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.

Taking the Blue Boat Home

Visting home is going well so far. I moved away to distance from the East Coast, but didn't think about how much it would distance me from my family. I have three sisters, a brother, and two step-siblings, and my 84-year-old Mom still lives in the house we grew up in. Two of my sisters live somewhat near to Mom, but my brother lives in Australia, so we've been scheduling these annual get-togethers for a couple of years now. Last year was bigger, and we had dedicated photographers in my niece and nephew Natalie and Chris. You see me in the picture with my family of origin.

The dread I used to feel about re-entering the childhood states of mind has eased, and I'm finding it easier to be in the here and now, though I do make certain compromises. I won't drive around here; the combination of modern, borrowed cars (I have a car, but it's an '84 Tercel, which I drive about 300 miles a year) and lots of speeding traffic on unfamiliar, busy roads, is too challenging for me. I tend to hang out at Mom's, doing her yardwork and projects, listening to her stories and sorting through whatever stuff remains that I might want or be interested in a second look at. She has been getting rid of stuff rather relentlessly so not much remains, but kids miss a lot of the grown-up world so I get to rediscover things from my older perspective. She tells plenty of stories I have never heard before.

We took an all-you-can-eat crab cruise on the Christiana River last night, going through drawbridges and going past the port of Wilmington, which imports the most bananas and pineapple of anywhere in the US or some such record. We passed a park where the Marley family holds an annual concert. Bob used to live here, worked for Chrysler for a year or two. We made up songs (Jammin, jammin, come fix my machine, it's jammin...) and danced on the riverboat, getting Old Bay (crab seasoning) from head to toe. It was Eugene-ish weather, the one day of rain on the whole trip. Fun anyway.

Delaware is so small that Mom is a part of the political scene (one of my relatives is even the Governor, who would have expected that?) and Mom still works for Russ Peterson who was quite the environmental firebrand in his day and has compelling stories to tell. We went to his wildlife preserve, financed by duPont to reclaim wetlands that had been used as dumps for centuries. We talked to his wife at church and I also saw the father of my best friend from early childhood. It would have been amazing to see her, but I did see one of my cohorts from highschool, on 9-11, which gave him the opportunity to tell his story, which was compelling. He put up and maintained antennas on top of those buildings, and was even supposed to be up there that morning. He got an error message from there, stopped mid-sentence. He really wanted to tell that story.

My brother, his partner, and I went to church with Mom, the Unitarian church. I'm a recovered Catholic and I'm not that interested in religion, but those Unitarians are pretty great. As we walked in, and throughout the service, a jazz quartet with vibes played pretty lively versions of what seemed to be hymns, but were mostly celebratory odes to joy. The church was having their Ingathering service, after a summer of nature worship, and they worked hard to engage everyone from the youngest to the oldest.

The sermon was about Boldness, and Renewal. The Rev talked a lot about football and Star Trek, and while his jokey style didn't particularly engage me, most of the things he said resonated deeply. He said church was supposed to be a safe place, but not necessarily a comfortable one. He wanted us all to act boldly in our lives to renew all that needed renewing, transform the world with the love, compassion and joy we know is needed and right. He led a song about living on the earth with all kinds of sailing references that brought back my childhood, freely sailing alone on the Northeast River on a sailfish my Dad built, that allowed me to learn to be the captain of my own ship.

I teared up, a lot. I think the kind of safety, welcome, and love I felt is not present enough in my life, and added to the sense I have that my time with my family, these few who have known me my entire life, is so precious and limited, it overwhelmed me with gratitude and deep relaxation. I tried to think when I feel even close to that level of emotional safety, and what I came up with centers around the places I know I belong, and the people who are my family in those places.

Yep, Saturday Market, OCF, and the Jell-O Show. Perhaps the reason I write so much about them is that they are my faith, my spirituality, my opportunity for renewal and boldness. I can't believe I am so lucky as to be able to live in them, to have the decades of history I have there, and to have those friends there who have known me almost as long as my siblings have. I have it weekly, that sense of knowing where I belong, what I am supposed to do there, and how much it means to people outside of my life.

I get my sermon every Saturday from the reverent Beth, I sit at the feet of River, my healer, I visit with Rich my musical jester. I consult on mutual prosperity with my work partner Willy, I get grounded by Bill who has known me the longest, I dance to the rhythm of Raven's blessing. Tim takes me to the woods and the owls, Brandi and Nat really are in my family, and JoAnn and Teresa keep me in mind of our endurance and stamina. Sheila and Patricia remind me how it all weaves together. (Did you know that there are no machine made baskets? Every basket in the world is made by hand.) Mike is my connection to the drum circle. My customers and friends who come by honor me with every possible compliment and blessing, and Kim, Vi, and the other staff grant me every blessing I ask for or deserve (and even those I don't). I go across the street where I have forged friendships and find inspiration, and am well fed and delighted with the beauty and abundance they have coaxed from nature. I am a part of something extremely precious and huge, and every week I discover new artists, renew old friendships, and work in the big world to transform it to something meaningful.

This is just what the sermon asked me to do, to go boldly and renew the world with thoughtful, methodical work, to make something where nothing was before. What an opportunity I get between April and Christmas! Then I get a spiritual retreat, and blossom forward into the next year with the emergence of the irreverent and very spiritual Jell-O Art, and work right up to that well-loved psychospiritual rejuvenation at the Mall of the Woods. Around and around that circle I continue with my companions.

I get so full with these notions that I'm not sure I really do have anything lacking in my life. My congregation is a large one. My mission is ever-changing and clear. I'm in the middle of a clear-running stream that can go uphill anytime that is required, and it runs from an eternal spring to a fathomless sea. When it comes down in rain it might help to remember where it started, and think about what constitutes 98% of my human being.

I didn't know this trip back to my origins was going to be so satisfying. I brought back a pile of my newer products for my sisters, who have seemed a bit dis-interested in my designs in the past. This time they were even mildly squabbling over who got what, and everybody went and looked at my Beautiful Booth profile and congratulated me. I've reached acceptance! My brother gave me a lovely late birthday card and called me "always outstanding". I'm pretty sure no one has ever said that to me before (always?), or maybe my critical self just wouldn't hear it. He said I lived a creative life and he got the benefit. We all get the benefits of the creative lives of those who split infinitives and boldly go. (That was one of the jokes of the minister's sermon).
I think I'm allowing myself free-er emotional expression and getting that back in return.

I'm fired up. We're going to end the week with my nephew's wedding, where I will be sure to take plenty of tissues. I'm giving them some of my silk paintings, practicing letting go so I can make more. I may even go into the attic and practice more deeply forgiving my father who gave me my greatest emotional challenges (and many thin excuses for not more boldly going), by reading letters he wrote in his twenties. I'm experiencing renewal, and missing two markets is making me ravenous for more. I'll work out that rain problem and when those football games slow down the crowds I'll take the opportunity to visit more with that eclectic family that is our Eugene city center ingathering.

Being here where nature is all owned by rich people or paved over by corporations (Delaware has lenient incorporation laws) makes me vow to be more diligent about going to the woods and coast when I get back. If you walk somewhere here people look at you with suspicion. Forget biking. At least Mom has lots of birds in her suburban yard, even a fox to watch for in the neighbor's back lot. I hung the laundry out and there is a little bit of my normalcy here and there. But I will be glad to get home to my solitude and work, which I hope have been opened up by inspiration and honored by appreciation that won't fade.

Life is short, but it is wide. It only takes about six hours to get the 3000 miles back that took me so long to drive way back in the 70's. It only takes minutes to travel the emotional decades and get back the feeling I used to have when I climbed to the top of the weeping willow that used to stand outside my Mom's bedrooom window, with its rope swings and comfortable branches, where I took my book and listened to the leaves in the wind. It was limitless possibility and safety from the confusions of all that I didn't understand or invite. It's nice to know I still have that willow tree when I need it, when I look at my sisters and see them as the aged children I shared beds and back seats with, when I talk about parenthood with my brother, when I talk about age with my mom. It's nice to know that all is available to those who boldly go.

Go in peace, and peace be with you.

It's Raining

I'm committed to cycling, so I do have plenty of rain gear, for warm or cold rains, even including the booties that keep the rain from running from your rain pants directly into your shoes. I'm usually happy to put it on and bike anyway, but today I'm having trouble getting started.

I'm also committed to Tuesday Market, but a bit less so. It works for me in a lot of ways: the hats always sell, I have bags, which are needed by produce shoppers, and I bring sale stuff that I don't have room for on Saturdays. I've had my share of good days this summer. But I skipped last week because showers were even a slight possibility, and I skipped today, when it was sure to be wet.

I had my excuses ready, because I am leaving town in two days and I do have stuff to do. But most of my downtown errands are still possible on Tuesdays even while selling at the Market, because it is never very busy, ends early, and the neighbors are very friendly and helpful.

Tuesday is the Farmers' Market, with a crafts section to fill in the unused spaces, and this year we moved to the East Block, which made it kind of fun and different, since we had always been around the fountain on the West Block. The farmers were concentrating on making a vibrant lunch scene which was a good plan, since there are still plenty of workers downtown who have lunch breaks. The food is always delectable, and buying produce on Tuesdays is great for a lot of people, including me, since I already have such a big load of stuff on Saturday.

But Tuesdays just don't yet have a critical mass of customers, and it's a labor of love and possibility to sell there. Everyone has at least one decent day, and I have had many almost-worth-it sales days. It simply isn't Saturday, and if you look closely the differences in the two organizations are evident. Part of the Saturday success is excellent promotion, plus that extra customer service and amenities like the metal forks, credit card service, chairs and tables, and all the infrastructure that makes sense on Saturdays and not as much for a shorter, midweek market. All of that takes staff and stuff.

One of my biggest problems with rainy markets on any day is the booth structure itself and how heavy it is. It's hard to get the booth to Market, hard to put it up, and hard to cram everything under it and not get anything wet. I love the two umbrella system I have worked out for shade, but it really doesn't work for rain as I found out this spring when I thought it might. I could take the car to carry the booth and have everything be dryer, but then I have the parking and loading/unloading stresses that can make human relations fall apart. That gets worse in the rain too.

It's not that there aren't sales on rainy days. On Saturday it often works out great for those who do set up, as there are plenty of excellent spaces to choose from, and customers still come. It almost never rains steadily all day long, and sometimes the weather forecasts are wrong and the rain falls somewhere else. I will go on Saturday rain or shine, unless there are other factors such as being at my Mom's 3000 miles away where I will be this week and next.

But Tuesday just didn't make the grade today. I feel bad about it, since I won't even go for food, as I'm emptying the fridge. I might drop in for the gossip, if the sun comes out, or if I can make myself suit up and get out the dry bags for the things I have to drop off and pick up downtown.

I'm working on that. It's warm enough that I won't need the layers and the booties. I'll get a little rain on my face and it will feel good, and cyclists, who almost always smile at each other anyway, are always pleased to see others out there braving discomfort for all those other rewards. I'll remember that one time I was biking through Amazon Park in the snow, the only one in sight, just glorying in the soon-to-melt anomaly.

It's nice hearing the patter of the drops on the skylight. It's cozy and quiet. Market does call me though. I was looking around nostalgically at the end of the day on Saturday wondering how I would stand missing two weeks, with that Beautiful Booth of the Month excitement and all. It's time for the hoodies and the students and the strange rhythms of football days and the variety of visitors we get when tourism overlaps academia. And it's getting darker in the mornings and evenings and soon we'll be packing way too early in the day.

Summer's over. This still feels like a summer rain though. Guess I'll get out and enjoy it.