Volunteers of America

Rich came by Tuesday and we tried to remember that Jefferson Airplane song. I clearly remember standing on a bed playing air guitar and singing that at the top of my lungs. I was in DC for the seventies revolution, the massive marches, the tear gas. I was in the student strike. But that was then.

Had some further thoughts on my last post, which was essentially whining because not enough people participated in my retail sales experience. I mean, so what? I hate it when I make it all about me not getting what I want. It's an international movement, something giant and meaningful, and I'm all about not getting enough attention. I am of course not the only one in that state.

I've heard that some of the occupiers are not too interested in the seasoned activists from the previous generations. There is probably some of that. I remember when we didn't trust anyone over thirty. That was before we got to thirty ourselves. Now (at 61) I try to trust everyone.

By all indications the movement will indeed move as promised to make way for our little commerce day in the Park. It's the right thing to do. We're pretty on the edge down at Market, with many of us under the poverty level. We created jobs for ourselves in previous recessionary times, and it was a fairly good strategy for keeping busy and not getting thrown out into the streets. It isn't an easy life, but it does have its benefits.

We do depend on retail sales, which is a wide and deep morass of delicate, ephemeral negotiations with strangers and fans that results in us getting money for our efforts (if all goes well.) It's a rare artisan who can sell everything she makes in a timely fashion. One of the reasons I still have a lot of political stuff is that politics doesn't change that much, and some of the items are the same ones I have had for years. Literally the same ones. They go into cardboard boxes and come out later and go back on the shelf. Sometimes I find the old screens on the rack and reprint. That has been the case with the "This Space Not Available for Corporate Advertising" shirt. It's really hard to print on hats but I keep doing it because anti-corporatism hasn't gone out of style. When I first printed it, I was reacting to seeing Camel cigarette wear on everyone, and needed to make a statement. I actually sold quite a few of those shirts to Northern Sun a decade or so ago.

My generation of peaceniks is still current in many ways, and we've been honing our skills. We aren't really old and in the way, so I don't think the disdain of youth is stopping any older people from making a contribution. Mostly folks my age are supporting from what I call the middle distance. The Occupy Eugene page on Facebook has over 2500 friends, but the vast majority of those are not the kind of friends who want to spend the night. We're supporting in theory, maybe with money or food or by pitching in with the chores, maybe just by keeping up.

It's our need for security and stability that causes us to pull back and not throw up a tent and mount our freak flags. I personally find that I have an unfortunate tendency to get triggered by the trauma of that past revolutionary time, so I really can't immerse and keep my life stable. I had a very messy decade in my twenties. Some of it was self-inflicted, but most of it was just a bad set-up for me that I had to roll through and survive. I did of course, but spent most of the next decade trying to find peace in the woods and ignore the Watergate stuff and all that came after. I immersed in work, kept a little part of me expressive in a radical political way, but for the most part became a mother and productive member of society.

Alternative society, though. My family finally found the label of "Voluntary Simplicity" to put on me, which made them much more comfortable than lost soul or hippie or whatever other label they found that fit. I didn't spend a lot of time trying to explain myself, just knew I had found something that worked and stuck with it.

I suppose I am a workaholic if you like that label. I know I use work to substitute for other things in my life that aren't as satisfying. I do probably get too emotionally attached to my work, but it's hard to see how an artist would avoid that. At least I can see the attachment better now and don't fool myself so much about it.

I talked to a fellow fiction writer on Tuesday and he asked me about my writing, which truthfully has mostly consisted of my blogs for quite some time. The fiction I wrote was always very personal, a form of therapy almost where I went over events from my past with the idea of transforming them by rewriting them with honesty and insight and maybe finding out something new for my own progress. It worked, but increased my vulnerability and I have a hard time sharing a lot of it. Publishing it never seemed wise, particularly when I thought about public readings where I figured I would weep on the podium.

So I've had the goal of creating distance in my fiction, which would be a neat trick if you could balance that with the emotional vulnerability that people hunger for in their reading. I try writing with male characters, changing names, etc., but mostly I talk myself out of writing the stuff altogether. Editing the pieces I have written carries the same risk of pain, so I have files and files of unedited novels and stories and essays.

But I'm going to push through that resistance and work on the pieces, and write new ones too. It's vital work for me personally. I'm not very attached to sharing it, but I'm working on that too. I really don't need to fear the exposure. Mostly people my age are ignored or at most, read by people my age. I'm not going to be read much by younger generations unless I manage to learn more about them, to be relevant. I can only do so much of that.

So really, my work does not speak much to this new revolution. Add to that that it is a revolution without so many souvenirs. I read today that most items available in Zuccotti park are for free. The armbands seen here in Eugene are free. It seems somehow inappropriate to sell shirts about this revolution. The new economy is more of an exchange economy. It doesn't really trust money.

So no, I still haven't made the t-shirt. I just don't want to. I'm too conflicted about having to clear the tents off my booth space in order to sell them. I'm too afraid of putting myself into old traumas. I hate fall anyway, don't like to be cold, and just want to stay home and make Jell-O Art Christmas ornaments. I just can't push myself this time of year. When I do, I get irrational and fearful, and this is not the time to add my fears to the piles of fears ready to be set on fire downtown.

It's not just the occupation. There's a lot going on in our city and county. Saturday Market is right in the heart of it, and we are being seen by lots of people as problem solvers and problem creators. It has been the most complicated, difficult year ever. I've written myself into several conundrums and sometimes it has helped, sometimes hurt (me, at least.) Words are powerful.

Believe it or not, in the sixties and seventies we didn't really have t-shirts. The t-shirt used to be underwear, and it was not really until the eighties when they became commercially available decorated wardrobe items. It has been fabulously useful as a vehicle for self-expression, and before the internet was one of the main ways to spread the words, better than posters, better than speeches.

But now it isn't. There are some, mostly black with white toxic PVC-based ink, that are still popular, mostly because they are black. There are the white ones with the transfers or direct-print full-color art that comes directly off the tubes. But the old-style protest shirt, the ones everyone pulls out of their drawers to wear to the protest, are fading away. It's too cold for t-shirts this time of year, as well. Patches to sew onto the backs of jackets are more practical, or the armbands, or the tendency to avoid being a target by not displaying your politics on your person.

There is still a bit of the spray paint/stencil/DIY stuff out there, but of course that is not what I do. So anyway, there are my justifications for not making a shirt this week. Mostly I had other work to do that was more secure, more safe for me. I'm a bit out of the mainstream, by choice. I'll settle into it eventually, maybe even like being on the sidelines. It's hard to maintain that passion and hope for change. It's tough to beat off that cynicism from seeing it all before.

I'm with you, though, people for change. We do need it on so many levels. I'm in the middle distance like the other thousands of FB fans. We do what we can. We hate kicking you out of the park, but property tax bills came this month. We have to cling to the security we created. We're just not twenty anymore. Unlike you, we're gonna die!

But we're clicking Like. The funny thing is, I think everyone might have gone somewhere else on the internet, and we're still on Facebook thinking we're in the center too. Old people are funny. We think it is our world just as much as anyone. I'm standing there across the street, testing the waters to see if it is warm enough for me. I have to. Thanks for doing the hard stuff, kids. Keep up the good work.

Don't mind us over here, we're still doing it. Just a little slower maybe, a little less idealistic, a little less magical. There are ways we can help. Come home and do your laundry, but make sure it is a sunny day, cuz Mom doesn't have a dryer. Can't afford the electricity.

I could always be wrong about the souvenirs though. Come see me if you want to order something, because I could still be swayed. I bought some shirts. I'm just thinking "We are the 99%" because "Mad As Hell" is too inflammatory. But if the consensus is "Mad As Hell," I could be swayed. Bring me your brilliant ideas. I promise to share the money. Cash is still a useful commodity. Those Porta-potties cost $75 a day. We know. We've been paying that bill for forty-some years.