Breaking Pots

I'm supposed to be tired, and I do have to go to bed early, so I thought I'd wait and write next week, though a friend today urged me to do it despite my fear of repetition. Repeat it better, she said. She talked about what we needed now, those of us still traumatized and grieving for the progressive society we thought we were building. We're afraid, and we're tired of fighting all the time, when we thought we were feeling rather safe, and on the right track to a world we were happy to live in, one working toward real and solid equality and justice.

It was surprisingly easy to derail us, shockingly swift, and though we have been valiant, the damage has run deep in everyone I know. Damage or denial, or both. Defiance, and determination to hold onto what we built, what we loved, and the resistance has been strengthening, and the safety probably imagined to begin with. Perhaps we were lulled, and I'm cynical enough to believe everything was calculated and that those far, far more cynical than I prepared well for what seemed so swift a denoument.

But it ain't over, and that arc of history (edit: the moral universe) bends toward justice, and that pendulum is going to swing like hell and I still have heart. What she was saying we needed was that. Heart and soul, which is what we get when we gather, and why we come.

So I sat down to read and rest, and the first thing I read was an article about teaching writing, which said that too few programs make service to the community a central tenet of writing. This was so close to my conversation with my friend about this place where I write, that I put down the book and came here to all of you. Tomorrow will be a heart-wrencher, a busy Saturday, always our best days at Holiday Market, and in the morning the Auction with Percussive Interludes, aka the Pottery Smash. It starts at 8:30, and you are invited if you like. It's not public, but it isn't private either, and if you know us, you can come.

We are the Kareng Fund, and the Saturday Market. Three potters do the work: Frank Gosar, Jon King, and Alex Lanham (former potter), with assistance from quite a few who stepped up "organically" as we say, to take on duties to make it happen. It's an auction of seconds, surplus, and donated goods from mostly potters, but also many others, with the proceeds going into the Kareng Fund to give grants to artisans in crisis. The Fund has been going since about 2002, when it grew from hat-passing to an actual bank account and from there to a 501c3. I serve on the Board, with eight other kind souls who try to make good decisions about what we can do to help people who need it, and who try to raise money to grow the fund and give more grants. None of us are super-great fundraiser type people. Asking for money is hard to do when you are shy and kind of poor and a down-to-earth hermit. Not all of us are that, but it does go along with the typical artisan personality.

So the Smash developed. The first year it grew out of boredom and was very literally potters bowling their pots down the aisle. Pots break when you do that, of course. It completely horrified those of us whose work doesn't break when you drop it, as we didn't understand breakage. We felt loss. It took some time to work through that to feel release. Over the decade and more of the Pottery Smash, fewer and fewer items are broken, but we can count on a few people to toss that stuff into the specially-built cage for it. No bid for this bowl? Jon will pretend to let it slip off his upraised hand, with a glimmer of glee in his eyes. Like this one? Oh well, it has a big crack in it, so CRASH!

There are so many crucial steps in ceramics, seconds are a given. There is no shortage of them. As a bowl collector myself, I keep a box of shards in the shed for my eventual mosaic whatever. All the favorite pieces break if you use them. You can't really fight it. It's built into the art form.

And loss? Just the other side of gain. Have/Lose. Like death, we pretend it won't happen, but that never stops it for long. Like most inevitability, the grace comes with acceptance. Sigh. Lotte died, slipped away, although we loved her hard and tried to let her know that. Had to happen. She gave us as much as she had to give, and set a wonderful example of how to make an artisan life.

We say she was our founder, but everyone, I hope, knows that Lotte didn't do it alone. Saturday Market isn't about ownership, and never was. A group of people around a table ate homemade food on homemade dishes and decided to make their work close to their homes. They put their efforts toward something direct, from their hands to ours, put their minds to working out how it could be best accomplished, what would last and be fair and what we would want to live with. They worked by consensus, a concept also homegrown and refined here in our region, though an ancient model made hippie style from new roots during that same fertile time a half-century ago now. It basically means you come to agreement before you move forward.

Eugene didn't like The Market at first, like people didn't like the Smash. People who made businesses the conventional way were resentful at the easy ownership of each artist, who merely had to bring their work and join in, with little overhead investment and no bankers, no buildings, and what looked like no rules and no taxes. It was self-governance, and it took time and dedication, but the foundation was built on something ephemeral: community. It took a community of artisans to make it happen, and a community of appreciators to complete the circle. Thus it was born and thus it happens today, seemingly effortless and profoundly full of determination, resistance, love, loss, and face-to-face equality. It costs more now. It isn't easy and never was, but it has always been fun and that won't change.

We have breakage. We had a two-day complaint fest on Facebook this week, which was witnessed by about a hundred people perhaps, where we looked within and found we didn't see quite the same things. I found it damaging, but at the same time, I had no trouble showing up today and sitting with my goods once more, saying hello to those I didn't agree with, working together once more to do what we do. I'm not afraid to work on consensus. I have great confidence that when everyone gets in the same room and starts to work on a problem together, a solution will be found, and it will be elegant. It might take more than one meeting, and there might be more than one problem. But after four decades of working in community like that, I know it can be done. I also know what prevents it from working, and what destroys it.

But those are subjects for other posts, because what is up tomorrow is sweet and kind. Enthusiastic appreciators bid happily against each other, siblings and partners and fast friends, and everyone feels like they win. We usually raise enough for at least a grant or two, and with the Basket Raffle the next day, we usually raise enough for several grants, and at the same time during Holiday Market we give several. Oddly, over the years of granting, the amount in the fund stays rather constant, growing slowly, and the 80-some grants keep amounting to more and more given out. It's magic, like the money comes out of the air somehow. It flows through and gets where it need to go, helps the ones who need it the most.

Tears will be shed amongst the happiness tomorrow. Someone who is here today will not be here next year, and we remember many who were with us until they weren't. It's a big family, enclosing thousands if you count everyone, and thousands more in the outer ripples. It's rather astonishing that it works as well as it does. We all pay in what we have, what we can, and the sharing happens and the people who we pay to do what we can't do ourselves, do that, and everyone gives what they bring and takes what they need. It goes around and comes around again.

My neighbor brought over some cookies and asked me what I will do for Christmas, and really, this is what I do. Holiday Market is my holiday. Maybe I'll see my son and his wife, or maybe we'll do it next week, and on the day of Christmas I'll cook something and sit and read and watch a movie, happily in my solitude, feed the birds, listen to music. Write in my journal. Look out the window. The day after I will go and get the rest of my booth and bring it home for the winter.

I'll be happy to be alone, because I will have spent the last three days right in the middle of our community. It's got everything. It's diverse, it's lively, there are people who give and those who need, people who laugh and some who cry, people with kids and those without. Broken legs, new babies, dementia, funny stories, horrible embarrassments, tender hugs. We have it all. It spreads out over us. It's what we built because it's what we need. It's abundance and joy.

This is what we have that no tyranny can destroy. We laugh in the face of the desperate selfishness and greed that we can hardly imagine. That's not the world we're making. That's not the story we're writing. That's not what's going to happen. I know it, and you know it too. We're better than that. We might feel helpless and discouraged, but there are a lot of us, and we're not as susceptible to their devious techniques and mind-bending as they think. We might flounder individually some or a lot, but in community, we will not fail. We bring our hearts, and our hands, and we are good at it.

See you in the morning. If you miss it, see you in the spring. See you on Impeachment Day. See you in the funny papers. Have a lovely Christmas, and a wonderful year. Keep giving, and keep bringing it to the commons. Those things are ancient, and they will not be destroyed. Break a pot, save the world.

Let's Fall in Love, Rewritten

Let's make Jell-O,
Why shouldn't we make Jell-O?
Republicans screwed us, they took us to hell,
Why shouldn't we jell?

Let's all eat cake,
Thanks for all that Dana can make,
We've got Dave's cookies, we've got Pad Thai,
And we can get high!

Dance, while we still have our health care,
Smile, while you still have your teeth.
Play, while you pay off your mortgage,
You won't get tax relief.

Let's shift our eyes,
And notice we live in paradise,
Here we have love, here it is mellow,
And we always have Jell-O!

If you know me you know that for me, Jell-O is not the stuff you can mix with water and eat when you're in the hospital,it's my metaphor for sacred joy. Jell-O Art is my vehicle for fun, my glamour, my saving grace, and all winter after we close our retail season, I sing and write parody songs and scripts for the Radar Angels performance, and fill my living room and kitchen with strange and wonderful creations made with the transparent, brilliantly colored and sometimes jiggly substance that the uninitiated eat. It feeds me, but not in conventional ways. And on the advent of spring, sometimes on Opening Day of Saturday Market, high holy day as it is, we have the Jell-O Art Show, and it is glorious and Joy Incarnate. And, bowing, I am Your Queen of it. Humbly.

But it's only December, and this was quite a week in politics, and it's the Holidays. So after reading the paper this morning and before heading off to my day of retail at the Holiday Market, I spent a little time yelling obscenities, a little time lecturing myself, and by the time I was slogging through puddles at the Fairgrounds, I was composing songs.

My lecture was about letting politics get to me...I paid way too much attention to the tax debacle and was way too scared by the zombies who think they are in charge. I'm quite terrified of what those people are doing. It puts me in this state I call the matrix fantasy which is the cynical feeling that no matter what, I am enslaved and playing whatever game they want me to play, powerless and complicit and doomed, so doomed. I've felt it since the Kennedy assassinations, really, so it began when I was 13. When it began I was too young to know what I was doing, but I worked on my resilient qualities, taught myself to escape into trees, books, and creativity, and cultivated my joy.

I had a traumatic childhood, as did many of us, and I feel for you if you are as unhealed about it as I am. Holidays are particularly bad for me, so this year I vowed a drama-free six weeks. I decided I would limit TV, mute all the commercials, and do whatever I had to do to avoid laying my feelings on someone else, most particularly those who are close to me. I get hypervigilant about my particular conditions, and I know my patterns and weak spots really well by now, so avoidance works and if I stay low and don't get too vulnerable, I am always hopeful that I will not fall into those dramatic patterns. My lecture involved restricting my social interactions, not allowing myself to be too vulnerable, not eating the things I know make me sick, not doing the things I know make me sad and helpless and anxious.

Yeah, wish me luck. All that is pretty incompatible with selling one's creations in the public marketplace. Being at Holiday Market is like having an open house of the heart. I am lucky enough to see all of the people I love (who live nearby at least) and I treasure our short but deep conversations and check-ins. I thrive on the warmth in the room, with so many people I know and have worked with so long. I eat well, and I'm proud of my work and how popular it is. I have reams of observations and stories about what goes on there, and I do love it. But it does make me vulnerable and there are a lot of people there who get my heart strings twanging and it's not always harmonic.

But today, people from the very first were SO KIND! Everyone, from the start, was sweet and nice to me, appreciative, welcoming, generous, loving, and wonderful. I have experienced this before when things in the big world got bleak. Each time, like after the election, after the financial crisis, after 911, or after significant deaths in our community, each time people came out, spread love, and managed to salvage some peace and some joy from the wreckage. Determined, deliberate, and making a statement. That is how the people are among whom we live.

At one point, and this was tragic with a side of comical, I was over buying sweet potatoes and the fire alarm went off over at the Farmers' Market. A loud voice said to Evacuate, to Leave the Building!! Repeatedly, with a very loud alarm and flashing lights! People began to comply but I literally ran back to my booth on the complete opposite side of the building, and thank goodness this was not happening on the craft side. However, the alarm and flashing lights were loud and bright enough to be intrusive, and that's when things got comical. Sadly for the farmers, it shut them down, but for us, we shut the doors and Pickles and Peppers kept playing, everyone gathered in the aisles, hoping against hope that the sprinklers would not come on, and it was kind of like Shopping While the Titanic Went Down. People kept shopping, people were laughing at ourselves, and all of the stories came out, of the time the ceiling fell in in Holiday Hall, which was during the big snow, and remember how booths were empty so other people moved into them for the day, and remember when we sold outside, and on and on.... It was a party. I guess it was hard to play clarinet but it was once in a lifetime, and a good story is always going to be a good story.

I felt terrible for the farmers, who were having a great day because the Fix it Fair was really fabulous and brought lots of people in. I think it did shut them down, though I'm pretty sure they didn't get deluged with water because there was actually no fire, just a teense of smoke from some soldering that I suppose no one thought would be a problem. I know it was hard on them, traumatic maybe, and I do care very much about that. Some day they'll laugh but probably not tomorrow.

It healed me, though, because there was one part of my day today (but only one!) that was hard. I was having a really great visit with someone who recently left the farmers' market, and our friendly conversation actually turned into a fight! He started trashing Saturday Market, repeating all of these mythical things that some of them think about us, which I won't of course tell you, because they aren't true, but I was kind of laughing and trying to tell him that no, that's what we say about them...and it would have been funny except it was ugly instead. He was hating us. He was holding resentments he had held for over a decade, because I know he had them then and it was the last time I actually had a conversation with him. I had forgotten why I avoided him. He hates us. He blames us for everything that isn't working for the farmers, or didn't work at some point, or hating us for everything we are and do. He really had it stored up.

Fortunately we were interrupted by some shocked customers and I told him we'd have to finish our conversation some other time, because I honestly feel that we do. We have to have it out until we both understand that those myths held by all of us about the "others" are not true and are in our way. And they're hurting us. They're not going to be helpful as we move together into our mutual and connected futures. And they're similar to other myths that other groups are operating within. It reminded me about the perils of division and irrational thinking and blaming and holding others responsible for things we ourselves need to work on and fix, and how we are really going to have to do that in concert. We really will. We can't split our town or our country or our world into two halves and operate separately. Anyone promoting that is putting us into the matrix fantasy and I simply will not accept living there. It's not the world I am willing to co-create.

So. It has been decided that I am vulnerable and will not get away with trying to pretend I am not. I will have to struggle through the holidays and the politics and the realities of aging and death and so will you, and we are stuck with doing it together. We cannot separate from each other, we can't separate from our myths and delusions, and we are going to have to work with them. We are here and it is now. Feel your grief and your fears, and so will I, but we will also bring them on down to the community gathering place and spread them around a little. It will help us all to do that.

That farmer and I may not get around to another maybe less ugly conversation, but at least we had the lovely one before we started to disagree, to remind us that sometimes we like each other. Us laughing and partying while the farmers had a hard time today will hopefully result in more of us supporting them tomorrow to get past it. (By the way, the sweet potatoes I got were amazing!) People buying or not buying things today will be just like them buying or not buying things for the rest of the month and then again for the rest of my life, and I'll love it and be bothered by it as it comes. It's the life I chose.

And I chose it here, and I made it here, because of all of you, so if I isolate and don't write and try to protect my tenderness, I won't do it very much until something makes me break through and sing and dance and wear Jell-O on my head. Because that is how it is. That's the joy I want, and that's the joy I make. Thank you for doing your part!

Monday is Sunday For a Bit

First weekend of Holiday Market and all went well. It's a big set-up...takes about 12 hours to get it all in place for me. Then each weekend it's two or three hours in and out on the first and last days, though we get to do the load-in on a load-in day, generally. I guess I need to work harder on simplifying. Since I live so close, I can do it in two loads, but if I could get it down to one, that would save an hour each way. Sundays are pretty tough with that at the end. But I'm still home by around 8:00 and that isn't bad, only a twelve-hour workday. Easier than a Park Blocks Saturday. Not quite exhausting, if I take care of myself.

Emotional exhaustion is a tough reality of HM. People come to gather and bring with them all their anxiety, and we catch up on the previous year. Sometimes that is really hard, both for them and for us. At my age it's health issues mostly, people suffering terribly from conditions that come with aging, accidents, and grief. Many of them don't come, and we feel their absence. I try to be so gentle when they do peek in...try hard to ask the right questions and give the good listening if I can. I miss the Empathy Tent. Seeing it on the blocks lets me know that good listening is a moment away if I need it. Last year they set up at the Farmers. I hope they find space this week. I need a place to send people.

When sales get going faster, I will commit the sins of turning away and giving short shrift to the pains of others. I had to counsel myself on the walk home Saturday night, and fortunately my sweet brother called me and heard me out. I got way too many tales of woe on Saturday. I feel compelled to at least try to help. I get confused about my limits to do that, and had to tell myself to not be so open to receive right now. I need a balanced place to stand so I can give the public the warm experience they want, the direct artist-appreciator relationship they come for, and the right level of intimacy...not too close, not too distant. Caring and appreciative, grateful, but not desperate...I love selling my crafts, but it isn't for the money. It's for the whole life experience. It's what I do, have learned to do, have focused on, and what sustains me in so many ways. My heart and soul are in it.

What I sell is personal...the hats that declare aspects of who we are, or who we want to be, or just what we want to laugh about. It isn't always positive for people. I well remember one man who thought my hats were rude and disrespectful, and said as much. I told him it was okay, that he didn't have to like my work, and it was fine for him to have that opinion, but he still came back two weeks later to apologize. That intimacy has its costs. It can feel invasive for the customer, probably often, if I can't contain my complaining or whatever form my distress takes: tiredness, boredom, anxiety, restlessness, hurry to leave and get back home where things are quiet and under control. I can't be needy, and I can't be cold. I have to serve, and be available, but not oppressive or demanding. I have to do my best. 

There was a big shift for me this week, with the news that the land swap ruling wasn't completed. A new level of uncertainty has entered, a new wrinkle of what the city and county will do. It's anyone's guess. Attention may shift back to City Hall block or even the EWEB building, which narrowly failed to become the next location for City Hall. The Riverfront development is the New Shiny. You can be sure that many people are seeing a big glittery gathering place with a new, improved version of the Farmer's Market over there...that's inevitable. There are plenty of people stuck with the paradigm of what is new is better. I am not one of them!

The important thing to know about Saturday Market is that we have members who are bringing forward a legacy from our founders that is best left intact. The founding tenets, which include Rain or Shine, outdoors, in the center of the city, easily accessible, one day a week, and most importantly, Maker is the Seller,  are easily eroded and not something we want to let go of. You might argue that those things are still possible in or next to some kind of building, some kind of Public Market, but that doesn't work for me.

As a development concept, we saw that already at 5th Street. Many of our crafters were lured over there to help build it and many failed with the demands of being there every day, enduring the slow times, the rent increases, and the additional costs of being indoors. They were jettisoned when the commercial businesses came in who could afford to pay people to sell for them. Think about how long it has been since you saw crafts over there, or artisans selling them. A building would be that same pattern, over the next one or two decades, and then you would find that the longest-running continuous hand-crafted market in the nation would be gone. That development concept would replace us.

We've tried indoors. Holiday Market obviously works. Circle of Hands was one example of how it can work, for awhile, when people join together to staff it, put in the hours for the maintenance work, and pitch in for the costs. It worked for a long time, and I resisted it, but finally joined at the end, which was pretty tough on everyone in the collective. That model is nothing like what we can do with Saturday Market, where we all retain control of our own businesses, have a volunteer force to hire the staff we need, set our own fees, decide what we will do to build and maintain our opportunities. We don't want to pay for air-conditioning or heat year-round. We don't want to try to work through the winter retailing, when we need to be working on refreshing our own lives, setting new art directions, or focusing on other activities important to us. We have it worked out and dialed in. So, change from without is not interesting to us, however well-meaning.

I'm probably going to be repeating myself a lot, as I know I have been, on this issue. The Farmers asked for site improvements, and have for over a decade, and I am not in opposition to them getting their needs met, in the way they choose as an organization to do that. If they want to sell year-round, as they apparently do with their Winter Market, that's fine. If they want to collectively pay for shelter and amenities, more power to them. I do part ways with them at several points, and would advise my organization to do so, but nothing is decided yet so it isn't time to argue about the details. My line is drawn where other entities make decisions for the organization I have participated in building, Saturday Market. We, the members, will make the decisions about our future.

Let's hope those decisions can be made wisely and for the mutual benefit of not only our members but for the larger context of "members" which include the public who gather and the City who hosts us in the Park Blocks. We know we don't own the land. It's like the OCF. We invest in the land, we feel ownership of our little spaces, we steward the land, but when decisions are made, we are included by our participation and our ability to articulate our needs as crafters and independent business owners. We are key stakeholders, and in the best case scenario, our needs are met and any improvements are designed to fit with them, enhance us, and won't break anything. We build our Market carefully. We meet every month, year round, to make decisions in group process and we are good at it. We've dedicated ourselves to building and maintaining consensus and a deep knowledge of our culture and our strengths. Plus, by doing that, we have become experts in event planning and management, and we know well what lies behind our decisions and what will be the effects of them. I can talk for hours on the subject, and I'm not the only one. I've sold on the Park Blocks for 35 years! Before that I sold on the Butterfly. I started in 1975, and it's probably the main reason I live here, bought a home, raised a son, settled down here. It's my lifeline and the way I have prospered. And I am one of many who can say that, powerful small business leaders who have earned respect.

We aren't all risk takers, though there is a level of insecurity for the self-employed in some ways. Changing the basic conditions of our operations will have costs that will land on the most vulnerable of us. Decisions from the top, from developers or well-meaning supporters who don't understand our basic needs will make us lose members, staff, and resources. We can't move to the Riverfront. I would most likely be forced to quit, and that would decimate my sustainable "retirement plan."  We can't move, period. We are where we belong. That should not be in anyone's discussion. Saturday Market didn't bring it up, didn't ask for it, and I believe we have the consensus that we don't want it. If the Farmers want to move, that is their right and we wouldn't fight them. But if the City started up a competing craft market over there, well, that would be a disservice, and we would have to say so. No decisions about us, without us, and honor and respect for what we have built. That's not a lot to ask, and I know our community can see it that way.

I have faith in us, Eugene. We are a smart and savvy town, and we won't sell ourselves out, even for that 2021 eight days of dollars. We can see our big picture. While I would not claim to be a visionary, I know some. Certainly our future won't include being a cultural backwater or any kind of stagnant community. We're not opposed to change or growth in certain sustainable, thoughtful forms. We can build upon what we have and the Market is a great model for being new and different every day, while still being dependably consistent and able to embrace what comes.

I walked around Holiday Market and saw many new members who looked a lot like me when I arrived: young, enthusiastic, immersed in creativity and with the energy to make things happen. We are not stuck in the Seventies. We bring a model of what is meaningful and deep. Just look at the event calendars and see how many craft markets there are now, all around town. Those are full of artisans of all kinds! We are a thriving center of creative people who have the energy and means to make their own jobs, make our community secure and fascinating, and to keep us grounded and able to navigate whatever the future is.

That is what I see that tempers my fears. Things are happening worldwide that are terrifying and demoralizing, and they're trying to encroach on us. They fail to get a handhold here. We are a sensible town. We are going to do things our way. We support each other and we know what matters. I am deeply thankful for us, and for my day off today to think about these things.

 I hope to see everyone on the day after Thanksgiving, or in December if you can make it. Please know I saw you and care for you, even if we didn't get sufficient time to review and re-establish that. I'm open, though I may be trying to hide that a little while I stand ready to serve in the back of my booth. I'm dancing, even if I don't join you in front of the stage. I'm here. I like having you next to me.

Let's have a great season. Now, that pile of dishes and that day off. There are pies to make!

Wishing for a Snowfall

Yes, you know if you are up at seven, watching talking animals on TV and reposting Facebook videos, you are a tiny bit lonely on Christmas morning. Really, I am most happy to have the quiet and solitude I need so much but the bustle of the Holiday Market is fading more slowly this year. I was one of the last two out last night, just taking apart what took twelve hours to set up, loading it on the cart, hauling it across the Fairgrounds to pile in the shop unsorted. I have a few more things to gather tomorrow when we open again for the last load-out of fixtures and debris, then will go through it and stow it away for April.

I counted up the money from yesterday's Basket Raffle and it was a piece of work I was happy to do. As the secretary of the Kareng Fund I have a long list of people to write thank-you cards to, cards I bought from Nancy Bright who would not stop giving me discounts as I paid her. I make it a practice to buy lots of things from my fellow vendors, partly because I want them, and partly because I want to share with them. I feel that when I do well all should do well. I'm not bragging about this, just admitting that there is a place where I am not selfish and I do not complain. It's a glimmer of the better self I have been working on improving for the last six and a half decades. I know you are all doing that too. We all start out with a tree full of presents and gradually learn that what is important is our presence. That and the trees.

This was my first year without getting to hug my son on the actual event day or the Eve. I saw him a couple of weeks ago when he was kind enough to drive down to visit me. I have been gradually getting to this day as we do the letting-go part of our relationship that is the natural way of life. I'm not upset about it, just missing him and all the years of putting him at the center of my life. Now I am fortunate enough to have the Kareng Fund to remind me how good it feels to give and how central to our lives that giving is. Presents finally really don't matter. I did buy and trade for a big pile of them though, and I love looking at every single handmade thing.

It would be work to take photos but maybe by the end of this post I'll be motivated. Each transaction made two or more people feel good and this video gives an inkling of that happy community. Colleen suggested me as a singer, and I said why not? My sister's family has been posting videos of them singing and this is pretty close. http://registerguard.com/rg/video/33890831-319/holiday-market-goes-out-with-a-song.html.csp?autoStart=true

I feel loved. My neighbor came by the booth and we smoothed out the ruffled feathers about the fence. I still hate it but not him. It will be fine. They actually ended up putting it on their side of the easement so I got the use of seven feet of gardening territory which I will use to shore up the tenuous friendship with his sister who lives in the side of the duplex next to me. We are both solitary people and a bit afraid of each other, but perhaps the raspberry patch will be the way we learn to share our lives more easily. He is easy to talk to but she barely talks. I am in the middle. I think it can work, and we'll get raspberries.

Holiday Market is an emotional rollercoaster but when you step off you are always sorry the ride is over. The Pottery Smash and Basket Raffle are both exceptional examples of how generous craftspeople are with each other. We seem to always want to be the ones who give the most. When we trade, each one of us tries to give the best value to the other. We constantly try to give away our work, not because we don't value it, but because we love it and want it to be loved by others. We make such an overwhelming mountain of stuff over our lifetimes, and it goes out into the world with our fingerprints all over it and is treasured far beyond the reach of those fingers. When others recognize what a beautiful thing that is, I just get all teary and tender.

Despite the downsides of consumption of resources and forced giving, I just love Christmas as the turn of the sun and celebration of the year that it is. I no longer get that twinge of disappointment when all the presents are opened and something is still lacking. That void has been completely filled by participating in the giving and sharing of my large and wondrous community. Many of us, alone, fail utterly to feel secure and right in the big world. We are not different from probably most of the people alive in these complex times. Feeling different and wrong is a common thing, and we can all see how isolation and misunderstanding builds and destroys many people who don't have a way to talk themselves through to the abundance and joy that lies there quietly waiting.

Thank you Kareng Fund and Saturday Market and Oregon County Fair and McWhorter extended family for everything you give to me. I feel so very lucky. Now all I want is a snowstorm. I can be patient. If I have to I will wait for next winter, too.

I will have my Jell-O Art to sustain me in the meantime. Once Holiday Market is put away, Jell-O Season begins. The year goes round and round. Seems like a good one. Enjoy!

Warmth and Colors

So glad I took the time to bring in a fir branch and put up the lights and the antique Santa with his reindeer. My ornament collection is mostly hand-crafted ones I've bought at Holiday Market, with some made by my son in his early years, and it's bringing me a lot of joy. I found a notice on my front door that the neighbors will be caroling on Friday night, and I am super excited and will join them. I love to sing. I know so many carols and harmonies for them from growing up with three sisters, that I am constantly singing along with the tubas and kid's choirs at the Market, confusing my customers.

I'm so glad to have customers. Saturday was as busy as could be and while I was able to do two Sudoku and a crossword puzzle on Sunday, I am happy with how well sales are going this year. It's constantly amazing how many people love to buy these things we make and hope to use to keep ourselves going. I'm closing out my women's clothing and it is a lot easier than I thought it would be to sell my beautiful shirts at half of what they were priced at last year. It seems that when I am finally ready to let go of something I am able to do it. I guess that will be the trick of de-cluttering my life: I just have to be ready for it. If I still think of myself as someone who makes cast paper, I won't be able to let go of the molds and paints and ideas collected for that. As long as I am a screenprinter, I will have piles of screens. I expect that I will hold onto the Jell-O Art and the Radar Angels costumes until the end of my life. I seem to have taken that as an important part of my identity. I bought this new apron to go with this outfit that I wear at the Jell-O Art Show. Costumes seem to be an ever-increasing part of my wardrobe. Here's one from 2012, right after the surgery to take the metal out of my foot. Holiday Market costume themes are pretty fun. I think this one was "Your favorite color," which in my case, was Jell-O. Kim doesn't seem to be taking everyone's photo every time like she used to, but that's okay as we so often wear the same costumes. Everything gets old. I support people who are able to change things up.

Selling at the Fair seems to be something I might leave at some point. Getting rid of the clothing will simplify that path, as it will free up the room to take in another crafter and although I picture that process taking at least another decade (Gawd willing and the creek don't rise) I hope to be deliberate about it so I don't lose the investment of my decades of work out there. I'm already mostly unwilling to rebuild the booth, which is going to have to happen within a few years, at least parts of it. While I'm dedicated to my work on the Craft Committee and Scribe Tribe, it's fairly frustrating much of the time and when I look at the volunteer activities on my plate, that one could go...perhaps to be replaced with another. My work on the Kareng Fund leads me to think I could use that experience to do some other type of philanthropy. Pretty much every organization needs a good scribe so as long as I am willing to type and archive things I expect I'll have skills in demand.

Letting go of screenprinting is a huge change that I am not ready to do, though my body keeps telling me to get with the program of taking an easier road. I enjoy work but not necessarily the repetition. I like the jobs that bring meaning with them, such as the staff shirts, but I recognize that I don't own that one and other people want a turn at it. I have to be poised to let it go. It doesn't change who I am to change the contribution that I make, in fact it could possibly improve the quality of my contributions if I change what skills I employ. Skill at articulation and writing is (arguably) of more value to membership organizations that manual labor, however skilled. I want to do the shirts, and the other crew shirts I do, because of the human connection, but when I stopped being able to do the backstage bandannas it didn't hurt that much. When I see a shirt from one of my former clients I do still get a little pang of nostalgia for that connection, but it really just means I am challenged to make a more personal connection not based on what I do as work but what I do as a person. I could do more social things, go to the potlucks and hang out with the people. It's a goal.

Not today I couldn't, though. I had a hard time talking at times yesterday and I don't even want to answer the phone today. I really need the silence and space after all the bustle and noise. I like the rain when I am inside, and I didn't really mind so much loading in and out in all the wetness. The Fairgrounds is reverting to its wetlands origins with giant lakes and hummocks, so you can almost picture it without that layer of asphalt. Our neighbor who lived in the pink house, May, told me that in the thirties and forties our whole street and block would get flooded like a lake. My yard used to when I had more grass, but now the gardens must be better at moving the water through the soil. The hardest part about this weather is thinking about how hard it is for the people who don't have a good roof and heat and the right clothes to protect them. There are lots of ways to help and lots of people are doing that, thank goodness.I could do more on that front.

I read something that did give me pause, though, and needs some further chewing to digest. I read about the juggalos, a group I was aware of but didn't understand. Can't say I do now, either, but this was a nonfiction report of one of their gatherings, which was of interest to me as they also call themselves a family just like we do at Fair. That insider-outsider paradigm has been bothering me lately. Insiders don't feel like they exclude, but see it all as a feel-great-we-are-connected win that doesn't have a downside. Of course it looks really different to those who would like to come in. We don't want to admit that inside the "Family" we have lots of class and power differences and we like to pretend that it's all about a party. Even to craftspeople the party falls apart, as to us it is our work, and we work really hard at it. Many many people do work hard during Fair and to support it, and there's nothing wrong with making it fun, but we have some imbalances to work on within our organization. We pretend that we are all about love, as most families do. Maybe it is this season and too much TV but I see so much that isn't love-ly. In short, the juggalo family seems to have taken the "it's all good" and "whatever" cultural approaches to the level of extreme Fuckitall. They act out in violent and what seems from the outside to be incredibly negative and destructive ways, but from the inside they feel their own definition of love and connection. It's highly ironic and deserves examination.

I for one am ready to let go of the whole concept of Fair family and admit that when over 20,000 people are involved we need a new word for what is way bigger and less connected than a family. It could be a long look and a lot of discussion but the change is already happening as we become more divided and less able to see the experience of our siblings and the many generations. I'm putting my cynicism in perspective as I recognize the vulnerability and sensitivity of the cold wet dark times, but there's an edge to my joy that it might be hard to diffuse. I'll try to keep enough sugar and caffeine in my system to maintain my hope. I think the neighborhood caroling will help a lot. I hope you find ways to maintain your joy.

See you at the best retail venue in the known world next weekend. If I start to complain just tell me to shut up and throw a full can of beer at my head. Open it first for maximum effect. No, wait, let's defer that whole cultural examination for Jell-O season. Maybe we can work it out in a Radar Angels skit. Let's maintain the illusions. That's one reason we hang those colored lights and sing those pious songs. We need to.

Writing Isn't Safe or Dangerous

I'll take a minute before I start a big day of work to thank those readers who have appreciated me and let me know they are fans of my writing. I got discouraged about the blog, not sure about all the nuances of why, but I stopped posting the link on Facebook and immediately stopped getting readers. That added to my discontent about FB and how we all use it. It's a bulletin board and a short cut and it has made it easy to rein in our bandwidth and limit our input...we let it filter our experience and suffer for that. Yet it is such a condition of our collective life that we love it too. It allows us to keep in touch and think that we are covering all the bases of this complicated social life, but it makes us vulnerable too and this time of year especially I really want to limit the ways I lay myself open to what does not serve me.

I do know that laying myself open is one of my strengths and it is welcomed by others as an example of an almost careless courage that is an antidote to fear. The first time I consciously acted this way was when I was involved in a deep friendship with someone who struggled with some sociopathy. He wanted to be kind and loving but he could almost not help being predatory to get his deep needs met. When I realized that to be his friend I might be prey, I decided to surrender emotionally and not fear my transparency and lack of defenses. I made the choice to open all of my thoughts to him and would send him my journals, first drafts, etc. We actually wrote a sort-of-good novel together in six months that remains one of my most exciting writing experiences although I doubt I will ever get it out and do anything with it.

The interesting thing about predators and prey is that once you manage to move in close to the controller, you become an ally and in the circle you are protected and only the outsiders are prey. Of course the danger is that you take on characteristics and habits of the predator. They seem right and useful. I was able to allow myself to be dismissive and critical and laugh at others. I have that part of me, though I suppress her actively and try to do what Thumper taught me (If you can't say something nice don't say anything at all). I sharpened my wits and my writing got really good and except for the troublesome guilt and shame over being mean, it kind of worked as long as I was in close to him.

Of course that eventually fell apart and he turned on me with a vengeance and discarded me in an ugly way, which did a lot of damage to my psyche, damage I had invited in my naivete. Coming out of it (the whole relationship took half a decade) I counted myself lucky that my trust and innocence was so strong that I was able to still be that good girl, even while tempted to be the inner bad girl, and I learned some fantastic life skills like empathetic listening and the differences between romantic and rational thinking and relationship behavior. I got a great education in codependence and anger patterns, came out strong in my own defense over time and still count him as one of my great teachers and intimate friends even though we have had no contact in many years and probably never will.

It was a terrible example (a good example of what not to do) for my then teenage son, as I was obsessed with the relationship during a time when my son needed a much more focused parent, but then again I brought my son and his friends along in my learning process as much as I could. The struggle for nonviolence in a violent world and the ability to listen well and really analyze emotions and other people helped my son with his own psychological studies of highschoolers and those who try to control them. My son never was someone who submitted much to authority and I helped him get some skills to at least figure out what he was thinking and feeling. It's impossible to say what parts worked and what parts didn't. I took his existential crisis seriously and got him some good allies of his own and I think that really helped the separation of son and mother which we had to get through no matter what. He loves me now, in his mid-twenties, and all is pretty well between us. He is a fine and strong person and I don't have to worry about him.

But I have never wanted to be an authority. I'm okay with being thought of as wise, but some of my writing here has seemed pontifical and romantic to the extreme. I do deeply love the Market and Fair communities with all of our flaws and tendencies, but often I lack compassion for the individuals...at least until I get to know them. Each one has that soft underbelly where their wounded parts are held, and each one can be hurt. Even the strongest and most dismissive of us have that tender pain that they hope no one will see. I hate putting my own out there for people to dismiss. I hate my weaknesses as much as the next person. I despair of my intolerances and hesitate in so many ways to act, fearful that I will be found out and somehow skewered.

Maybe that is why so many people are afraid, to speak out, to ask questions, to persist. Fear causes us to clam up when asked about something we are not sure how to defend. I struggle with policies I don't support, because my respect for the process leads me to think that once a policy is made, I need to get behind it and help with its implementation. The nonprofit policy change was one Market thing I didn't support and hope to see as okay in the long run, but I still feel it was a selfish choice and shortsighted. I notice that one of the main complainers about the nonprofits isn't even selling actively at our Market now, so I feel that because of a small number of complaints we threw the baby out with the bathwater. I may be wrong. I don't have a vote and many people who do, voted, so the group process worked and the decision was made. Whether it was right or not, it was done. It's a year later and even reversing the decision won't help now.

As with the relationship described above, the unsettling parts do settle, and often the right parts do overcome the wrong parts. It isn't that simple as a duality; few questions in life really are dualities. I tried to learn not to think in black and white...apparently that is a fundamentalist and Catholic tendency that we learn and must unlearn. Good and Evil, Heaven and Hell...you can easily see that nature provide far more shades of grey than dualities. Someone said to think in threes. I try to see a spectrum as well. Easy with things like gender...I can certainly see that there is a spectrum of gender-based characteristics that varies with the individual. Same with many human traits; no one is all this or all that. It helps to think in more vague and indeterminate ways, even though it is less secure and safe to keep questioning things. Nothing is all right or all wrong.

So it becomes hard to make definitive statements and I am uncomfortable doing it here. I can't tell you that everything is fine and right and good. Some things are. Some things are intolerable and tragic as well. I don't have the wisdom you seek, or maybe I do have something that will help you along the path. You get to pick up what serves you and discard the rest. I act as a witness most of the time to just try to articulate what seems to be evident and unspoken. I try to be helpful. That Girl Scout stuff resonated deeply.

I'll try to keep putting it out there even when it makes me uncomfortable. There is plenty of important work to do in my small universes. We are going to be called to defend our home in the Park Blocks and we are called to keep our Country Fair on the track that serves the most vulnerable of us. We are all facing death and loss in every way, so we are called to keep our own ship sailing in favorable waters and we are always called to do as much for others as we have the capacity to do. It can be a tiny thing, as those multiply. It can be a big and stunning thing that makes us cry every time we remember it. I was lucky enough to have both of those this year, to be on the spectrum of giving and receiving, and here we are again in the season of giving.

I bought myself a big jar of capers and some pink salt. I think that is all the presents I need. I got thanked for writing. That is more powerful that seeing a published book to me. I have more work than I can do in this lifetime so I see that my life will always be as full as I can carry. I have my gifts. I hope I can share them enough to fill you all up too. Have the happiest highs and the most heartfelt sorrows and keep on going. Soon it will be Jell-O Art season and Opening Day and all the glories of spring shall return. In the meantime, enjoy the hope, the fires in snow, the piles of dead leaves that feed the worms. Don't focus on the parts you don't like, try not to complain too much, and wear something fuzzy and comfortable. Saturday is Wild Wild West fashion day, and Sunday is Faux Fur and Feathers. Let's have some fun in there. Let's try to keep the most important of our senses, our sense of humor, intact as we travel through this often confusing and troublesome life.

Everyone is busy!

Everyone I know anyway, is very busy this week. The three-day Holiday Market weekend went well for me. Sales are up, my feelings of extreme vulnerability on Friday settled out and I had lots of friends coming by to say the semi-annual hello at our gathering place. I'm really enjoying the quiet today although this cold weather is not pleasing me. All of the days we were indoors it was sunny, and today it is not. I need to get outside for exercise and to deal with the leaves and it's a bit forbidding out there. Freezing rain will not be compatible with laundry.

I chase the sun around my yard this time of year hanging and rehanging the wet clothes. Sometimes the wind will help them dry but mostly they need sun. I'm not sorry I got rid of my dryer about ten years ago now, but I might have to resort to going to the laundromat this week as it does not look favorable. Even that seems like far too much work to do at the moment, but I am almost out of coffee so will have to venture out.

It seems like complaining to say how draining retail is but that's a fact for me. I need quiet and solitude and to not feel at the mercy of someone's wants and needs. A couple of my younger friends on Gnome Alley asked Willy and me to be their parents...they were half-serious but it sounded horrifying and welcoming at the same time. I miss parenting. I dreamt I went to church to see Willy speak, which he didn't do, but I sat next to a small family with a baby and immediately picked up the baby and cuddled it to sleep. It surprises me that even though my son is almost 26 I still want my parenting role back. When I really think about it I don't, as there were plenty of hard parts and I still have at least one friend who is completely judgemental and dismissive of the job I did, which of course puts me into a spin. I did the best I could, which was apparently okay, good enough, adequate, and in a few ways really fine.

I never realized back then what parts of the decision-making and life-styling would do the most longterm damage. I was mostly focused on safety and avoiding trauma and treating the kid like a person with his own rights, so I didn't apply enough discipline perhaps. Maybe I was completely right about that, though, as control tactics and punishment are only really effective in the short term and leading the young person to think critically about issues is a far more important life skill than being afraid of what one's parents will think. I was looking for my father's approval decades after he was dead and gone, and that was a fear-based concern. My son is afraid of my judgement about things like him getting an air conditioner. He probably feels bad about using the dryer...well, no, he probably feels like it is essential like most people. I told him that air conditioners were fine for people who lived in apartments built without cross-ventilation and that I don't judge him about things anyway. I love him!

I think my hippie ways serve me well for the most part and serve the earth too, as I make fewer compromises for comfort than most Americans. I've been reading about the Oregon Trail times and the genocide of the peoples who populated this country when the white guys came and every way I can separate myself from the paradigm of white privilege is good for my soul. Of course I can't change my color and being as true to the best aspects of my gender is pretty hard too. I accept that I have many ways to grow to be a better human for the challenges of the times, but I can see that as I age I will have to compromise my ideals in some ways. I drove my car twice last week when I really didn't have to. It made sense to, but it was about comfort more than anything else. I seem to believe that making choices for my own comfort betrays those who don't get to make those choices.

Heart strings are being pulled tightly and this season makes it worse as the things that renew me are dying too, my garden plants and the birds. I found my yellow-rumped warbler dead. I put out four cards in the vendor center for losses of community members and three were for deaths. The Kareng Fund met and discussed four grants, when some months we have none. I shudder with my empathy for those undergoing losses, knowing that I will not be free of that kind of loss. I don't know why I expect to be. I'm getting more resigned to it, more aware that loss is part of life and distress about it makes it worse. Acceptance does not have to be cold. There is warmth in talking about it, giving hugs and listening time and allowing the openness of bringing it to each other. That kind of comfort is right and can be indulged freely and often. One friend suggested that a Death Cafe would be a good step: a gathering where all subjects around death could be discussed and analyzed. I'd go. We've all learned helpful techniques for navigating loss that can be shared. It isn't going to be avoided.

So on that note I will embark on my day of restoration. Quiet, keeping the heat turned up, putting things in order, and reading will help with so many things. All the rest of the days will be work days, probably packed with details and I need this day off severely. Don't call me. I'll see if I can make time to go through some of my warm clothing and find some things to give away. Shedding possessions is getting easier. Making light of things helps. I'll decorate my Christmas branch. Hope you all have a great week; see you Saturday!

In the Middle

It still surprises me how tired I am after only two days of Holiday Market, though as the third weekend it is cumulative. I guess it is the overstimulation more than the actual work, as perching on a stool is much easier than standing on concrete and being warm and dry is still a delightful contrast to all the many days in the rain and snow before we invented the New Holiday Market. That's what we called it the first year, and I am proud to say I have sold all of the days of all of the HMs we've ever had. I still love it most of the time.

My space now on the corner by the south side doors is a great one. I'm close to the office and can check in on what's happening, and there is an eddy for customers to stop, be directed into Holiday Hall, or regroup. I like the energy that happens there, for the most part. Sometimes it is the location of disturbing incidents but mostly it is a calm center of joy. I made a little door on the side this year which is working out great as an escape for those trapped in the booth by other shoppers and it allows me to see what's happening on that side of my booth as well. I slip in and out and get a new view up Gnome Alley.

Despite my vow to get my shoppers out of the aisle I still have a few items on the outside of the booth that slow people down. Bringing the bags inside has worked okay, though I think I'd be selling more if they were still out there easy to pick up. I thought it was smart to eliminate the temptation for the rare dishonest person who might grab a bag and look like a legit shopper using it to steal, which to my knowledge hasn't happened, but could. I wanted to not stop traffic flow while people looked at the outside items as if they were the only ones, when I had a space filled with them a few steps away. I did make progress in that direction but I still seem to have a blind spot to improvements that I would happily impose on others. It's so much easier to fix other people's problems, it seems.

I really set out to see if I could think of others in my booth design instead of just being my usual self-focused crafter. I made my entrance wider so people could come in, though of course many are still reluctant to cross that invisible line of commitment. Sometimes they go in when I am not there and I sneak in the side door and scare them right out. There are those who have to read every hat and I have to move out of their way and be patient while they do, sometimes allowing me to get a new idea from them regarding what they don't find. I told myself last week not to accept any more special orders, so I just made a list of ideas in case I find some reserve of energy and decide to order more hats.

My typical pattern is to buy a lot more blanks today and then end up with too much inventory at the end. I resist and then do it again every year. Maybe my will is stronger this year. I have plenty of stock, and I get way too obsessive about it. Too much choice sets up a desire in the customer to find the perfect hat, instead of just choosing the one they like most from what I have. I think this is part of the problem we are having around loading out our stock this year.

People who sell a lot of lower-priced items tend to have a huge array of options of these, a real problem when packing, restocking, and maintaining the stock for the duration. We used to say we lost a little on each one, but made it up in volume, and there is a certain truth in the joke. We don't make a lot on each one, and the total inventory gets huge, but we're convinced that if we have all the possible options, everyone will find what they want. For me it seems to spread the sales out so that I sell one or two of each, and can never sell out of anything, so I just keep adding new and not letting go of the old designs. For the last few years I have just been leaving things home, like the last of the kids shirts and the men's longsleeves that are always short on larges, and that sort of space-filling sale stuff. Sure, I make money on it and it does me no good at home, but I end up buying larges to fill the stock and the other sized ones just come back year after year.

Now my strategy is to bring fewer types of items, and only one each of those, and restock every day. I have to say sorry more often, and sometimes I will make a promise and sometimes not. I'm trying not to promise things it is hard to do, like the custom hats people want. Designing and making a screen for a new piece of art is just really hard to do under this kind of pressure.

Emotionally, I am at my weakest this season of the year. It's cold and I don't get the outside time I need, and the stories people bring me can be so disturbing! Lonely women dealing with death or divorce, people barely controlling their PTSD or grief or instability, the occasional heart-warming tale that gets me all excited, and the personal appreciations that are given and received in our community are all atmospheric pressures that float through my corner. We had the annual photo, which seems more giant every year, and we have the annual visits from those who drop in to say their hellos. We get our requests for donations and we make them too. It seems we give as hard as we can, and we do get depleted by that, and at the same time we feel entitled to receive, so focused on extracting the dollars from our guests.

There's a certain amount of cynicism and despair that comes with that. I put up my decorations early and find comfort in the warm lights and handmade treasures I have collected. So much of my joy comes from the Market people, and so many of my burdens do too. We see all of ourselves inside, whether we like it or not. Our generosity sits next to our selfishness. My distress becomes the community distress, just as my hunger manifests as your cookies and my willingness to ask for them. I want to buy from every person I know, and I want them to buy from me. At the same time I don't want anyone else to buy a green tree bag because I am going to run out and then some unknown person who really wants a green tree bag won't get one. It's all very over the top.

So remember to restore your hopes and put your fears aside. Make yourself think of others...if you need help, help someone. If you need love, love someone. Try your best to keep it simple.

I wasn't going to write this week, since it intensifies my vulnerability and I really don't want to be seen quite so much. I do want to remark on all those who are unselfish, buying gifts, sharing their resources, giving more and often, and really thinking of other people instead of how to get more of their needs met. It looks all the more amazing to me from this tired place of Monday. I will keep working. I pledge to pace myself so that 5-day stretch does not ruin the season and set the winter off with painful interactions. Those load-out nights can bring out the worst of us, those low-sales days, those loud music times with the songs we have learned to hate (that wagon wheel song just makes me cringe.) I just want to remind my readers how good you are. When you restore your energy you can be your best self. I have seen you each at your best and that is why I want you in my life. I want to support you in still trying, not letting your compassion flag, not getting discouraged. Remember how great it is to hear your friend laugh from all the way across the giant room, something you can only hear in the hour at the end when the customers are us. Remember how well you sleep when you have worked hard. Remember that pain does pass and the summer does come again, at least it always has.

You're here, alive and well, and that is something huge that not everyone gets to enjoy. Treasure that. Care for each other even when it is hard, because you know it is worth the effort. And take a day off, a real day off. Do as I say, not as I do, as my father used to say. Look at that shiny thing while I drag myself out to the shop to see what I really do need to order. We still have seven more days of selling, more than two weeks of trying to get it right. We can do it, and we can do it together.

Making Connections

I'll try to keep this short, but there are a lot of barely-related thoughts going through my mind today. It's going to be a production day; several of my custom accounts need things printed right now, which is going to mean next week for most of them, but some today. Thanksgiving takes a lot of time, though of course it is rewarding to give thanks and I hope I remember to fit that in amidst the pie crumbs and dirty dishes.

I don't have to cook a turkey, as Tom and Pamela do that, in a finely orchestrated duet which provides many delicious traditional and unexpected treats. I bring the cranberries, both cooked sauce and raw relish, and the pies. I usually make four for them and one or two to put in my refrigerator for breakfasts and snacks during the next week as I grow increasingly exhausted. I feel like my part is a lot of work but it's nothing compared to getting the potatoes mashed and still warm and the gravy just right. Pamela makes a lot of gravy, and at least three perfectly cooked vegetables, all hot and ready at the same time, and her dinner rolls are famous. I realized my pie crust recipe is one of my oldest, from the 1970's, and I might just switch it up this year and use a different one. I'd like a flakier texture. It's an example of how I am, stuck in tradition so deep I don't even see it, and longing a little for change if the risk level isn't too high. People will eat the pies even if the crust fails completely, because pie. And no one would care if all the sides were not hot and perfectly cooked and the projected time rather precisely met, or the cranberries too tart or sweet, but we like to work hard and do our best when we can.

My choices are so very low risk, as are most of my challenges on the world scale. I'm out of cinnamon, but I have three stores within a short walk. I have pears and apples in many varieties from the farmers, and a perfect squash all ready for the spices. I have my set of pie plates that is different from the set I ruined with drying Jell-O. I have the time to make everything without feeling pressured, my inventory is pretty dense so I don't have to print much for the next few weeks, and I have so many delightful choices of things to do in my spare time that I just wish I had more of it. I feel quite lucky, though perhaps not as smart as I sometimes do.

My gridwall of hats almost fell down on Saturday. I thought I reinforced it in a sturdy way so it would be rigid but the hats are really heavy so it was very out of plumb when I noticed it at 10:30 or so on opening day. I had a couple of stop-gap measures I could take, so I propped it up but had terrible thoughts of it collapsing. That would have been really bad for business. It tickles me some that after 40 years of retailing I still don't know how to construct a display properly. I tried something new to open up the doorway to seem more inviting, and it did work to do that, except for the leaning part. My solution was to go home and cut a 6-foot grid in half lengthwise and prop the wall up with one half of it. Worked like a charm, and it was fun to get out my Bosch reciprocating saw and apply it to cutting metal. So much better than the hippie way of digging out the free-box hacksaw and doing them by hand. So glad I learned how to use power tools.

I remember buying that Sawzall after most of the work it would have done had been done the hippie way, when I was remodeling my house years ago. The salvaging phase would have been much more efficient and I'd have saved more boards if I had not been too timid to get one then, but I had to do the project to learn how to do the project and that worked out in the long run. This explains the 15-year duration of the project (which of course is not exactly *finished*) but the skills and confidence have lasted and like most things, I am a work in progress. I still get a kick out of doing the non-traditional, putting on the ear protection and taking a breath and making a lot of noise and dust. I feel like I feel when I ride my trailer full of tubs across the Fairgrounds, with my grey hair poking out from underneath my helmet. Yes, I am an old lady, but not that kind of old lady. I'm the tough old bird type, and proud of it.

I've gotten back into my house research as my free time increases a little and the outdoor work is less appealing (tough luck, leaf pile). I asked the city for Cultural Resource Surveys on some of the houses surrounding the corner north of my house. I am going to be able to document the sequences of ownership and improvement of quite a few of them and prove that the same family owned or built most of them, I hope. The one on the corner of 12th and Van Buren that I call the dairy house is called the Miranda house by the city. They have a lot of the details wrong, and I'm not sure if I will be able to actually correct the records, but I might when I get the whole thing together. Miranda was F.G. Vaughan's second wife and the mother of all of his children (who lived) but the first one, Richey (who farmed down at 8th and Van Buren somewhere.) She did outlive her husband and they probably did call it her house, but there was no Miranda family so no wonder they couldn't find them in the records. I don't know a lot about her except her vital statistics, but there are other threads to follow still. She had a lot of children and some met rather colorful fates, and the Vaughan family is quite well documented and I hope to find descendants. After Floyd's death she moved into a neighboring house or two built by her daughter Grace and her husband Frank Bowers, whose name is all over my house. I'll be able to pin down a lot of details from the building permit records and census records and hope to find out more about her in the process. I'm also fascinated with Samantha Davis Huddleston and her mother Catherine and hope to find out a lot more about them. I identify so strongly with these women and their lives. I think about them all the time as I pass their houses and the trees they planted and I walk on the land they farmed and ate from.

We had a little neighbor party last night and I learned a few details from the occupants of some of the houses. History fascinates most people and a couple of them actually met Grace Bowers and other people in my study. Grace died in 1988 at 103, which is coincidentally the same year we bought this property. All of these people seem just out of my reach, but so close. I know more will come to light as I search, and my theories keep getting more firm and less speculative as I add little facts. It was also great just to know the neighbors and their interests which dovetail with mine. One is a bit of a historian and is researching the Civil War era here, and another restored his house after it was cut up as a duplex and I remember meeting the old woman who did that when a friend of mine lived upstairs. It's fun to have lived in a place for almost 40 years. My whole time in Eugene (since 1975) has been in this neighborhood, on the Huddleston DLC.

I love how things fit together. Like my propped up wall I like to make them neat and sturdy. I can't wait to write the book that documents the ordinary history of my neighborhood, which is also the neighborhood of so many, including the Lane County Historical Museum. So alive. I can't wait to strengthen the ties from the past to the present and future. It connects people just like selling at the Market connects people.

It's a bit overwhelming how many people I am connected to already, how many times at the Hol this weekend someone said to me "Since you're the person who knows everything, what about _______?" I do not know everything but I have been paying attention for a long time, so I certainly have my observations. My booth there is a little bit of a power spot right there by the door, a gathering place of its own. At least three fairly major people-issues occurred there this weekend...things that could have gone rapidly rancid but didn't. Kimberly was fabulous and really earned her stripes handling things with grace and diplomacy. I appreciated being consulted but really, she knew what to do and how to do it. She checks with people to make sure, but her instincts are sound and her ethics are right there where I want them to be, at the top of the scale. I'm so thankful for her leadership, and the collaborative style of it. Saturday Market is solid and thriving, and this will be a wonderful holiday season. We do have to stay calm and be kind, move slowly and be thoughtful. It's not going to be easy as pie, but as I know and you know, pie isn't all that easy either. Plus it makes a mess all over the floor (just like Jell-O art.)

Okay, I'm late to the shop and have to go get that cinnamon. I wish happy and warm times for all of you. If you need me I'll be right there at the Fairgrounds every weekend for what seems a very long time but will pass in a flash. Hope you can keep up. More to come....

We'll Be There

This will be our last, cold Saturday on the Park Blocks for the season, so everyone is naturally focusing on the ever-so-much-warmer Holiday Market. We'll have the groovy Art Bags http://artbags.tumblr.com/ , a free drawing for customers of high-quality locally sewn bags decorated by 25 individual artists. They were totally amazing last year and so far this year, with new artists (mostly) they are again refreshingly creative. I enjoyed the challenge last year but am happy to just bring my own bags this season. I use the same locally sewn bag, a lovely USA-made canvas bag sewn up to my design in Springfield by T&J Sewing. I'm so proud to have them, and hope to gradually stop using any imported ones. Come see them and help me decide on my next bag design.

We'll have a new backdrop for the stage, painted by Reality Kitchen, which will be a visual treat. See artists at work. The place will be full up with treats, visual, victual, and stuff you can hold in your hands and marvel at. Hand-crafted treasures by real live artists and craftspeople are not just anywhere, and the opportunity to be handed them by the actual artists themselves is a precious gift of the season that you will not find at any mall.

But before all that, we'll be bringing our hearts and souls downtown one more time for that long full day of connecting, joking, singing, laughing, and hugging. In our neighborhood we always show up, and we always treasure it all, and we will be sorry to see the end of the outdoor season. It was a surprising and fulfilling year, what with the successful switch in managers, the sweet move off the county corner with all of it's random dysfunction, and the new relationship between the Market and Fair standards-keepers. We have set a bright future in place for next season. It will seem like the same old place but it is never the same place.

Each person brings a new treat each week, a new self, an insight or a story or a friend. It amazes me over and over and fills me with joy. Even if I am freezing all day and not selling what I brought to sell, I always have a good Saturday. Holiday Market is just a bonus.

For way too many years we tried to sell outside until Christmas, with our propane heaters and our battery lights and our various schemes to attract customers. The year (1986?) we created what we called The New Holiday Market, we wanted to create a new holiday, not Christmas, not Xmas, not the Dickens' Fair. We made something with our collective creativity that was special and fantastic and precious and we have made it better every year. All of us have worked to do that, the committee members and the people who do their work tasks and the excited people who bring their newest work to Standards to be screened. Beth did a lot, so much, did everything to help us raise our artistry and stand tall as professionals and experts in our city, but she did it with us. We all did it together. We are a community within a wonderfully receptive and supportive community, those of us who will be there this Saturday and those of us who used to, will be, and care about us.

It will be good to see you. I'll try not to tell you about the root canal I got today, which turned out to be arduous and an important part of my human education. I'm a person who gets my teeth cleaned every six months and just did not even know what a rotten tooth would be like. It didn't hurt, was just a sore spot on my gum, but shit oh dear it turned out to be a big deal. I guess I needed a compassion adjustment about people who can't afford dentistry. The poor people's dentist would have removed my still-good tooth rather than spend three hours saving it, so because I had some money left from my successful season, I don't have a big hole in my jaw. I will need to think about that. My Mom told me that when she was young on a Nebraska farm, they knew exactly what a bad tooth was and what to do about it. She made sure we didn't know by sending all five of us to the dentist over and over again. Different times, different problems.

A bad tooth is such a little problem in the world. So many have so many much greater problems. I feel lucky today. I biked there, did I say that? Ice was falling off the trees in the woods and on the way home I got soaked just like I did last week. This time I didn't complain to myself, I just felt happy. I told the old men jogging in the rain how tough they were. I felt tough. I am tough. I have real staying power.

And that is why I'm still showing up on the Park Blocks, still loading in my Holiday Market booth for nine hours next week, still so grateful and appreciative of my craftsperson's life. It isn't easy, but it's easy to keep doing it. It's easy to keep loving it.

And that in its turn makes it easy to keep loving you. See you Saturday!

Caring Indoors

Day three of the three-day weekend. I am always surprised how tired I get. Today I apparently slept through my alarm, highly unusual behavior for me, so maybe I am not supposed to take the time to write today. I don't seem to have a clear point (not so unusual...)

Holiday Market is so irresistible to me. I try hard to stay in my booth but am compelled to see the new crafts and artists, and the progress of the ones I know from previous years, marking time by artistic progression. I found so many things I wanted or needed. I tried to support some of the new artists who were trying HM for the first time, trying to make them "fall in love fast" as I said in my last post. Here is a pile from last week. This week I will have a much smaller pile, as I was far too busy making sales yesterday to even make it to the farm, as I call it when I hurry down the hall to the farmers' market room.

Most of us who sell outside have a palpable sense of relief when we walk into the doors at the Fairgrounds, dressed in our nice clothes, without our many layers, ready to focus on our friends and neighbors who come to see the gallery that is ours. We relax as the facets of our jobs shift slightly to a different focus, as the sometimes desperate feeling wanes, as we increase our trust in ourselves and our choices. I know I will do well. I don't have to worry about it at all. I can look at the totals of my past years (I have sold at every Holiday Market we've had, from the first when we invented it.) This trust turns to pure love as we deepen our friendships and our enjoyment of our community.

It's always enlightening to see the new people who don't quite see our existing culture, the ones who pack early or complain about the management when "the management" is walking by, the ones who don't sell well and get desperate and hawk their wares to our guests, the ones who sell out because their prices are too low,or sell little because their prices are too high. The Holiday Market at its best is not a discount show. We don't offer early bird specials or loss leaders or any other tricks to get our potential customers in the door. We dress ourselves up and try to present a warm, rich, gorgeous showing of us at our very best.

The complaining ones don't see the deep love that is going around the room, the neighborhood alliances and romances and new friendships and history and joy. They miss some of what is running under the surface, the river we ride in and the strength of its flow. We're not perfect, but we are us.

I try to help with bringing others in with us. The first weekend Art Bag project was a perfect try at bringing people in. Yes, it was transparent that we were trying to get more shoppers and booths to commit to the first weekend. We had a lot of empty booths last year and far fewer this year. A practical look at the costs and returns leads some to just sell on the sure-thing December weekends, but the bag project worked for me and I made more money the first weekend than last year. And, in a bigger surprise, I sold more bags.

I will admit that because I sell canvas bags, as well as print the ones the Market sells, I made the complaint that the bag project was going to cost me. I fell into a petty space, and I could feel that it was petty, but I learned that lesson one more time. If it feels petty, just quit it. I was wrong. The bag project served to raise the interest in canvas bags, and aligned with the plastic bag ban in Eugene and other cities, bags are more popular and needed, and Saturday/Holiday Market is now known as the place to get the good bags.

This will, of course, be of direct benefit to me, even if all of my fellow members develop and sell a bag. It's like selling tie-dye in the tie-dye capital of the Universe. People come. They want the selection and variety and artistic expression that we do so well. Those 46 bags with the 46 recognizable artistic styles were a joy to see and touch and the people who won them were more than delighted. To our credit, we did not take their addresses and add them to our database. We simply gave the bags away. Joyfully and with our whole hearts. We were us at our best.

Much is made of the consistently amazing philanthropy of my other organization, the OCF, but people may not see our quieter form of this at Saturday Market. We give free space, even the costly HM space, to nonprofits every week, where they can sell handmade items and raise funds for their organizations. Womenspace runs the coat check/ package wrap tables in the front of the room. We have buskers, and there are many, many people who seek to attach themselves to our success. We are happy to share.

What is more, we formed our own emergency relief fund, called the Kareng (caring) Fund. I'll write more about it, but I just want to announce that we have started a little bag project of our own. I say we because I serve on the Kareng Fund Board, with eight other kind folks. The Fund is ten years old, and has given out over $20,000 in grants to artisans in crisis, with career-threatening situations or injuries. Almost all of our funds have come from Market members and friends, and from the fundraising efforts we do at the Holiday Market.



In the coming weeks I will post pictures of our latest good idea, more tote bags! We decided to ask artists to decorate the back of our Kareng Fund bags (with the Market basket filled with hearts) for us. I have collected several now and this week I will get them photographed. They are sweet! This time Market members will indeed be eligible to win one, but these come with a cost, and will be auctioned off on the last weekend.

The fun just never ends! This one will feel good. On that morning, we drop our frame of being all about making money for ourselves, and we share it with each other. People seem to love contributing to the Kareng Fund. I know it is deeply satisfying to work with the Board, giving grants and expanding our scope.

This year we applied and hope to be granted our own 501c3 status. We now serve not just Market members but any low-income self-employed artisan in Oregon. That means OCF members, LCFM members, and those from other towns in our state. We will be doing more outreach and making ourselves known in the next year (still waiting to hear from the IRS regarding our status, though once we do gain it, donations will be retroactively tax-deductible.)


I know many people don't know about the KF, so come ask me if you have questions. We are always accepting donations through the Saturday Market office, and will be mounting our campaign this week. Be part of us. The working poor, the self-employed, have not had an easy decade. Some of us are so far below the poverty level we may never rise above it (certainly not on our Social Security income.) We need each other. We are the safety net that we have woven for ourselves and our community.


Give of yourself this season. It is about so much more than cheap appliances and sock sales. We don't have kettles and bells, but you can find us at the Holiday Market. We want you in our family.

I will be there by the south side doors, near the entrance to Holiday Hall where the nonprofits put up their tables. Wave

at me as you take a few bucks in there and help your neighbors. Stay small and make big changes. I know when I broke my heel and a lovely card came in the mail with an unexpected grant, I cried big tears. It was not about the money, which of course I badly needed for my three months of immobility and year of recovery, it was about the caring. I felt held in the hands of my people.


Let's hold out our hands, and hold each other. Not just now, but especially now, when there is so much we need and so much we want. Presents, yes, but also presence. I will try to be here for you. Thank you, from my heart, for being here for me.

Fear Buries Truth, Film at 11:00

A long time of no writing for me. I've actually been writing other things (yay!) and trying to retreat from expressing my opinion for awhile, trying to find a vacation in the week between the holidays. I was somewhat successful in that I stayed out of the shop, but I worked on a puzzle (no accident in that verb there) and spring-cleaned the bathroom. I did some sitting around. I started the pruning and spread some gravel, and made some lists, but mostly tried to empty my mind a little from all of the holiday clutter.

If I don't have solitude and down time, I get attracted to drama, and it is really hard at HM to avoid getting involved in at least some. Most of the stuff that was operating last year is over, because I tried hard to stay away from people or situations that might lead me there. I didn't get fired from anything and I worked on gratitude and not complaining. My goal was to not make my problems other people's problems and I did pretty well with that. I struggled with what we all struggle with, all of the consumption in its various forms and the ways my life doesn't measure up to the norm, but I constantly reminded myself that my ideas of the norm come mostly from the barrage of advertising and from TV actors and writers...it's not real. It's not true. Anyway, why be normal?

But my norm, if I have one, is really not mainstream, and I'm glad of that. I'm not much of a consumer. I use the retailing as an excuse not to get involved in a lot of gift-buying and my needs were for socks, a new pair of waterproof boots just in case it ever rains on a Saturday again, and a few things for my son and his gf. I sent Jell-O art to my family. It's the thought that counts, right? I thought they might be amused and maybe even a little delighted in the ephemeral beauty and uselessness of it...and I had a lot left. It most emphatically did not prove to be a viable Holiday Market product, and neither did the silk scarves and flags. I still have a lot to learn.

Winter is the lovely offseason which is such a joy, to have the pressure of production off or at least slowed way down. I will have to find work of lots of kinds, and the sitting around week is over. Some of my customers have already brought me work, for which I am very grateful and I'll get around to it soon. I have to re-examine my strategies for improving my retail life, which is just a continuing process. One thing the Jell-O did was provide a source of creative juice, amusement and relief, and it improved everything in my life, so I'm not ready to let go of it.

I suppose I could work on less attachment to money...I will be old enough this year to draw social security. I dream about never retailing at Christmas again...about quitting the Country Fair. I dream about renting out my other house and not needing a shop to avoid. These are far down the road and might not really be what I want, because many times what I think I want is not what I want, at least if you look at my actions and what I seem to be trying to find.

I love the open space in my life to go in a lot of directions at once. I'm reading and writing fiction and nonfiction simultaneously, sometimes even about the same subjects. I'm cleaning up clutter and creating more. I'm putting my yard in order so that I can invite in more natural chaos.

Every direction presents with a contradictory direction, or at least one that is merely tangential. I like to wander around like that. It's a gentle soft focus where nothing is all that important or essential...a form of peace. I need it.

I'm writing about Occupy (present and future), and reading about PTSD (the past intruding). I'm watching birds, and enjoying having my feet on the ground (too much gravel). I want to feed suet to the yellow-rumped warbler and that pair of Townsend's, and chase off the starlings.

It was lovely to go into the Saturday Market office and listen to the Standards review, and see dozens of market people at once. Beth led the group through all of the guidelines, which didn't take that long and proved to be much more interesting than reading them in the handbook. One thing she mentioned is that people used to know how to make things...everyone in a room would know how to make a fire, how to preserve food, how to fix a sewing machine and how to make a tool handle. Now people do not...in general. We are a group of people who make things, all the time, in lots of different ways, and that is a very beautiful way of life that needs to be protected. We are important to the world and not just to ourselves, and not because we are archaic or left behind, but because we are skilled. We are amazing fine artists and our collective skills and knowledge are awe-inspiring.

And we keep busy being productive, adaptable, and positive. We have lots of other skills that we developed to sustain our lives, marketing and managing skills, communication skills, emotional skills. We don't need a boss to direct us, we don't need a paycheck, we are not dependent in the same ways as those who have to operate in the more limited world. We do have to interface successfully with it...to get our materials and to sell our wares. Still, it seems a more simple arrangement if you can develop the skills to create, produce, and sustain your life. I'm proud of us.

It's complex and rich. Whenever we gather it's important to focus on that, our strength and our value, and not let our doubts and despairs overwhelm our ability to dream and imagine. The world needs art. Our town needs art. Our neighbors need art.

It doesn't need our drama. I was going to write about fear. That came up this morning when Poling's fence was on the front page, and he displayed well the poor thinking that comes when fear overrides rationality. Yes, it was unfair that he was targeted in his house with his family. Pretty much everyone agrees that was wrong. However, the message of the second protest, composed of women undressed to the waist with TRUTH painted on their chests, was, I believe, to remind people what they are really afraid of, the naked truth.

Unfortunately the message was mixed because they were hooded, probably out of fear for their own safety in the atmosphere of irrationality that quickly arose. Putting an expensive fence around your house will not protect you from the truth, because you will still be afraid, maybe more afraid, as you look at that fence every day. The truth is packed with fear, and it is our job to sort it out, and find what matters in there.

Fear is violence. Defensiveness is violence. Instead of these fairly affluent people being afraid of losing their home and their relative luxury, which is the economic reality, they let themselves focus on their fear of some young passionate people being somewhat inappropriate in their proximity. Do fans of other sports teams erect fences to defend themselves against irrational drunk sports fanatics? No, because they can recognize what is going on. I don't know why people can't recognize what is going on with the protests.

I'm guessing they can't because it is too overwhelming. People driving to VRC just hated looking at the poor people in the tents who weren't participating in the festivities. Need is overwhelming. You write a check to some safe agency, which pays for some administrators, and you call your job done. You have contributed to solving society's problems. You have done what you can afford.

But by all indications, you will have to pay a lot more before you will really be safe. The protestors are not your enemy, even if they are scaring you with their words or actions. Your fear is your enemy, as it is making you distracted and unable to act on the real problems, the real things we need to be afraid of. There are plenty to choose from. Pick one and pitch in. That's just what the Occupy people did.

They chose economic injustice. They're working on it. People who can't seem to see that are just acting out wildly, wasting money and time with fences and stadium lights and police overtime to the max. It's a waste. Fear or love, people. Fear or love. Translate that however you want. Compassion or avoidance. Numbness or engagement. Distraction or discussion.

Truth is powerful. I support truth, even if it has to wear a hood and be afraid too. Fear or love. Neither one is going away, so where will you put your energy?