including food, music, and the many types of visual and spiritual creativity. It's an explosion when we get together, a barely tamed fireworks of our best.

We touch our worst in the process. We get anxious and selfish and resentful and scared of each other and ourselves. We get protective and secretive, but also open wide, and caring. We cross boundaries, and step on other people's toes. We have great ideas and terrible ones.

But we keep coming down there to the corner and trying. We don't want to give up. The old joke about the craftsperson who won the lottery is that when asked what he would do with his newfound life, he answered that he would probably just keep doing what he was doing until the money ran out.

I really miss those doggone farmers. I didn't want to go away. I guess I won't, just will change the way I serve them to some other method. Maybe I will make good on the threats I've made to go out to their farms and turn their compost piles.

Meanwhile, I'm busy making stuff for the festival of lightness we are staging on the weekends at the County Fairgrounds. Very busy. I'll have new scarves this week and will wear my new apron.

It's also time to raise money for the Saturday Market's Kareng Fund, an emergency relief fund for members suffering a career-threatening crisis. T-shirts that say "I make stuff" have been a big hit in the past, and this year I have a new idea. I'm closing out my kids line and have lots of shirts that say "I make stuff up". It never really worked for kids, since people don't want to encourage them to lie, which is a joke for adults but one of those complicated ones.

So I'm printing a little market basket over the "up" on the shirts, so they say I make stuff Saturday Market style. I think it works. I can still see the word under there, but that's okay. We like recycling down at the Market. It's just another one of the million brilliant ideas that come and go in a typical week, month, year.

Anyway, I'll be selling them for $5 apiece to make money for the Kareng Fund. I guess I could do it in my family's name. Keeping little people warm and busy, one at a time, doing my part so that creativity will never be out of style.

New Black Boots

I bought cool boots, just in time for black and white day. I also bought fiesta ware, because it is a discontinued color that matches my tile. Just had to.

I got fired this week, from a little job that paid about $50 a month, taking minutes for a local organization. I've tried to minimize it, as they did it for financial reasons, not personal, so it isn't a reflection on my work. I know I did a good job, though of course as with anything, I could have done better. Still, getting fired is never fun. I lose on several levels, and the only way to gain anything is to shed the emotions and get on to the next thing.

Being an employee is very limiting in some ways. The ideal employee would feel dedication and ownership to the organization and not be selfish in applying talent and energy to the organization's health, but the relationship just doesn't foster that kind of devotion. An employee can't speak freely, can't enter into the planning and oversight functions of the organization, and their involvement is always at risk. No one escapes this; not even the most loyal, hard-working, and longterm employee really has any job security. There is always someone else making the choices that determine the boundaries of the worker's experience. Often it is a group of other people, and it just isn't built into the system to put intangible things like vision and patience and integrity into the value of the employee's position. It always boils down to the "bottom line" in modern business. The progressives use the triple bottom line...some organizations are good at remembering the value of the intangibles, but mostly they get lost in the hard decisions regarding money. Money is simple, a number on a spreadsheet, and all the other stuff is complicated and messy.

Which is one big reason why I work for myself, and treasure that. I get to make the choices that shape my life. It could be argued that, in retail, the customer makes the choices, but that's just in the interface with the public, and most of my job does not really depend on that interface. I still can make the choice of where and when and how I shape that interface, particularly with the options of internet marketing which make it possible for an artist to spend little real time physically presenting work to the public.

Personally, I enjoy the retailing, at least at the Market and Fair, which are all that I do. I don't have a very good relationship with money. My family culture includes being "thrifty" which often translates as cheap. I see myself get greedy when I have been deprived, thinking that there is not enough for everyone. I have a lot of siblings, and we always thought we were poor growing up, though we lived in a suburb where class-climbing was active. We aspired to be upper-middle class and most of my siblings have reached that strata, but my income places me below the poverty line. I'm not motivated by money. I try really hard not to make my decisions and experiences all about money. Yet I total my earnings every market day and gloat when they are better than other days and other vendors. My sense of self-worth is impacted, and my ability to share, feel generous, and support others are all tied into how much money I have. Like many people I have to actively work on my charity, hope, and compassion.

I have other riches in my life and don't desire what my siblings have, but I often feel like I'm doing it wrong. I choose to do it wrong, to bring my other values to play in the marketplace and keep trying to see them valued. In my art I often make political or social statements, or observations of people's values. I try to do it carefully and with humor, but a good percentage of my ideas fall flat and don't resonate with my customers. Sometimes people are glad I said things, but that extra step to buying the products isn't there. I just throw those into the bargain bin, or give them away, or make rags out of them. I'm failry used to being unappreciated, but it is balanced by the many ways I am visibly and materially appreciated. I've been trusting the waters of self-employment for over thirty years and they have kept me afloat.

As an employee, I stubbornly do it wrong. I care and am loyal and self-sacrificing, and often make the mistake of having goals and opinions outside the limits of my role as employee. It's a bargain for the employer, in some ways, but they are the ones who get to choose how my skills, thoughtfulness, and intentions are used. In most of the jobs I've had, there comes a point when my over-involvement puts me in some kind of a box. I've been fired quite a few times, and in most cases I could tell it was coming, and instead of cautiously pulling back my emotions and just doing the job I was hired to do, I push the limits until they won't stretch any more. I take emotional risks, out of a sense of justice, and become a thorn...I can see the pattern. Self-destruction is a way of gaining control. Shutting down the emotional is a defense against the messiness. It's called "acting professionally" and is greatly admired in the business world...it's just business. Not personal.

I feel that it is always personal. I have a great sense of loss regarding the depths of involvement I had with that organization that are now gone. All of the different jobs I did for them have gradually disappeared, and they have gone from being one of my good customers to not being one at all. I will still buy from them, and of course I will not stop caring about them and for them. They're part of me. But the relationship is a shadow of what it was, and I'm not going to pretend it doesn't affect me. I may act professionally on the outside, but I'm a bad employee on the inside, and I kind of want to kick my boss. Steal some office supplies, leave ten minutes early. Talk to a therapist.

The truth is that I feel a great sense of relief as well, that now I have been told not to care so much and be so involved, and I can step back. My letter of resignation has been in my drafts folder for six months. I could have sent it at any time. I chose to wait and let them make the move, let them have the power. I agonized over issues I can now forget. I did my part, and I worked hard, and I feel good about it. That was then, and this is now. I'm free to put that energy back into my own work, and my own life. I can volunteer for another organization, or pick up another little job.

It's not about the money for me, though I am willing to see that they really did look at that line item and felt they had to axe it. I can believe they would rather have made a different decision, if they felt they had the option. They're in their own limiting boxes. I'm not going to hold it against them personally. I'm going to act as professionally as I can. But I'm not going to comply with their last request to come to a meeting so they can say a respectful goodbye in a formal setting. I'm fired. I don't have to comply any more.

I really am a bad employee. But to be more truthful, I'm actually an independent contractor in this situation, and they are merely a client. I have many, and frequently lose and add them. Part of being professional is being emotionally mature, taking things at face value, and knowing that relationships are continuous over time and change constantly. I have made a lot of friends through this little job and I want those friendships and associations to continue.

So I will move from the first stance to the second, and be gracious. Handle my emotions in the proper arenas for them (yes, blogging therapy works) and move to the higher ground. Allow them the opportunity to express their appreciation and desire for a continuing connection by putting me at the top of their agenda for a formal recognition of my service. That's a lovely idea and the only reason I fear it is my own insecurity about my emotional control. Let it be, lose the subtexts and the dramatic suffering and just move along this quickly running stream. Who wouldn't want less work to do in January?

So what if I babble a bit and maybe even get a few tears in the corners of my eyes? It will be a much cleaner break and I can sort the emotions out later if I still need to. Part of the money problem is also the receiving issue...give them an opportunity to give and myself an opportunity to receive. Feel gratitude and receive gratitude.

I'll wear the boots, smile and nod, and then walk away. I've got plenty to do.

Et Voila!

Among other body parts, I really value my legs. I love biking, love hauling my stuff to market without a car. This was the second year I loaded into Holiday Market with my trailer, and this time it took four loads, kinda sorta, instead of the six from last year. But I ended up taking one little load piled on my bike, and then this week took one more, so it's still six, really.

I have the same amount of merchandise as last year, though it is displayed a bit more compactly and is easier to browse. My sales for the first weekend were double what they were last year, and we shall see if that is just an anomaly or some kind of trend. Nothing is for certain, says the 8-ball.

For the record, I am not the only vendor who is human-powered. Raven got all of his stuff there in one load, just like every Saturday of the season. Kimberly still used her wagon and walked a little farther. Brandi and Nat admitted they got a ride for one load since it was pouring out, but they walked the rest of it in. Michael had a disaster and ended up having to walk 4 1/2 miles dragging his cart/booth up the road when his trailer broke.

Elise came for this second weekend, and said it took her three loads. We love our haulers, built here in Eugene by Human Powered Machines (The Hauler).

There were probably others. I asked the soap lady, after reading in the Weekly that she delivers by bike, and she wants to, when she gets a trailer. Next to her at HM, Tyler with the steampunk accessories walked his booth and wares in. There are at least a dozen people who always or most of the time set up for Market without a car. We're thankful that we can!

I took the full nine hours to set up, as usual. I had spent an unknown amount of time making the wall display, and thinking about the arrangement of the racks and shelves, and still had to wing it on a few of the ideas I had. I used a lot of zip ties. The baskets came and went and arrived again on Sunday to fill an empty space. Goodness knows I don't want any empty spaces. I took a few more sticks and arranged them to fill the empty spaces in my hat racks. Goodness knows I wouldn't want to leave anything home.

It's a relief to have some open space in my studio again, and I'm looking forward to the winter months when I will get some scarves made. I'm still hoping to finish the ones I started last spring, tulips and birds and other springlike designs. I like having scarves at the show, even if I don't sell any. People like to feel them and want them and it's an entry into a different art form for me just to put them out there. This week I made them more visible and added some more display, so will take more pictures on Friday. Yes, it's Buy Nothing Day, but long ago we decided that it was okay to support local artists on that day without being an ugly Amurrican Consumer. Rationalization for the win.

For my really old age I hope to have less production stuff and more art items. The scarves are light and beautiful and maybe they are the way to go. I may also handpaint shirts, though the price limits on clothing are a problem. I ended up hand-painting the spadicies (spadixes?) on my new Calla Lily design because the yellow print just didn't work, turned out too greenish with the black of the shirt showing through. It took a few hours. I toyed with the idea of hand-painting the flowers, and did one (the shirt had a hole in it anyway, so nothing to lose), but I just don't think I can add $20 to the shirt price and still sell them. Might need a fancier type of shirt or something. I'll work on that. I could use my sewing skills and get some hempy drapey things, although that rough fabric would cause problems. I really like the idea of printing and then hand-painting over it, so will probably develop a product using that to see if I can make it work for me. I have to do less printing, but I'm not sure more handwork hunched over my table using a pinch grip on a small utensil will be an appropriate technological solution for aging.

There's always retirement, though I can't even imagine how I would manage that. It definitely won't happen if they change the social security age to 65. I guess they wouldn't do that for those of us who are almost there, that would be too cruel, and get the old folks riled up. We can be a big problem when we get riled up.

Okay, off to Thanksgiving dinner. Because the sun is out and it's daytime, I will put the three pies into boxes and bungee them onto my bike. I can, therefore I will.

And it rained some more

Yes it rained hard on us on the last Market day but it was still rewarding, and I still found some small treasures, Ziggy's pigs and Mary's wonderful sense of humor. I had some new hats, but still haven't managed to get the screens to come out for my new design (will try for the fourth time today...)

I feel like the Tea Party of the OCF...no fee increase! Squawk, screech! I recognized the tenor of my emotional response and tried then to look for the origins. Discounting the part about them being invented and controlled by a megacorporate propaganda machine, I think the Teapartiers come from a place of fear and lack of control of their lives...so am I afraid? What am I afraid of?

Naturally as I am aging I fear the loss of my ability to stand tall on my own two feet. It's one of my core values. So increasing costs on every front scare me, more so when I have no control over them. I want to be part of the process that decides how to allocate my money, which is my most scarce resource. It's hard to get and easy to spend and I want to be the one holding the purse strings.

It helps to feel like I have other people in my boat who are also noticing the leaks...we won't sink if we stick together. We wouldn't want to waste our time deciding who should jump out and swim, so all the rest of us can stay dry a little longer. We would all bail, make new sails, and do whatever we could do to stay afloat.

I think the reason the OCF didn't get my support for raising more revenue is that they didn't ask me to participate in the effort, and they seemed not to spend enough time carefully thinking about how to justify spending more when it is so obviously a time of belt-tightening. The level at which they donate money is beyond my comfort level, because they have so many avenues for it and it seems far too casual, too easy for them to spend other people's money. No one ever thinks that because I sell at the OCF I am part of the philanthropy and goodwill the organization creates in the community. I'm seen as something like a parasite, that I profit from the Fair, take my money and go home, as if I hadn't actually lent the fair my energies by making it my workplace for a time, and sharing my heart and soul there with all who cared to notice. I work so hard out there it about drives me over the edge, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I do it for the money, in part, but also because that is the best way I can contribute to what makes it wonderful. I do my best.

Really it's all a balance problem, a perception issue. I don't feel honored enough, so I don't want to honor others, then they don't feel honored enough. Actually at base I am grateful to the Board people and the volunteers and I know that most of them do it from the goodness of their hearts. What free meals and hang-out time on the site that they get is earned from the time they put in trying to make hard decisions, in the best way possible. It might be their perception that the booth people don't want to participate in the board's work, since we often don't, and when we do it is usually with criticism. So all of us are not really operating at the level we intend to be, since we all really do feel ownership and great love for the Fair organization and event. We have to remember to see each other's underlying needs and humanity. We know it's there, but we forget.

How to fix it? I'd like the Board to be the leader in a drive to shift thinking so we all really do feel like we're in it together and working for the same goals. I'd like some kind of statement that my survival is a high priority, that my gifts are valued, and that there is an effort to give me more for my money. I have indeed felt this at times in the last few years. It's easier to get in with my stuff, less hassling over whether or not I deserve to drive in. Nobody criticizes the number of day passes I need. Craft inventory crew has been entirely lovely to work with for the last several years, and registration too, for the most part.

So it seems that I want some kind of emotional care in the situation, which is of course a somewhat excessive need for the conditions and makes me come off as irrational. I get irrational in times of overwork and high passion, so there is a certain amount of irrationality that just comes with the Fair. That's why my letter to the Board seemed over-the-top, and why it is serving as a catalyst for some kind of philosophical catharsis on the issues of "us vs. them," and why I got no responses whatsoever from any of the Board individuals. Other craftspeople were able to relate, and Craft inventory volunteers, but no one at "the top" seemed to get it. They seemed embarrassed and shamed, which was not my intention, but resulted from my passionate sharing of my emotions.

This is not just an OCF problem, at this time in my life. I'm also having a lot of issues with another organization essential to me, not the Saturday Market, fortunately. If it weren't for the stability and solidity of SM at this time, I would feel really lost. So, to keep things in place, I have to remember to breathe, trust, look around and see what is being offered in the way of comfort and fellowship, and remember that it is all small stuff in my small life.

My sort-of mother in law, Hope Martin, died this weekend. She was 95, and sitting with her body was very comforting. All the ways I served her and failed her and loved her and didn't are set aside now, are history. Just as all the ways I have celebrated, created, been silly or over-emotional or unfair or divinely inspired, will all at some point be history. There's no reason to be afraid about things. Fear just makes lines in our faces and hard places in our hearts. Hope lay with flowers and throughout the day her smile grew sweeter and her fears dissipated into the autumn air. People I sometimes argue with shared food and stories and were a small family for a short time, and not much mattered in the big picture. Certainly not money.

Money can't matter so much. When did it gain so much importance? It doesn't really even exist except as a medium of exchange. Let's exchange other things.

Thank you to all who love the Oregon Country Fair and who try to improve it and sustain it. You are forgiven for the times you fail to understand every little thing. You are forgiven for the times you seem to dismiss me or not give me what I think I need. I am small and you are big, so forgive me for acting big and making you feel small. Let's stay in balance, let's stay rational, and let's build on our great affection. Someday I'll be looking down on my hands holding the last flowers of summer and I certainly don't want everyone to sigh with relief that I will no longer be a thorn in their sides.

I'm just doing the best that I can, like everyone else. I see you out there doing your best. Thanks.

Need batteries

I'm exhausted. I worked way too hard this week trying to scrape together the property tax funds. It's not a huge amount, for which I am lucky, but this is one of the two times of year that things get stretched too tightly, working up stock for the HM like I do in spring for the OCF. All the money goes into potential, not leaving quite enough for actual.

My customers seem to be in the same place. My sales were somewhat adequate yesterday and the rain held off for the most part, so there was the occasional wallet displayed on the Park Blocks yesterday. Still, things were slightly grim. Except for the bright spots!

It's hard not to love Hallowe'en. I'd post pictures of my great chicken costume, if I had any AA batteries for my camera, but I'm out. No one got pictures of the spontaneous concert that happened in my booth, alas.

Rich Glauber stopped by before his flash mini-mob gig with the Slug Queen. He has performed with all types of royalty, including those who are just beginning their illustrious careers, and he is terrifically good at making other people sound great. I returned to my booth after some foray or other and he was singing "You say tomato, and I say tomahto..."

Maybe it was the costume (I was "madder than a wet hen") or maybe it was just a lucky moment, but I sang along and we did five or six songs together. Inside my booth, while a couple tried to shop and eventually found what they wanted. All the vendors around me were laughing and enjoying the show, the musician and the chicken trading smiles. I've known Rich a long time but it was the first time we actually sang together, just the two of us. It was a delight and a treasure.

I've always said I am not one of the "performing Angels" and have craved but passed up opportunities to perform with my many musician friends and acquaintances, at least formal opportunities. I'm one of those people who can't pass up a chance to sing and will join in quietly with street performances, and of course will sing along with the radio at all times of day and night. But it's rare indeed that I perform in public and yesterday was over all too soon.

I've always thought I had stage fright, one of those self-limiting beliefs it is good to shed. Who knows what I could do with a little rehearsal. I certainly don't worry too much about looking dorky any more.

I'm getting more "out" and outspoken about a number of subjects. It seems to be worth it.

Guess I'll motivate to get some mosskiller on my roof. It doesn't seem to be raining today, though it did most of the night. I suppose I could carve a pumpkin, too, or I might be eating all those mini-Snickers bars myself.

I'll edit later if I can come up with the batteries or someone else posts pics of me (have that one, but it doesn't show my tail, which was really the best part). For a chicken I was pretty bold. One very old very small woman asked if she could ask me "an impertinent question": "Are you always like this, or just on Hallowe'en?"

Just on Hallowe'en, I said. Like what, I wondered.

Lucky once again

It did rain, but not until around 5:00, which sent everyone scurrying out of the Market as fast as they could go. I can only go so fast, but everything was dry when I packed my tubs and it didn't rain really hard until I got home.



So I unloaded in a downpour, and got soaked, but none of my wares got wet, so all is well. And it has rained all night and all today, complete with losing the electricity and everything. So nice to get to be indoors.

Market was great, I got Willy's spot and sold a ton of hats. Here's a picture of my booth set-up, and two of the chain maille I mentioned in the previous entry. Lew was one of the people operating without a cover yesterday, and he was lucky. Too bad I took such blurry photos. Must have been the humidity.












I also took a picture of the world's best cape, a possession of great envy in my little neighborhood. She wears it every week as far as I can tell, and is not the only person who gets dressed up for the Market. I love seeing the little kids dressed as fairies and superheros, and remember fondly when I would have easily done that were I not a child in the fifties in a conservative place where we only got a certain kind of dress-ups, with high heels and Mom's old clothes, playing the limited roles open to women at that time. Going out in public dressed in wings and capes was just not done. So glad times have changed!

Tuesday Treasures

Apparently I look slightly bedraggled at the Tuesday Market...but the hay fork is the purpose of this picture. I finally got to put an old Country Fair face and name together and found this glorious handmade oak item in Virgil and Nancy's booth. Eventually I may use it in the compost pile but for now it is in my living room.

As you can see, the tines are split from the single branch, and he has no need for power tools to make this living artifact from less complicated times. All tools used to be made locally and by skilled (or adequately skilled) craftspeople or farmers or whomever needed the tool. It has a life because Virgil's hands were on it from start to finish. He harvested the wood from a place I am familiar with so it carries that history too. I get all misty just thinking about its value, which is far beyond the very reasonable price I paid for it. He even numbers them, and writes your name in his book because you are participating in the process.

It was one of those things I saw and was compelled to participate in. Sometimes at Market something or someone will appear and it is entirely possible that it will not return for a second chance. I think Virgil's tools will return, so look for him in the 4x4's on Saturdays, and maybe next Tuesday, WHICH IS THE LAST TUESDAY MARKET of the season.

I wish I had taken more pictures this week, as it was a perfect fall day with drifting leaves, sun, albeit weak at times, fog rolling in from the river, and all the produce that is still left in our valley.

Tuesday is a Farmers Market, run by LCFM, so it feels different from Saturdays. Farmers are allowed to pay for more than one space, and often spread out into three, so when we have space we crafters (I hear the preferred word is now merchants...not sure about that) spread out too. The bowl in the background of the squash collection is from John King, who set up on the other leg of my corner, and spread across three empty spaces, which increased the traffic flow nicely and brought me some sales, I'm sure. I missed my regular neighbors, but every week is different, and I was happy to feel successful.

I started displaying my kids shirts in baskets turned on their sides, and at some point it dawned on me that I got that idea from the farmers. Their baskets get emptied and mine do not, but as a fair-weather display I like it very much. It's easy to pack, in that you don't have to take them out and put them in a box, but of course baskets are odd shapes and sizes and don't pack on the cart well. Still, I've become a basket collector. My Saturday neighbors, Sheila and Patricia, make the most fabulous baskets you have seen in your life. They always have a different selection and they are very hard to resist.

Beth came by and admired my hay fork, and quoted her mom's observation that we just make things and sell them to each other, which is kind of how it does work. I trade with a lot of the farmers, but mostly I like to pay cash to the craftspeople when I want their products, and I don't accept vendor discounts. It's an honor to me to own someone else's pride and joy, and I know well the excitement that comes with making and displaying a new product or concept.

Virgil brought five forks and took most of them home, but we're there for many other reasons besides making money. He'll sell them all, over time, and make more, and with that encouragement, he'll branch out into other fine tools. He had some amazing knapped stone and glass knives in his booth too. He may be old, but he isn't finished. That's one of the wonderful things about our market. We provide opportunity, and it's pretty easy. A booth space on Tuesday only costs us $5 and 10%. If no one treasures your offerings that day, $5. My excellent neighbor, Lew, who bikes almost 6 miles with his chain maille, is rumored to have a zero day once in awhile, but he keeps coming for the good conversation and the opportunity. I'm so sorry I didn't take a picture of his chains, every link made and put together in traditional, ancient fashion, and his great bead snakes. You can find him in the 4x4's too.

Of course I spend more than I make most days, at the Patisserie and Serendipity hot dog cart and the various farmers. It's not an easy market to make sales at, mostly because there are not enough customers. People may not realize how convenient and pleasurable it is, to make a stop at the Tuesday Market part of your day.

But next week is the last one and rain is predicted, so I'm not promising to be there. I may just drop in and get my caneles and lemon tart and golden peppers and a few more kinds of squash. Also dried blueberries, beets, the world's best lettuce and carrots (Horton Road) and shrimp seviche from Berg's. You might have to come on Saturday to get my hats, and the sale items I take to Tuesday might not be available until next May. You just never know.

You have to be in the moment if you want the good stuff.

Every Day is Different

We had fun yesterday, in the October sun, a lucky day for the Market and for me as well. It was the Market-wide Sale, and I took the kids shirts I am trying to close out, and displayed them in a new way, in baskets turned on their sides on the top shelf. I didn't sell that many but felt satisfied anyway.

Fortunately I had taken my good stuff as well and was happy to know hoodies will still sell. I have a lot of inventory built up for Holiday Market and I need to turn it into cash to pay those bills, which will come due well before HM starts. It's always a tight dance this time of year and I am determined not to borrow money.

Today I turned on the heat and spent some time working on a short story instead of reading the paper. Writing is really fun for me, but it's always hard to sit down and start. One of my tricks is to leave something in progress, at a point where I still have ideas for it. I jot them down and take a break from it, which often turns into a few days or more, and then I am itching to get back and go at it. I'm in a similar place with a nonfiction article I am working on about the Market, sustainability and bikes. I'm excited about it and just might spend the day writing, even though the sun is out. I did laundry, that's good enough. I'll sweep the floors.

I had to repair my cart yesterday. You can see here that the tongue twisted way to the side, because I got caught up on a part of the sidewalk that I try to avoid. Nice to know such a thing can happen (Elise had told me a similar story, but now I get it) and so glad I had my little tools with me. It just required the right Allen wrench. Yay for me for carefully buying a serious bike tool set last winter.

I also caught up today on recording my sales for both Sat. and Tues. and checking the average. We only have a four more outdoor Saturdays and two more Tuesdays. Both of my averages are almost exactly the same as last year, which is good news for me. Not losing ground, not suffering in the economy, just keeping on keeping on.

A bunch of emotional stuff happened yesterday, which is kind of normal for being in public. I made a vow to not get involved in any long conversations that kept me from my booth, so I stayed in it, but the conversations came over to me. It was better, though still interfered a bit with sales. The conversations reminded me that I am just as irrational as the next person, while also being just as self-aware, just as practical, just as deluded, just as concerned, just as passionate. In short, ordinary as can be. Just as full of flaws and self-doubt as anyone, struggling for control and progress and finding common ground and the common good.

Life. If I could change anything about my past, it would be to work harder to get my fears out of my way. Fear of failure, fear of success. Fear of disappointment, fear of the "narcissistic souffle" of self-aggrandizement. Fears of laziness, fears of work addiction. I would relax more into "It is what it is."

But of course it is never too late to work on important things and sometimes progress is being made even though we don't think so. The conversations I had yesterday opened up a couple of blocks in a small area of my life and things just might flow better now. If it results in my taking myself less seriously, that's great. I want to laugh more like I did after taking this picture:

Hallowe'en's coming, and it's on a Sunday, so costumes at Market will be rich. Even more so than on the regular days.

And in political news, I heard the results of the OCF election already, thanks to Facebook. It seems that all the incumbents were re-elected, which I won't comment about, but if you want to project that to the current state or national scene, it might represent a good trend. No tea party at the OCF, thank goodness.

Those Rainy Days

I am finding some small consolation in that today is even rainier than yesterday, and windier, and way more miserable, so although those who are trying to hold outside activities today are unhappy, I have the pleasure of listening to the drops on the skylight without distress. I paid my dues yesterday.

You can see that I was quite wet in the morning, but once the tarp was up I did just fine, and the rain was light and infrequent yesterday, as it turned out. I waterproofed my boots on Friday, so when I stepped in the fountain accidentally they didn't even leak. I still screeched. The back corner of my booth actually needs to rest inside the fountain, a point on which I was in denial, but it worked okay to extend out the front a little this time, until I figure out a better solution. I will probably bring a concrete block to rest it on, or get a popup, something I have been resisting.

My back ached yesterday, either from standing up too much trying to keep from being bored in my chair (I thought about putting it out in one of the empty spaces) or from the additional lifting of all the booth parts and putting up the tarp. I have the old-fashioned wooden booth still, hanging onto the reasoning that I can lift only one piece at a time, which is still easier than lifting the 40 pounds or so of a pop-up with wet top. It's probably six of one or a half-dozen of another.

The fact is that lifting is a problem for the market vendor. I've worked hard to package all of my wares in 30-pound or less tubs or bags. To balance the greater weight of the booth, and the need to get everything under cover, I left a third of my stuff home. Loading and unloading the trailer is manageable. I might just need to exercise or sit more on the days with more stress, or take ibu like I did, and tough it out. I'm fine today, just the usual Sunday evidence of the wear and tear of aging. It's a hard day, the twelve hours of hurry hurry wait wait.

The rainy days are harder still, but there are some good reasons to be there. Sometimes sales are just as good, and that was true for some yesterday, though mine were abysmal (partly because if I go over to the farmers market, I always get into a long conversation with someone or other). There are fewer things to buy, so a greater chance one of them will be yours. The neighbors are different, new people get a chance to sell, and there is more time for leisurely conversations with customers and friends. Many loyal customers come down in every kind of weather, and so do tourists, because we are a very famous event. I had several appreciative potential customers whose feedback was quite as valuable as money. We do not go down there for dollars alone.

I started writing a little thing on my envelope I called "Elders' Gems" in which I plan to share some of the wisdom I've collected over my long years at Market. The staff will decide whether or not to share it in the newsletter like the cartoons, and I invite others to share their tips also. This is in response to a letter from esteemed market goddess Ayala who suggested that it is time for the Market to work on some kind of elders program. The OCF has been quite successful working out the details of some way to be real about the aging of the population. Since so many of our community do care deeply about our participatory organizations, it makes sense to think and work to accommodate the aging and use our resources to stay open to all ages. It's not about handing things over to the young people and getting out of the way, it's about including everyone the way we claim to. Everyone includes the weaker ones, the ones on the edges, and the ones who started the dang things and still want to play a part.

It's a tricky thing, because inclusiveness means everybody, which involves guiding some to be more cooperative, some to be less selfish, some to be more honest, some to avoid obstructing the rights of others. There are many people now who live in the several blocks where the Market sets up, and our staff has to clean up a lot of trash and noxious substances because some of these people do not seem to be motivated to be courteous of their neighbors, or those of us who rent their homes twice a week. Lots of them are desperately alienated, due to the more extreme national selfishness trend. When I pass by with my fully loaded trailer I get some catcalls and I want to suggest that some of them might try working as hard as I do to keep things together. But some of them have far more hardship than I to overcome, so I also feel lucky to have found ways to allow myself to work.

For the most part our community is very tolerant of the wayward. Lots of us are living on the edges, a few months away from sleeping in our own cars, if we have them. Our concern for the elders is part of the safety net we provide. I remember Carol Jacobs, selling her Burden Cloths into her eighties. Her obit said she was a mathematician with several degrees (it would be interesting to find out how many market vendors do have advanced degrees...95%?), and she found a way to be productive and bring in some income, through the Market.

At present we offer some financial relief for those over 65 (no mandatory HM work task) and I remember Bob Walden being granted a free booth space back in the 80's, but space is so much tighter now that is not going to be a possibility. Still, we need to start talking about it, because that is how we will come up with the ideas that will work. There's plenty of vision available and weaving a wider and stronger safety net is something the market community and the larger community can and must do. Fortunately, this kind of thinking has been part of our bigger picture for many years. I feel a great deal of gratitude for all of the thoughtful staff and members who are willing and able to see other people and want to see needs filled.

The thoughtfulness is demonstrated in myriad ways and the haiku/limerick contest was one of the lighter ones. Creative people love to be asked to create. This year not only the winning haiku got a prize, six runners-up received a token of Market's esteem! You can read Kim's blog about it here. In addition to my prize-winning poem, I wrote another, as well as a group limerick with my neighbors that was a lot of fun. Here is my second one:

sun's path is lower,
the shade has all shifted up
last day coverless?

I hope that wasn't prophetic.

I also want to mention that any of my market member readers who aren't getting the newsletter should be aware of the wonderful grant opportunity offered by Lotte Streisinger, our founder. You can get the details from the office, but the most interesting thing I have discovered about it is that the process of imagining writing the application has been most illuminating for me. Even envisioning how to spend just the modest amount of money involved has spurred me to kick myself into gear regarding my many dreams. Most of them are eminently achievable, with or without the grant. I encourage every member to apply, if only for the exercise in admitting you deserve such a thing and can put it to good use. It got me writing more regularly and bothering to take action does have its rewards. I needed duct tape.


In other news, I got this unique artifact from a free pile this week. It is pretty impractical as an exercise device unless you have a really short frame like it does, but the exceptionally wide seat and the very cool speedometer have possibilities. I just liked the way it looked, so now it is here on my deck with that old high chair I picked up a few weeks ago. When my stuff is carted to the dump, it will be an interesting load.

I've still got it

In the category of old people not getting old, I went out on my rollerblades today. Hadn't done it in about three or four years, since way before my back surgery. I have all kinds of knee, wrist, elbow protectors and wore my bike helmet too, just in case, but I found out the skills are still there, just maybe not all the muscles. My shins were a little creaky.

I was able to go at a good speed, even backwards, and could turn, even the kind where you cross your feet over each other. I just went around the fairgrounds for about forty-five minutes, didn't want to take too many chances. The biggest hazards were abandoned zip-ties and acorns.

I love the fairgrounds for all the open space. It's a great place to teach kids to drive, and I usually cross there on my way to southern Eugene locations, though they keep most of the gates locked now. Lots of the pavement is smooth-ish, though there isn't a good way to skate to the bike path, which I am working myself up to. I have my eye on a newly rebuilt stretch of the path near Chavez school, the stretch that used to be the worst for skating. I guess on a quiet day I could make it there through the neighborhood, since the Chavez lots are smooth too, though maddeningly engineered without many curb cuts. Soon I may be brave enough to jump the curbs though. Maybe not.

It was great to get back to Market tomorrow and catch up on all the news. It was very hot and sunny so there were lots of people, though sales were more in the fall range than the summer. It's time to reduce the number of choices and take a lot less stuff, which I will certainly do in the less-friendly weather. It will also soon be getting dark on the way home, sadly. Will have to get that blinking "Slow Moving Vehicle" sign to put on the back of the load.

The people giving away the free plastic-paper tote bags were back, and it was maddening to see dozens of people carrying them. They advertised an insurance company and were garbage that will not decompose any century soon. Our management ran them off last week and this week, and the farmer's management ran them off on Tuesday, but they had many gross of them to get rid of so are persisting. I just wanted one of their workers to offer me one so I could shriek but I thought that might not be so great for the ambience, so I stayed away. I went and bought some more of our locally made canvas ones in defense. I love giving them away to customers who are delighted to receive a little piece of quality with their purchase.

The ambience was terrific yesterday. Just on our little piece of grass we had a washtub bass/guitar duo who played Hank Williams and Roger Miller and such, a lovely violinist, and nearby we had such luminaries as Walker T. Ryan, and Jim Page. There was also that guy who sings too loud and someone over at Free Speech plaza playing electric guitar really turned up, which somehow did not interfere with the harpist on the opposite corner. The drum circle cooked yesterday! (Thanks, Mike.) Most of the vendors enthusiastically support buskers, so don't be shy about coming down if you have any kind of an act at all. Try some different spots and don't stay too long at any one, and don't forget about the interior. There might even be a little dancing.

The fish are back in the fountain and look beautiful. Not too many kids got wet for a change, though I have learned how to work my displays on that side so they won't have much effect on my stuff if they do get wild. I regret to say I forgot to take any pictures, was so busy gossiping and enjoying the new booths that set up in place of people who had gone to Fall Festival. I discovered a neighborhood where four potters set up intentionally adjacent, which probably strengthens all of their sales. We have a very different take on competition at our Market, thank goodness. We're all working together to compete with the factory-made goods, not each other. We have something special, and are proud of it.

Even though I had vowed not to buy anything (property taxes are coming up fast) I had to get some of the great beans, wheat and cheese being sold over at Kasey's, Walt's, and Shari's booths across the street. I really want to support local grains and artisan foods, so important to our economy. I also noticed that a lot of our food booths are running specials and new items. Yay innovation! (As I was packing up a guy looked at my trailer and proclaimed "That is the innovation of innovations!" Not really, more just the way things are going in our town. I watched a great video of a family of four moving their entire household by bikes and trailers. Awe-inspiring. Here's the link:http://www.webikeeugene.org/index.php/2010/09/bike-move-by-the-numbers/) If you haven't noticed, there are lots of great cycling sites on our local interwebs. Hard to miss, really.

In other news, my son came down from Portland and crashed on the floor in his old room, now my project room. I have entered the phase of being ridiculously grateful for his attention, gifting him with food and short-term financial assistance, and we're both feeling pretty good about the relationship. I thought I would have to wait until he was thirty to get to a nice camaraderie. We talked for about ten minutes before Market and again after Market, but packed a lot in. I even gave him my loaf of raisin challah which I could not resist buying but really wanted to resist eating. The full-length mirror in the Atlantic Hotel in Maryland was not kind.

Looks like it will be nice all week so I plan to soak it in. I have some trim painting to do and had better fix the sauna roof where the tree made a dent. Maybe I will yet get some tomatoes! We can only hope. Also need to do the last dye loads for HM inventory, as the days for hanging things on the clothesline will be shortening and becoming rare. They say it will be a wet winter.

Those beans will be comforting. Now I will put some of the wheat to soak and have some toast and cheese for lunch. I really don't miss that challah at all...had frozen cherries (also from Farmers Market) instead.

Fifty Years Ago, More or Less

This is my story, and I'm sticking to it. I'm the high-waisted dorky-looking gal in the center, with my Mom and her broken foot on my left, and my Dad with his sailbags on my right. Mom and my sisters pose on the far left, in a December photo, with Mom back in her high heels. We're all wearing homemade dresses, made by either my Grandmother, Mom, or ourselves. I was eleven in these pictures, which I am sure of because my brother was not here yet, and he was born when I was 12. I think I was nine when Mom broke her foot, but that doesn't really change the story.

That's our house, in Delaware, where I just visited my Mom. The backyard in her picture, with the sandbox my Dad made, is much smaller now of course, with decks and porches and missing trees. Everything's different now. Here is our family group in our present maturity:

We do look happy. We were at the wedding of one of my three nephews, at the end of my trip. We got to stay in a very nice old hotel, The Atlantic, in Berlin, Maryland, where craftspeople struggle to capture tourists and stay in their small town with its rapidly disappearing history. The entire trip was a pleasure, with all the ease that comes in hanging out with people who have known me all of my life, and the surfacing of all the minor anxieties that come along with those relationships.

The sister on the far right gets the credit for the deluxe arrangements, and for that particular nephew and his matrimonial venture. My brother gets the credit for most of the fun things we did on the vacation, which include the crab cruise on the Christiana River and the kayaking in the salt marshes on Ayers Creek, in Maryland. The picture of the crab cruise shows his partner, Graziella, who came to meet the family and see the US for the first time. They live in Australia, and I never get to see enough of them.

The kayaking was really, really fun for me. As a kid, we sailed nearly every summer weekend and that suited me fine. I'm never happier than when I am in a boat, in a tree, or out in some woods or field or backyard or bike trail, anywhere where the birds and flowers are. You can see in my eleventh year I was unconcerned with cool, just frank, relaxed, and well, in truth, numb and disconnected. But the negative didn't show then, unless you watched closely how much I escaped into reading in the top of the willow tree, and roaming the woods, poking in mud looking for quicksand.

The current pictures only partly show that I was the only one in flats, an unfashionable dress, and with undyed hair. I'm the only one carrying ten extra pounds, something the east-coasters are really judgmental about (which judgment is not entirely gone from my inner process, either.) I had the jacket so they wouldn't see my unshaved pits, which I am sure would have ruined the whole day for someone or other. I don't fit in, and never felt that I did. I'm resigned to that now, without the superiority I used to carry, most of the defensiveness, and I definitely lost the proselytizing, thinking I could sway someone to my position. They do what they have to do there, I do what I want to do here. My Mom said that the best thing that ever happened to me was that I found Eugene.

I spent some time in the attic, where I always hope to find some ragged box with mementos I'd forgotten, to shed light on what still confuses me from my past. I never find the old charm bracelet or class ring or other lost items. Who knows what happened to them. I found some great photos, though, and for some reason centered on this 1961 grouping. My grandparents on my father's side were visiting that summer, and maybe we were all putting on a good show. I think things fell apart a bit when Mom broke her foot during an interaction with my Dad over pulling the boat out of the water at the end of a season, and I started to get the notion that scary things did happen, and that anything I depended upon could be shown to be vulnerable. The willow tree eventually got cut down, the homemade outfits I sewed had weird awkward collars and ill-fitting skirts, and the birth of my brother dissolved my position of the boy of the family. I began to grasp the role of young woman in the social world. It has always been an awkward role for me. I would rather be that frank, uncool adolescent, living in my world of books.

All of my siblings have been married twice, at least, and I have never been hitched. I am best in a solitary kayak, or so I tell myself. So much of our lives is just the stories we tell ourselves, the ruts we put ourselves in. My brother's and sisters' relationships look pretty good. I tried to picture myself in front of the folding chairs, trying not to cry while I promised things about my future I fully intended to honor. Not that great of a stretch, except for the missing partner-person.

I tried to imagine myself in a two-person kayak, or the bow of my brother's canoe, following his suggestions that I draw or back paddle. It seemed do-able, and my story seemed open to new interpretation. Maybe I fit in more than I think, or could, if I just accept the awkward parts long enough for them to feel smooth and pressed. My family gave me lots of compliments, sincerely, letting me know that they accept and even celebrate my different-ness, creativity, and the courage that takes.

Being alone is hard. Certain things are easy, such as choosing directions, getting work done, going as fast as one can paddle. Other things take an extra portion of effort, and I think I make myself work a lot harder to protect my "independence". It might just boil down to a control problem. It might just bubble out to fear, like most things do.

So I have some new material to work with, some places to poke and prod to see what surfaces. Can I go back to eleven and learn something useful to work on at 60? Guess I'll see.