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.