Old Habits Die Hard

I was raised Catholic in a family of seven and although our religious life wasn't conventional, I still feel differently about Sundays. I love reading the funnies, though it has been many decades since I shared a dishpan full of popcorn while watching Bertie the Bunyip with my sisters and brother. I don't go to church, and worship plants, if anything, and it may have been those braided palm fronds that were my first craft project. I let Easter slip by, but here is one of my favorite Easter pictures. My Grandmother always sent us fabulous, fashionable Easter dresses which I vividly remember, but in this pic I had changed into my egg-hiding clothes already.

I do revere truth. It was no doubt my early childhood experiences with lying that convinced me that there was nothing really to be gained, though I did retain a fascination with secrecy and peeking into the darker recesses just to see what is there and how it could have survived in such a deprived and depraved condition. I'm still a bit of a snoop, and I will read your journal if you leave it lying around. You can read mine, if you are willing to find out things you might rather not know.

Someone told me that something astrological is happening now that will bring all secrets to light; no one will be able to get away with anything. The outer planets move through the signs so slowly that entire generations are formed within their influences, and really if I had the energy I would google it some more and get some specifics, but Sunday is also the day of recovery for the Market people, and I don't even want to make popcorn or any noise. Saturday is an overload of sensation in every way.
I had a great day yesterday at Market. I was the first one to pick from the few open spaces and got a lovely corner in my favorite area, with views of lawn for spontaneous music, new neighbors to get involved with, and lots of space to organize. I brought a new display and it took me forever to get set up, but once I had it dialed down I was quite happy with it. The crowds weren't huge but lots of old friends and acquaintances came by and I had many satisfying encounters. One of the reasons I like to move around is to connect with new neighbors, since it is difficult to stray far from one's booth, as we are there to work and make money and have to watch our stuff in case of tornadoes. A new vendor (first day, and they will have to wait for rain to set up, maybe) told me they will never try to sell in Austin again, after taking shelter under a car and seeing people's booths completely wiped away.

I stuck to my resolve to pay more attention to other Market members and noticed their new(-ish) work, too. At least I let them know that I was interested, in those quick trips past on the way to get food or water. Damascus steel is amazing and showed up in my dreams last night. I thought a lot about an artist I saw on Oregon Art Beat, whose work I always buy at OCF if I make it around the upper river loop. She said she had been doing monoprints for 22 years and I immediately thought, there but for Jell-O, and t-shirts. I suppose it isn't too late. She made some right there on the show and I know I will be at least incorporating some of her perspective in my future work, if not quite getting to the big studio and expensive press.

I paint and print on silk, though it isn't something I bring to Market usually. Maybe I will for Mother's Day, since my branching out to bring Jell-O was so expansionary for me.

I sent this 21x90 scarf to my Mom this week. I got approved, grandfathered even, for my items for that corporate logo I use, and satirize, but love, that sort of sister organization of ours. I have a complicated relationship with SM, FM, and OCF, and I'm not alone in that. I can't even really sort it out.

I'm pretty firm and careful about my ethics, though, whether there is astrological pressure or not. I just feel more comfortable with the truth than with deception. Maybe I can thank the mother of my childhood friend, Mrs. Fries, who wrote in my autograph book "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

How right she was. When I was having some trouble with my teenager a few years back, I proposed that we have one rule: To be honest with each other. It was a surprise to me how often I used little lies of omission or commission with my various justifications of protections and politeness and rationalization. I'm always impressed when people step up and really speak truth, especially when all their alarms are ringing and they are sweating and full of trepidation. It's more of a goal than an accomplishment, this living of the truly honest life.

People lied to me yesterday, from the Be-Backs who pretended they wanted to buy, but were really crafting an exit line, to the buskers who insisted they had been told it was okay to sell their "band t-shirts". They showed me the flyer Market gave them, and I hadn't known that buskers are encouraged to donate 10% of their tips, something lovely and well-thought out (yay staff and volunteers, once again). I pointed out that I didn't see anything about merchandise on there. They said "Well, maybe it isn't written, but they told us..." Um, no. CD's, maybe. I'm pretty sure you can't sell t-shirts from your wagon, particularly when your "band" consists of a drummer and a juggler, not that I didn't appreciate their energy and willingness to add to the diversity that is so enjoyable on any given day. But I am not the police and I can't confront and eradicate every lie like a rhinoceros stamping out sparks. I am more of a witness. I'm not all that good at the confrontations, often resorting to a skeptical tilt of an eyebrow and a turning away. Sometimes I will tattle. Okay, often.That passive-aggressive stuff started early.

I did find the time to google "divine tension", the phrase which jumped into my head when I decided to start this blog the other day. I saw everything from food to underfloor electric heating (tension straps), though most of the references were religious. As I had suspected, it refers to the push and pull between opposing forces, be they deities or just dualities. To my thinking, we are actually limiting ourselves quite radically if we think there are only two opposing forces in any situation. Often, there are many, which is why we are so easily overwhelmed and shut down. You don't usually just get to choose between right and wrong, or a lie and the truth.

Everything you think and do ripples outward in unexpected or predictable ways. I saw someone this week proclaim his integrity, while immersed in something about as unethical as it gets in our fairly safe little realm. As uncomfortable as it was to witness, it was gratifying that the situation came to be so clear. It strengthened my resolve to be ever more careful to choose the clear running stream over the murky pool of maybe. Short-term gain is not a worthy goal. You have to live here, you have to be able to go back next year and in ten years and stand behind who you are.

You're allowed to make mistakes, and you might not get a chance to rectify them, and you are often forgiven. Sunday will roll around again, you will get a chance to reflect, and then get ready for another Saturday. Just keep working.

"Life is short, but it is wide." You get lots of chances, but stuff does stick to you. Take every chance you get to step up to what you know is the higher ground. Not because there is some heavenly reward, but because you would rather get a smile and a dollar than my skeptical eyebrow and that slimy feeling in the pit of your stomach, and because the little things matter. Sometimes even more than the big things.

This is not the blog I intended to write, since I try so hard not to lecture and moralize, but it was a tough week, and one of my jobs today is to listen to the recording of some of it, and type it up for public viewing. I get to frame it with my words. Tough task, and my slime pit is churning. I shall tiptoe carefully. I may be an Angel, but I'm no saint.