Small crises

Big hurricane. I lived through many hurricanes as a child whose family had a boat off the Chesapeake. Nothing like the evacuations and closures ever happened back then, so I was happy to not be there this time. I hope all my relatives there managed okay. People are so much more vulnerable now, with their flipflops and lives in cars and inability to protect themselves. It's a different time, that's for sure.

Still working hard on the essay. I know I am getting somewhere because every time I get to the end I start to cry. Just like I want my readers to do! Maybe.

It's hard making myself vulnerable, no wonder I try not to. I've often observed that we artisans do this over and over, every time we display our art to the public, every time we come to the Market with our hopes in hand. It doesn't really get easier, but it helps me to focus on how strong I am, not how weak. Nobody cares if I'm struggling, on an operational level. Of course people care, but that doesn't mean they want to engage in solutions for me. They have their own problems, and I'm not engaging in solutions for them.

We seem to get a lot more from others when we offer them the chance to engage in something fun and easy for them. That's one way the Jell-O art really works.

Eugene Celebration was a pretty toy and I'm glad it happens. Not being on the Parade route left us at the Market feeling very left out. It was such a highlight of the season in past years, and I sincerely hope it comes back next year. It's interesting, from the perspective of a neighboring business that operates every week doing much the same thing, to not view it as competition, but as enrichment. I did see lots of new people at Market and did okay, sales-wise, since sunny mornings practically guarantee hat sales for those who forgot how bright that old sun can be. (Works for me on rainy days too, yay.) Sold more bags than usual, maybe because people were going to be walking around all day carrying things. Everything went okay until the way home.

There simply was no legal, safe way for us human-powered vendors to exit the Park Blocks. We either had to go on sidewalks, the wrong way on one-way streets, or blocks and blocks out of our way on unknown routes. Elise and I teamed up and went through two alleys, down to Seventh, and on the sidewalk against oncoming traffic and pedestrians, practically screaming to avoid collision. I hadn't realized that I really can't push that load on foot any substantial distance. I kept ringing my bell and apologizing to those I drove off the sidewalk (nobody was really in any physical danger but me and Elise) and almost mowed down coming from the alley unexpectedly like that.

There are maybe twelve to fifteen of us with wagons, carts, and small wheels. It doesn't surprise me that no one thought of how we would navigate; we didn't really think of it ourselves. I did okay on 10th instead of Broadway on the way down in the morning, but that is now one-way between Olive and Charnelton and wouldn't work for the way west. I was not going on 11th or 6th, no way. I could have walked two blocks over to Pearl and ridden up to 12th, winding my way through that nasty bike path between Oak and Willamette, but that would have probably meant dumping my load on the tight turns and uneven paving, and no one wants to see me on Pearl. The traffic of people looking for parking on the outlying streets would have been difficult at best. It was traumatic.

We did survive, and I only lost one stick off the load that it wasn't worth the effort to recover. I have lots of sticks. Nobody gave us the finger, though Elise had a really hard time in the morning just trying to access the blocks. I had planned to insist that I needed to reach my workplace, but I didn't try to get through any barriers.

And speaking of barriers, one of the best parts of the day was when 8th street was liberated. A couple of people just moved the street closure signs that were not necessary. Our customers need to be able to get to our site, no matter what else is going on downtown. That is basic. People can't carry flats of produce and ceramic pots and whatnot for several blocks to their cars. And the free parking wasn't free, either.

But you have to love the Eugene Celebration, no matter what. It's good to promenade the streets, good to meet and greet, good for everyone to get a chance to show off what they do and like and support. I hope next year things will be a little easier. I will pass my concerns on to the mgmt. of the festival. I know they will do what they can to avoid problems.

And at the very least, it should put the question of street closure out of the realm of possibility for the farmers. It should, but who knows? Maybe they think we can have Eugene Celebration every week. We kind of do already. Thing is, we've worked out the solutions to how to make it work logistically, and so that everyone can also make money, something that doesn't really happen for us on that weekend. We really need the street to be open, to the free parking the city gives us, to the west and to the east and to the south and north. We have to make it easy for people to enjoy us, so we can enjoy them.

Celebrating

The gallery openings are tonight for the Salon and the Mayor's show. I'll go, and eavesdrop to see what people say about the jello. Maybe they will just think it is glass and criticize that pink piece on the side of the face that doesn't seem to fit so well. I'm sure they'll find things to criticize, as we all do because we think we're supposed to.

I never vote in those people's choice things though I'm glad that other people do. I don't like ranking one person's expression over another. I'm sure that comes from standing with 200 other artisans all trying for the same dollars. I don't want to admit that anyone is better than me, so I can''t be better than anyone else either. We're all us.

Writing this essay on women and aging is kicking me hard, as it should. I have a really hard time accessing my terror and fragility. I see that I have worked very diligently over the decades to keep it from bubbling up. Every morning when I fight the gathering anxiety in my belly I just get out of bed and start making breakfast and the rituals of my day. Lately I have been trying to let it flow over me, trying to feel it, and that does make it less frightening and more a normal emotion I can pass through.

But I do better if I keep it well under control, it seems. I try to keep so much under control. I suppose this is the human condition and we all try to find relatively healthy ways to do this. I'm thinking of the Steve Martin movie, Grand Canyon, when they describe their lives as a roller coaster and say you just have to ride. I don't know; maybe one more safety strap would be better.

In today's version of the essay I expound upon how vulnerable we make ourselves every time we sell, how terrifying this is, and how we are really just begging the customers to need our stuff. It doesn't look as desperate as it gets sometimes; we work hard at hiding our despair and how high our hopes get. Everything has to look normal, no pressure, no matter if you decide not to come back like you said you would, no matter if you spend your money on something else, something easier for you, something from Waldemort or wherever. You have your unexpressed needs, I have mine.

I don't want anyone to know how scared I get. It's like when someone is crying or puking it makes me want to cry or puke too. We all have to keep it together so we all can keep it together. I think that is why it is so horrifying to watch any kind of misfortune (and so compelling). We test ourselves against it. Would I survive that? Would I make that choice? What will I do when it is my turn?

I mean, the unspoken end of all of our essays and ponderings is our deaths. We will all end up there, and in a few months or years we will be mostly forgotten. The art I so delight in will be in the dump and I might last as a legend for a little while because of all my diligent output, but no matter how much art I make, it doesn't really help me to control what really scares me.

But the writing really does help. I just spent over two hours focused on articulating my terror and it didn't make it any worse. At least I remembered that everyone is right there with me.

Or if I can write really well they will be. If I can do everything right, choose the correct words and get that structure illuminated, they will go right with me down and then back out. Oh yeah, I have to bring them back out. Better go work on it some more.

Must be Sunday

Gaming the system, I've done it. Not that long ago. It's always a temptation to those of us who tend to think divergently...rules are made to be broken, better to ask forgiveness than permission, etc. etc. Iconoclasts.

The essence is pretty much I know what I need, and I am compelled to get it. Generally I am able to rationalize it: no one is being hurt, I'm such a good and honest person, it really won't matter. You probably have a similar list of rationalizations and excuses when you go after something that gives you a little glimmer of uneasiness...stuff it.

I'm not saying I will never do it again, but I saw what it looked like from the outside yesterday and a beam of light smote me and showed me something I had been ignoring. It really does matter, not on the small scale, but on the bigger ones. On many levels.

As Beth said in her editorial a couple of weeks ago, when you step outside the rules for your own ease, you are really saying you think you are more important than the next person. I know most of us do think this about ourselves, at least on some levels, and our culture certainly tells us that if we don't get it for ourselves, we won't get enough, or what we need, or anything at all.

But in a community situation, giving is a much more effective technique for having all the needs met than taking is. Giving is just an all around better technique for getting one's own needs met, and can certainly be followed by receiving...but the giving comes first.

If I thought that I had fully learned this, I would say it took me all of these 61 years, but I'm thinking I haven't fully learned this at all. I'm still selfish and greedy way more of the time than I wish I were. It comes from a sense of deprivation that comes from all of the abundance and generosity of the world around me, the sense that somehow it is going to run out, that I won't get my share, and I especially won't get it unless I am at the front of the line.

I'm kind of talking about the booth allocation system at the Market. It's a system that is complex and worked out over decades with fairness and equality in mind. It's a tough system to "win", but it does reward persistence and hard work, and it functions just fine for the people in the back of the line too, if everyone plays fair.

When I gamed it, I was at the front of the line. I actually was trading down my booth space with someone else, because I was so focused on a particular space that was so perfect for me, it became my reason for success. If I got that space, I had a great day. If I could only be in that space, my life was in place, I would maximize my Market Day, I would rise to the top earning level, I would win the big prize in the sky. Control fantasies.

Only I did feel that glimmer of unease, and my rationalizations left out quite a few of the aspects of Market that I treasure, the high level of honor and honesty, the trust, the equality, the care with which the many systems were developed. I told myself it was okay, that no one was hurt by it, that there wasn't a rule against it, that it made the Market better because it made my experience better.

Big fail. When I remembered that little shortlived game yesterday I felt shame and regret. Even I, who thinks of myself as one of the most supportive, longlasting, and dedicated Market members, even I got selfish and thought only of my own needs and how I could get them filled. I thought if I did it quietly no one would even notice.

Surprise. Nothing I do at Market is unobserved. If I even pick my nose, someone sees it. Someone knows that one person in the Marketplace is unaware of the public expectation of good grooming. Some customer is grossed out and someones sales are lost or postponed. Someone has to pay.

Not only does it take a village, but we are about as small scale as it gets. If you wouldn't live in a small town because everyone knows your intimate details, well, wake up, you're in one. Not only do we gossip and judge, we also observe for our own improvement, for trends, for novelty, for entertainment, and to learn. We observe. We talk. We are in it together.

So here is my public apology for trying to win something I did not deserve, because my actions were selfish and thoughtless. I took from the Market without its permission. I'm sorry. I apologize to all of the hundreds of people who patiently waited their turns and did things the way they were asked to, without thinking of ways around the rules, or ways they could skip steps and get what they wanted with less effort.

I was wrong. I hope I never do that again. I will try hard to be more consistent with my values. I will try hard to do my part to stem the trends of selfishness and greed that so shock all of us on the national and world level. I will do my best to model right action, to be honorable in every way I can. I hope that in doing this I will inspire others, or at least not encourage others to be selfish. I see that I put more pressure on others to get theirs, since I was so diligently making sure I got mine.

I was joking with someone yesterday that if I tried to sell at Market when I was high on something, I would just give everything away. I think it goes against my natural tendencies to sell things, particularly to sell them for a top price, to take someone's money for something I enjoyed making and already got the value of by taking pride in my accomplishment and the process. The more I enjoyed the process, the less I enjoy putting a monetary value on it and taking someone's cash. I really am not motivated by money, except that I need it for other things, the bills, etc. I have to force myself to earn it, when really I would rather just have a big free pile and count the denominations of joy and delight. I would love to just continue to create things, immerse in their beauty and release them to the universe to live their own lives for others.

But I live in the material world and it is in the Marketplace where I compromise my wishes, allow people to reduce my joys to a monetary exchange for my benefit, and try hard to be grateful and pleased with their generosity and not ask for more than they can give, more than they are willing to grant me.

I extend that to all my fellow beings. I will not take what is yours, what I do not have a right to, what I have not earned. That is just basic.

I'm embarrassed that I need so many reminders to keep my internal two-year-old within bounds. I'm thoroughly grateful to my friend Pamela, who knows right action inside and out, and to Beth, for continually pointing out refinements to my approach, by example, by discussion, by sharing another perspective, and by their gentle encouragement.

We all need gentle encouragement, and the opportunity to redeem ourselves when we trip up.

Next step is forgiveness, and my challenge as always is to extend the forgiveness to myself. It's easier to forgive others. I think there is latent catholicism there, those old black sins on my soul that I put there because someone told me I was bad. No one even has to tell me, I've gotten good at beating myself down.

But I can be just as good at building myself up, if I'm observant, and keep asking myself the right questions. Keep watching for that glimmer of discontent, that internal checklist. Is this really right? Is it honest to the core? If not, can I step back a minute and see if there are any other options?

There usually are. Sometimes I can't have what I want. I generally do get what I need. I can probably relax and accept that when I really need help or a special dispensation, I am way more likely to get it if I have done the giving first, if there is some level on which I truly deserve the "points".

I've sat in on a lot of meetings in the past few years. I have a keen internal sense of what feels right and what is unfair. I can clearly see that what you don't think clearly about, what you drive to accomplish without being fair, will come back to bite you for years. A lifetime perhaps.

Just be honest. I remember when my son was in those fractious teenage years and we needed to start over to get a working relationship established. I could only think of one rule that I could insist on: that we both had to be totally honest with each other.

It was really hard. I had to stop hiding it when I had a beer. I had to tell him about the ins and outs of a cash economy and ways to do things in the big world that seemed contradictory to how everyone was doing it. I had to reveal a lot of things to myself that I had been conveniently glossing over to maintain my life.

It was also liberating, and it led both of us to common ground and a better way to relate to everyone in our lives. I thought of myself as an honest person before that, but it improved my consistency in subtle and lovely ways.

I'm certainly still on the path of trying to do it, not always succeeding. But it is definitely the right path, and you know it. We all know it. If it feels good...

We have a Queen!

Sunday morning ramblings, wonder how much I repeat myself. This is an increasing tendency I have noticed in myself and others. I don't have the patience to re-read all my postings to prevent this, though. That's one nice thing about blogs; people rarely go back to read all the old entries. That's one kind of annoying thing about blogs as well.

Market went well for me yesterday, sold four "Eugene, Oregon" hats which tells me there were a lot of tourists. Even sold one at about 5:45 when the hats were the last thing I was packing up. People weren't ready to go home yet. Saw a couple of Hoedads to hug and saw some others I thought I recognized but they didn't seem to know me so I let it go. Sorry now of course, should have said something.

The Slug Queen Coronation was worth the bit of lost sleep and routine on Friday night. You have to love an event that makes you laugh for two hours straight. The Old Queens are funny and their Queen personas even funnier. The outfits are always amusing. I am always amazed how willing people are to reveal themselves in full, in front of what seems like all Eugene but of course is only a small group of at most a couple of hundred people, mostly friends of one or more contestants. I say I will never run for Queen but there is a little glimmer of willingness there...I'm a woman who regularly wears huge Jell-O flowers in my hair and barely thinks about it. But actually being the Slug Queen is a lot of work and the pageant is only a small part. I'm thankful to those who are willing.

Promoting my Jell-O Art was hugely satisfying. Kim wore her Jell-O headdress and looked stunning. She credited me from the stage and I had to stand up and wave my arms in the salute to glamour which seemed to arise spontaneously from me even before being reminded that we do that as a tribute to Bagonda. Perhaps I am naturally glamorous after all. Nah. But on the way home from Market yesterday someone cleaning up their yard gave me some applause and told me I was a parade of one, and awesome, and I gave the salute again. Maybe when I am really old I will run.

Didn't sell any Jell-O slugs but that day will come. I still have one large one that needs a habitat and might become an exhibit for the Salon. Haven't heard from the Mayor's show yet but I'm not expecting to get in with gelatin art. Then again, with the amazing photos Kim took, it might end up being one of those items that gets in because it is the Mayor's show, and the unusual is sought after. We'll know soon.

The sun came out only briefly yesterday, through a hole in the trees that allows it to shine directly on my shelves, the one place I really want total shade all day. I had taken down the umbrella after putting it up for a previous minute of semi-sun that looked promising. I was a bit vexed at the hole in the trees but my neighbor Tim pointed out that it was a spotlight on my booth, and that sounded so special I realized this was a classic example of seeing a hole where a pile of riches could also be seen...and I chose the hole. Really trying not to do that.

It was hard not to complain about having to wear my dorky fleece socks and work shoes all day because I was cold, on a day in August when it was supposed to be 80 degrees. But I tried hard not to complain. It is a fact that a lot of us vendors are actually traumatized by this season, some quitting or looking elsewhere for sales, not fully able to keep the faith that we are in the best place we can be in any economy. Mostly our problem is the weather, which brings us closer to imagining what it is like to be a farmer, so on that front maybe this is part of our healing. A customer told me that she was sent over to see my tote bags after not wanting one of their polypropylene ones, which made me feel good, since I used to print the LCFM totes, bringing me thousands of dollars of income over the past two decades. The beat goes on, as Beth said.

The Market itself is on budget, and while it is a conservative budget, that means we are not really losing ground. Buying might be shifting to more practical, lower-priced items, but there are still people with money who want to spend it on hand-crafted goods and interaction with artists. Everybody gets her day. My season's average is down a bit from last year, but not that significantly. I have hurt my sales by allowing so much attention to be diverted by the Jell-O, but I can't bear to take it away from the hot spot in the front of the booth.

So many people are so amazed and delighted that I feel it is a public service to Phun to display it, even if I don't make a cent, which hasn't been the case. I've made over $200 on it so far, if my records are accurate. That can't match the profitability of t-shirts and hats, but it feeds me in so many other ways that I'm really appreciative of it. The colors and shapes are so appealing and attractive at the Market, that even other vendors have told me they love seeing it, and of course most people love to see others look glamorous or foolish or whatever people think about how I look wearing it around so casually. I'm hearing people say they've heard about it, so a couple of them may be coming down to find it or bringing others. It really is the world's only thing like it, and how rich would your life be if every time you left the house you saw something you had never seen before, could not see anywhere else, and had to re-route a few neurons to integrate into your cognitive storage?

Arguably you do this every time you leave the house, but anyway, the point is true. It is good for everyone to have this Jell-O in their lives. And that is just the perfect, and traditional role for Jell-O. I'm glad it has worked out this way. I hope I never lose interest in it.

And to project this outward and apply it to all of my fellow artists, performers, service-providers, Slug Queen candidates (go Mary Ann, and Kimberly!) photographers, writers, and cooks, the world is so much better with Saturday Market in it.

A cloudy day or many, cold in the summer or sneezing at the HM, we are so, so lucky to have the opportunity to give and take every Saturday. To have a public gathering place like that, to have a public who loves it and uses it, to have a family so large, eclectic, and desiring of peace and love, well, that is just the best a person could hope for in public life. I'm proud to be part of it.

And I want to give a special mention of appreciation for all of the staff who make it happen, to the ones who sweep and clean the Park Blocks for us each week in the dark hours of the morning, who sort our garbage, put out our safety equipment, and make sure we have as effortless a time as possible, run our credit cards so accurately, find us booths when there are none, remember our family situations and provide support, and listen to our long involved stories of pain and isolation and emotional overload. There is a lot of unwritten stuff in their job descriptions, a lot of stuff we couldn't really pay them enough to do for us, but that they do anyway. One of the most valuable parts of this is the weekly address that graces our newsletter from Beth, our beloved manager.

She keeps us on track by reminding us what's important. She reminds us to breathe it in, and breathe it out as kindly as possible. She brings us together as a community that can encompass the highs and lows and still stay together. We were discussing yesterday our habits of leaving after packing up without saying goodbye...jokingly chastising those in our neighborhood who forget that on any given Saturday, some of us are missing and some may not return. You can't say goodbye to everyone, or even hello as you pass by their booths on a hurry to somewhere. You can't make a family where you really have a granfalloon or a loose association of competitors. You will hurt yourself if you expect something that doesn't really exist, but I have found that no matter what I put into the Market, I always receive more than I invested.

Sometimes it is indirect or not in the form I can easily recognize or expect, but it always comes. On the whole, Saturday Market does not disappoint. And it does feel like a family to me.

It will be important to remember this as we leave the tourist season too early and slide into the season of questionable weather long before we have gotten enough of the dependable sort. What we build, we can hold. What we make is worth it.

But we sure do need each other. See you Tuesday! Corn Guy, corn guy!

Hope's Smile

Such a bad idea to blog when I am feeling vulnerable, but that's when I want to blog the most. Writing has been my therapy forever, and I recognize I am not the only person feeling vulnerable.

What's my problem? I'm pushing myself to make some changes, and it's pushing me into those uncomfortable zones. I'm reading a book about death awareness called Final Gifts.
Death is scary, and I'm afraid of it. I am, however, getting closer to feeling okay with it, as the same kind of experience as birth, a natural passage for a soul in a body. There isn't any way to make it not happen, no matter how careful I am or how much I slow down the aging process. And there isn't any way to keep all of the people I know alive.

But it seems that there are lots of ways to experience it with much less fear, so that is where I am working. Acknowledging the emotions and the mix of sensations that come with change, loss of control, loss in general, and vulnerability is right where I can make the changes that will ease the rest of my life.

The people who wrote the book see themselves as midwives for the end-of-life process, finding ways to be helpful to all of those involved, and that is a way to feel stronger. I remember just about a year ago when Michael Caffrey died, and I happened to visit him the afternoon of that day. He wasn't really conscious, though he was vocalizing and moving around, and we felt that he was trying to respond to us. The moment of beauty I had that day was when I stood next to him at the head of his bed, facing the same direction, feeling the late afternoon breeze coming through his living room/studio/dying room. I commented on the breeze and thought about the many days he had sat in that room feeling it, being grateful as the heat of the day dissipated and the apartment cooled off for the night. It gave me a connection with him that I hadn't had.

It gave me a sense of peace, that I could think about him, and not my loss, and not my fear, and not my regrets and not my inability to control the situation. I could feel the breeze.

Death, such a big thing, and not the only thing. Winter is hard for me, and here it comes again. It's August, blistering hot, and I'm already dreading winter and the coming hardships. Selling outside in bad weather is so hard, and we had such a troublesome spring and early summer. We missed out on the big sales that we count on for Graduation weekend, Mother's and Father's Day, even Fourth of July. People just weren't buying that much.

Thanks to the wackos attacking our government and the big looting of the Treasury, just about everyone is at least fearful, at worst, suffering. Our kids can't find jobs, and they are losing self-regard when they need it most. Our parents are afraid, our partners and our friends are scared too. Positive thinking only goes so far before it becomes delusional and counter-productive. Things are hard!

But what do we do, then? We don't panic, and I for one know I don't depend more on others, since they have their own needs to worry about. We try even harder to keep it together, because distress tends to trigger distress in others, and things start to spiral. At this last BOD meeting, people started a sort of roundtable of things they were worried about, things that had gone wrong, things that other people had done that had bothered them. In one sense it was good to air these complaints and get them out of our heads, but in another it kind of built upon itself. Fortunately it was the end of the meeting and we didn't have to take any action on most of those complaints, and our manager is wise and a good listener.

Everybody has stuff, I know that. Canes, braces, bruises and wounds are noticed, and many other infirmities are invisible but show in people's faces. We tend to look around for reassurance, someone to blame, someone to feel better than, someone to fix things.

Mostly we need to stop worrying and just be. It's summer, such a luscious, delightfully sensual time with flowers, so much food, people lightly dressed and staying out in the evenings, stretching and feeling supple. It's the best time of year for me.

I certainly don't want to get to winter and realize that I forgot to enjoy summer. Winter is the future, (and another summer usually follows...) and I want to be right here, right now.

And that is what I am getting from the reading I am doing about death, addiction, and change. Just feel the stuff. Feel the early morning anxiety over work, too much of it or too little. Let it wash over me and pass, let it dissipate. Get to work and do something. Be addicted to something benign, like gardening or exercise. Look at one flower at a time. Watch a hummingbird defend it's territory and see how fear doesn't work so well for it. Get into my fears a little bit, and get back out. Recognize what's driving them, feel them, but don't go over the edge.

And we are lucky, so lucky, those of us who can create things. Creating beauty is such a wonderful counterpoint to fear. Who cares if someone buys it? That's not the important thing.

The important thing is how, when we're making it, when we get it finished and look at it with satisfaction, we are right there, not feeling fear, but feeling joy. Joy and hope.

And anyway, my guru/hairdresser Jan says we don't die. Our bodies wear out, but that isn't us. We transition, and there may be many forms of that, but we will still be in the world in many ways.

Those of us who can create, will be here. I look at Michael's paintings and feel inspired, I think about my mother-in-law Hope and am grateful and awed by how creative she was and how I am in a small way continuing her life with my art. Maybe they know, maybe they are really gone, but I like to think that when I feel that summer breeze, a little bit of Michael is in there, a little bit of all those I have lost and miss. Maybe that crow is really trying to tell me something, as I imagine, even if it is just that humans are so amusing in their struggles.

Laugh, I guess. Why not?