The last days are the hardest days, don't you worry, this is our normal. The giant sucking sound from the Duck Store has overwhelmed my sales hopes but there will be a lot of relieved travel agents and hoteliers in LA and the few local producers of Rose Bowl jerseys and crap will sleep better. I woke up early to the possum in the wood rack right outside my window hunkering down in the lashing wind that is probably dripping rain even down there. Another thing to deal with post-HM, replace the shredded tarp and tighten up the outside storage of the important things I can't seem to throw away, the wood I am going to use for those projects in the sky. Another reason to bitch and moan and bewail my impoverished life that I so irrationally am upset about these last few days.
So much in the sky right now. Every retail sale yesterday seemed to catch my heartstrings and give them a good, if discordant, tug. The Auction with Percussive Interludes raised an astounding total of dollars and the baskets for the drawing are packed full far out of proportion with the number of tickets in the jar. Saturday Market people are generous beyond measure, something that is probably true for poor-ish people everywhere. People who don't have much know how it is to need. None of us want any of our people to suffer the lack of hot water, security, any basic need, and that is what the Kareng Fund is there for. It is so easy to give to it. Donations probably represent a substantial percentage of our HM income for some individuals, and the giving just keeps going. It cruelly points out the disparities in our society, that all of it would be completely overshadowed by the signature on one check from one person in the upper strata of the society that thinks nothing of taking the whole family down to see the Rose Parade and the godlike sportsmen playing their serious games. There's a cruelty there but a resignation; that's just how it is, the world isn't fair, and me in my warm house worrying about a possum is nothing like someone in a tent by the river wishing they could have a cup of damn coffee. I have it good. I have a place to go today where people love me and see me as I really am, and will forgive me for this distress and the writing about it.
Anne Lamott said not to make any decisions right now when it is easy to see all of our inadequacies and just how to fix them. If my son doesn't visit I am a bad parent and doing everything wrong like I always have. I don't want to worry him with the reasons I can't drive up to see him: my left arm falls asleep in the extended position needed to drive, and my car is a POS car that might die if I try to drive that far anyway. My arm is damaged from lifting my tubs of hats, too many times. My car is old because a car these days costs as much as my house did and I just can't make myself throw that many of my resources in that direction. Yet I want to see him with a desperation that is way irrational. I could take the train but there are too many presents to carry, because my arm doesn't like me to carry things either. So the pile of presents makes me feel desperate, and I can't just tell him all this stuff because it isn't fair to burden other people with your stupid problems that you are supposed to just solve and get over and stop being so irrationally distressed about. Especially your only child who has always had to catch you if you tip over.
This stuff is the tip of the iceberg right now. Every customer brings me something similar. There are the bubbly ones so thrilled with their grandchildren, the ones with loving husbands who will fly with them thousands of miles to have holidays in their big houses with their big loving families just like on TV. I hate them so much I can't even watch TV right now when every show has to make the point that it is the family that matters, the love we share and the sumptuous feasts we prepare and the many thoughtful gifts. I sit with my thoughtful gifts that no one is buying and eat my sumptuous pad thai that Saman is kind enough to sell to me, and I thank the heavens above that I have the Holiday Market to be my family and to provide my warmth and my living. I spent years trying to sell in weather just like we have today and while things might seem a bit desperate this morning, this is nothing compared to the decades in our past when we didn't have such a good solution.
Before the Kareng Fund if you had a crisis you were on your own. Members and neighbors might take up a collection, but the way we do it now is brilliant and solid. If you need something, you just have to fill out a simple form and we will pay your bill. We want to. A group of us sit around a table or send a reply-all email and we give our hearts to you. We cry for you and reach out and help. We join together to do our best. It helps immensely. And all over the Holiday Market people are buying from each other, buying gifts, buying things they don't necessarily need, trading things they just love, making the exchanges just because we care for each other. We care so much it's overwhelming.
Before the Holiday Market it was just harder than hard. I have the demanding customers who want a discount after just telling me about their cruise on the clipper ship and I have the ones who are penniless and want to trade for edibles their sister makes. I have the ones who can't find a single thing worth their ten bucks or their hundred bucks. I have the ones whose husbands died and the ones who are so nuts their children won't visit, the ones who don't know how insensitive they are and the ones who know just how insensitive they are and just don't care. I get them all, I'm sitting there completely exposed and so vulnerable that I almost start to cry at least two or three times a day. I know we all sit in that place every day, we all beat ourselves up about the people we can't please and the ways we try too hard and the ways we can't compare. At least we are sitting there in our good clothes in the warmth and not huddling around our propane heaters kicking ourselves for our optimism like we did in the 80's. We have learned a thing or two.
Anne would have something helpful to say. I'm pretty depleted and way too emotional and I know I shouldn't even be saying this much. Believe me, I want to help you. I want to help all of you, but I don't want to need your help. I don't want you to even see that I need your help. I want to be the caretaker, not the needy. I want to be the parent with the plane tickets or the big house with the furnished guest rooms and the fireplace on the covered patio where we will all gather and feast tomorrow. But this is my life. This is my Christmas Eve morning, so I dress up in my pajama outfit which is not my real pajamas, it's my symbolic outfit that says it is really dark and wet out there, so I'm staying in bed today. Symbolically. Really I am suiting up and walking over to the Fairgrounds to put in one more day of work trying to please the people if I can.
This is my life the way I made it. If I'm alone tomorrow, I chose it. It will be a relief after this week, letting so many people in, opening up so wide. It will feel good to pull back and work on my Jell-O art and my book and my fruit trees and my house and possum problem. I will have all the solitude and hiding I can handle, and let's face it, my sales were good, despite the Rose Bowl. I have enough to get me to April and even Australia and I have everything I need. I have enough to share, to give, and to give some more. I can do this one more day, with grace.
Even if I get soaked tonight loading out, I am going to be graceful. I am going to let my pretty side show, my sweet side. I'm going to be grateful for each and every person who looks my way and I'm not going to let my irritation and hatred spoil what is the best we get. We are the warmest and luckiest community in the known universe, with our hand-crafted music and burritos and bloomers and hats and glittery decorations. We have everything we need, and plenty to share. We are rich beyond measure, and although it seems impossible to rest in that place and see the gorgeousness of it, that doesn't change it. It is there for us. The bells are ringing in our church steeple.
I'm going to sing along with Lizzie Cable and hit those high notes. I am going to figure out a gift for our amazing staff that will convey my appreciation for the way they give to me. I am going to enjoy myself and love more and fear less. I am not going to whine after I post this. This is my gift to you. I know you will appreciate it. Let us all hope that the light does indeed return and that this is the best year ever, coming up. Let us all hope that we are here to appreciate it. Let us all love in full measure and feel that we are loved.
And the edit from the next day, which happens to be Christmas, is that my son and his wife did come visit, took me out for sushi, gave me some amazing gingersnaps he made, and filled me with love and appreciation. The distress was distress. We all get it, we just have to learn how to work through it and not get stuck. Usually that takes other people to help us remember to see the love that is always there.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Monday, December 8, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
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....
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....
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Harsh Cold Brings Warmth
Yes, it was way too cold yesterday but we were incredibly lucky that the sun came out for basking. I had to try hard to find something to complain about. Friends and supporters came by, lots of jokes and warm conversations kept us from looking at the clock so much, and somehow we all finished up the day. The cathartic scream at the end was a few minutes early...but 5:00 turned out to be kind of a suggestion instead of a real time. I was off the blocks before 6:00 for probably the first time ever.
And now the pressure-filled week to get ready for Holiday Market and the quick rush of Thanksgiving with its one-day workweek. I'm counting on my obsessive inventory to get me through the first weeks, hoping I guessed right, with plenty of blanks ready to print for the finer adjustments when things sell that I hadn't anticipated.
Even I get a little tired of my preaching but I want to remind everyone to take the time to look within and think good thoughts. Pretty much everyone is changed by the Holiday Season, gaining enthusiasm or becoming increasingly distressed as all of the external messages remind us that we do not have the picture-perfect family or the *right* house and hearth and we mostly don't get the exact gift for someone to let them know how much we care or are willing to make the effort. I would venture to say that everyone feels this stress no matter what their economic status or emotional stability or inner strength. Even people who don't celebrate *our* holidays.
Then layer on the regular life stress of harsh weather (or in the case of the Australians, missing the harsh weather perhaps) and the international germ exchange that is Thanksgiving weekend and you have a great formula for losing your center and acting or feeling rather irrational. You might feel judged or invisible or just wrong or just hurt. It's a lot easier in mid-summer to take your dog for a walk or take yourself to sit by a stream and be renewed by nature, and a little harder now as nature shrivels up and the birds clamor for something to eat.
I know my pitfalls are that I hide out and at the same time feel invisible and like no one really cares what my challenges are, and guilt myself for not setting up the warmth I want to feel. I'm going to a memorial today for someone I feel kinship with, though I wouldn't say we were close. I watched a memorial for her, taped where she lived and was most active, and was touched repeatedly by what the mourners did and didn't say. Her daughter was so eloquent and thoughtful that it made me think I want to prepare a bit more for the inevitable time I shake off this mortal coil.
My friend lay peacefully in her house, undiscovered for awhile, and this is a major fear for me with my tendency to isolate and not check in with people very often. I got over it when one of the participants said what a natural way that was for someone who loved nature so much. Death is a natural end, and even alone a death can be a peaceful passage. There shouldn't be guilt from those who weren't there, didn't sense it coming, or didn't do more to help an isolated person. Guilt is self-inflicted in emotional times, a punishment we have learned to use to (we hope) correct our imperfections. I use way too much of it, and it isn't helpful unless it serves to push us to not repeat the *sins.* Judgment, even self-judgment, is generally projected on oneself just as much as it is used by others. Maybe more.
We are self-destructive, for so many reasons, and this time of year the media encourages lots of forms of self-destructive behavior, from overspending to obsessive dieting to tons of moments of self-sacrifice. In a twisted way it is all supposed to make us feel good, and we sometimes do for a moment. I teared up a little yesterday, several times, when I purchased things like a beautiful bag of rolled oats and some bruised pears that fell out of my ripped plastic bag over at the Farmers' Market. It made me feel emotional to project how it felt to the farmers who had boxes of pears to load back into storage at the end of the day, or rooms full of packaged oats that needed to get to the people who love oatmeal in the winter. I felt bad for all of us who were so cold yesterday, and all of us who have tried to sell outside for so many winters despite the daunting physical conditions, and those who had to make the choice not to sell yesterday. I know how hard it is to live on the edge and feel afraid of falling over on the bad side of it. I have an overabundance of empathy about some things and completely miss others. I can bounce around from grief to joy to despair to gratitude and I am guessing that this is a normal emotional state for most people most of the time. Calm unworried people stand out this time of year.
But we can all give ourselves a break from this type of stress, take it easy on ourselves and just let things be. We can give ourselves permission to share our concerns in ways that don't put them on others, that work with our shared goals and don't just overflow our anxieties into the stream to bigger fears. We can be conscious and giving and use what strengths we do have to keep the bigger boat afloat.
So take a few moments today to sit in that sun, feed the birds (and the pesky squirrels) and allow yourself to remember joy. Remember peace and how it feels, caring without strings and how that gives, love without fear of loss. Do it imperfectly. Shrug off some negative impulse or thought and do something caring for yourself or for someone you kind of like or love deeply or even someone you can barely tolerate. I read a fantastic essay this week which referred to a book by Bob Hoyk, called The Ethical Executive. I haven't read the book but the point that stuck with me was the concept of Ethical Traps. He listed 45, apparently, and it doesn't matter right now what they are, but the idea of a trap matters to me.
You make choices that are driven by whatever is most pressing, and each one brings up another ethical question, for instance the choice between driving and biking, or buying one product over another. I started this week buying products labeled no GMOs. I didn't look at them to see if they were affordable (a $7 dozen eggs is not the most sensible purchase for a poor-ish old person) or if they were local (the eggs were, the chips weren't) and I know my two purchases are not going to get rid of Monsanto seeds. Some of the traps mentioned in the essay were #28: Zooming Out, which means that when you try to take a bigger perspective on your actions you get discouraged that they don't matter on the world scale at all. The little bit of gas I didn't use yesterday by biking is so tiny on the world scale that no one will feel an improved life by me working a bit harder to get my goods to Market. And a bag of chips...so many bags of chips.
This will get way too long if I continue to discuss Ethical Traps in detail, but just consider how many times you trap yourself in circular thoughts as you try to make choices and sort your priorities to serve yourself and your community. I'm going to explore this some more for myself and see if I can release myself from some of those very personal and vexing traps. The wonderful essay was in Creative Nonfiction issue #51 (which I got at the library...814.008 is a great section if you like nonfiction) and no doubt there are many places to read about ethical traps, but to circle back to my earlier point, go easy on yourself.
Be kind this time of year when summer has taken its grace and fled south. Be kind to the birds, to your neighbors (if they haven't raked the leaves off their sidewalk, maybe you could spare ten minutes to do it) and to yourself. Don't get trapped in trying to feel good by making yourself suffer. That's just a tiny bit counter-intuitive.
I'm going to the memorial service to feel good. I've avoided a lot of them in the past in the fear that I would publicly cry (or not) and leave feeling more fearful and depressed about the death than touched by the process and the departed person and their circle. I was afraid of the feelings that might come up in me or someone else. Once I started forcing myself to just show up, I found out that memorial services are not like that. I have never left feeling worse. It has each time been very important to take that moment for the honoring of the imperfect person who lived a life. Instead of adding a burden to my emotional load in a season that is too full, it has freed me from one.
This is something I love about life and why I read nonfiction, the sometimes brutal but always beautiful examination of real life and what really happens. That is the courage of an activist, the courage of Hilary, to look at what is really happening and not pretend things are otherwise. The Christmas season of ridiculous excess and guilt is really happening, and we who sell crafts that are sometimes entirely unnecessary in a basic needs sense sometimes feel trapped in our participation (read: Buy Nothing Day.) We're conflicted, we're confused, but we don't have to get trapped in it.
Keep your priorities straight, and your goals in mind. Surviving the winter means selling our stuff. There are people who want it, people who love us (or wouldn't if they really knew us) and there are still a million contradictions every day to mire us down if we let them. Don't get mired down. Take care of yourself and take care of each other. Be kind and as generous as you can be. Frost is beautiful and spring will come again. Let's enjoy the warmth of a candle, the smell of cinnamon, and the tears that leak from the corners of our eyes when we are doing a simple transaction that signifies a huge step in the right direction for humankind.
Everything is essential and important and at the same time ephemeral and made of nothing that will last. People live and die, give and take. Live more, give more, and try not to get trapped. And don't work too hard. All will be well.
And now the pressure-filled week to get ready for Holiday Market and the quick rush of Thanksgiving with its one-day workweek. I'm counting on my obsessive inventory to get me through the first weeks, hoping I guessed right, with plenty of blanks ready to print for the finer adjustments when things sell that I hadn't anticipated.
Even I get a little tired of my preaching but I want to remind everyone to take the time to look within and think good thoughts. Pretty much everyone is changed by the Holiday Season, gaining enthusiasm or becoming increasingly distressed as all of the external messages remind us that we do not have the picture-perfect family or the *right* house and hearth and we mostly don't get the exact gift for someone to let them know how much we care or are willing to make the effort. I would venture to say that everyone feels this stress no matter what their economic status or emotional stability or inner strength. Even people who don't celebrate *our* holidays.
Then layer on the regular life stress of harsh weather (or in the case of the Australians, missing the harsh weather perhaps) and the international germ exchange that is Thanksgiving weekend and you have a great formula for losing your center and acting or feeling rather irrational. You might feel judged or invisible or just wrong or just hurt. It's a lot easier in mid-summer to take your dog for a walk or take yourself to sit by a stream and be renewed by nature, and a little harder now as nature shrivels up and the birds clamor for something to eat.
I know my pitfalls are that I hide out and at the same time feel invisible and like no one really cares what my challenges are, and guilt myself for not setting up the warmth I want to feel. I'm going to a memorial today for someone I feel kinship with, though I wouldn't say we were close. I watched a memorial for her, taped where she lived and was most active, and was touched repeatedly by what the mourners did and didn't say. Her daughter was so eloquent and thoughtful that it made me think I want to prepare a bit more for the inevitable time I shake off this mortal coil.
My friend lay peacefully in her house, undiscovered for awhile, and this is a major fear for me with my tendency to isolate and not check in with people very often. I got over it when one of the participants said what a natural way that was for someone who loved nature so much. Death is a natural end, and even alone a death can be a peaceful passage. There shouldn't be guilt from those who weren't there, didn't sense it coming, or didn't do more to help an isolated person. Guilt is self-inflicted in emotional times, a punishment we have learned to use to (we hope) correct our imperfections. I use way too much of it, and it isn't helpful unless it serves to push us to not repeat the *sins.* Judgment, even self-judgment, is generally projected on oneself just as much as it is used by others. Maybe more.
We are self-destructive, for so many reasons, and this time of year the media encourages lots of forms of self-destructive behavior, from overspending to obsessive dieting to tons of moments of self-sacrifice. In a twisted way it is all supposed to make us feel good, and we sometimes do for a moment. I teared up a little yesterday, several times, when I purchased things like a beautiful bag of rolled oats and some bruised pears that fell out of my ripped plastic bag over at the Farmers' Market. It made me feel emotional to project how it felt to the farmers who had boxes of pears to load back into storage at the end of the day, or rooms full of packaged oats that needed to get to the people who love oatmeal in the winter. I felt bad for all of us who were so cold yesterday, and all of us who have tried to sell outside for so many winters despite the daunting physical conditions, and those who had to make the choice not to sell yesterday. I know how hard it is to live on the edge and feel afraid of falling over on the bad side of it. I have an overabundance of empathy about some things and completely miss others. I can bounce around from grief to joy to despair to gratitude and I am guessing that this is a normal emotional state for most people most of the time. Calm unworried people stand out this time of year.
But we can all give ourselves a break from this type of stress, take it easy on ourselves and just let things be. We can give ourselves permission to share our concerns in ways that don't put them on others, that work with our shared goals and don't just overflow our anxieties into the stream to bigger fears. We can be conscious and giving and use what strengths we do have to keep the bigger boat afloat.
So take a few moments today to sit in that sun, feed the birds (and the pesky squirrels) and allow yourself to remember joy. Remember peace and how it feels, caring without strings and how that gives, love without fear of loss. Do it imperfectly. Shrug off some negative impulse or thought and do something caring for yourself or for someone you kind of like or love deeply or even someone you can barely tolerate. I read a fantastic essay this week which referred to a book by Bob Hoyk, called The Ethical Executive. I haven't read the book but the point that stuck with me was the concept of Ethical Traps. He listed 45, apparently, and it doesn't matter right now what they are, but the idea of a trap matters to me.
You make choices that are driven by whatever is most pressing, and each one brings up another ethical question, for instance the choice between driving and biking, or buying one product over another. I started this week buying products labeled no GMOs. I didn't look at them to see if they were affordable (a $7 dozen eggs is not the most sensible purchase for a poor-ish old person) or if they were local (the eggs were, the chips weren't) and I know my two purchases are not going to get rid of Monsanto seeds. Some of the traps mentioned in the essay were #28: Zooming Out, which means that when you try to take a bigger perspective on your actions you get discouraged that they don't matter on the world scale at all. The little bit of gas I didn't use yesterday by biking is so tiny on the world scale that no one will feel an improved life by me working a bit harder to get my goods to Market. And a bag of chips...so many bags of chips.
This will get way too long if I continue to discuss Ethical Traps in detail, but just consider how many times you trap yourself in circular thoughts as you try to make choices and sort your priorities to serve yourself and your community. I'm going to explore this some more for myself and see if I can release myself from some of those very personal and vexing traps. The wonderful essay was in Creative Nonfiction issue #51 (which I got at the library...814.008 is a great section if you like nonfiction) and no doubt there are many places to read about ethical traps, but to circle back to my earlier point, go easy on yourself.
Be kind this time of year when summer has taken its grace and fled south. Be kind to the birds, to your neighbors (if they haven't raked the leaves off their sidewalk, maybe you could spare ten minutes to do it) and to yourself. Don't get trapped in trying to feel good by making yourself suffer. That's just a tiny bit counter-intuitive.
I'm going to the memorial service to feel good. I've avoided a lot of them in the past in the fear that I would publicly cry (or not) and leave feeling more fearful and depressed about the death than touched by the process and the departed person and their circle. I was afraid of the feelings that might come up in me or someone else. Once I started forcing myself to just show up, I found out that memorial services are not like that. I have never left feeling worse. It has each time been very important to take that moment for the honoring of the imperfect person who lived a life. Instead of adding a burden to my emotional load in a season that is too full, it has freed me from one.
This is something I love about life and why I read nonfiction, the sometimes brutal but always beautiful examination of real life and what really happens. That is the courage of an activist, the courage of Hilary, to look at what is really happening and not pretend things are otherwise. The Christmas season of ridiculous excess and guilt is really happening, and we who sell crafts that are sometimes entirely unnecessary in a basic needs sense sometimes feel trapped in our participation (read: Buy Nothing Day.) We're conflicted, we're confused, but we don't have to get trapped in it.
Keep your priorities straight, and your goals in mind. Surviving the winter means selling our stuff. There are people who want it, people who love us (or wouldn't if they really knew us) and there are still a million contradictions every day to mire us down if we let them. Don't get mired down. Take care of yourself and take care of each other. Be kind and as generous as you can be. Frost is beautiful and spring will come again. Let's enjoy the warmth of a candle, the smell of cinnamon, and the tears that leak from the corners of our eyes when we are doing a simple transaction that signifies a huge step in the right direction for humankind.
Everything is essential and important and at the same time ephemeral and made of nothing that will last. People live and die, give and take. Live more, give more, and try not to get trapped. And don't work too hard. All will be well.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
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!
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!
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Maker is the Seller, over and over
At OCF especially, my organizations have been spending a lot of time discussing the various aspects of crafting, trying to articulate it in a useful way so that we can continue to protect it. I think hand-crafting needs protections against the many erosions of technology and culture and the ways commerce is done today. You might be aware that etsy, the huge online craft marketplace, now accepts commercially produced items right alongside the handmade. I'm guessing it made economic sense to them, as they had a lot of items on there that didn't comply, and that was a constant problem. It's hard to monitor thousands of people and their products, and apparently a few of them were confused or dishonest about what they put up for sale.
At Saturday Market we are usually pretty clear about the Maker is the Seller, but defining the maker is complicated. Some of us (I'm one) use commercially produced blanks that we embellish, so we don't make the whole item. That's acceptable under current guidelines, but it needs to be looked at from time to time. I don't feel great about it any more, but I can't sew the items I sell, and screenprinting is my craft and I have to do it on something. That's just one person and one issue. You'd be amazed how many nuances there are.
I thought of an image that works for me. As an artist I have a direct relationship with my craft item. I put my heart and mind to it and my hands on it and make it something to sell. This is of course a stronger image with a piece of pottery or a knitted hat, but you can see the image of a person holding an object in their hands. They made it. It wouldn't exist without them. Then they extend the item to the buyer in a second direct relationship. Simple and defined, one person to the other with the object as the bridge. This is what we really sell, that personal interaction. You can't get it from an employee to get that juiciness, or from a gallery, or from an online sale. You can get close to it, but not it. You can only get it in person at a craft fair.
So how far away can you get from that and still preserve the purity of it? Saturday Market allows a family member to sell for another, so you can hear "my mom makes these" or a similar phrase. That's pretty close, but when it's "the person who pays me to stand here makes these" you're too far. Of course gallery sales and online sales help support the crafter, but the direct relationship is less. On etsy I think people like to make a point of putting a lot into the packaging so it really feels like a special item, and I'm sure they put in notes and things to be personal, but on some level it becomes middle distance and then far removed from the source. We don't want that at Saturday Market. We insist on the simple direct interaction.
We have all these specific craft guidelines to preserve that, telling the artist how much of the work they have to do to make the item a craft from the maker. They are online so you can go look at them if you aren't familiar (eugenesaturdaymarket.org) with the details and are curious. It has taken years and years to accumulate them, lots of meetings of the Standards Committee and lots of individual cases to explore and make decisions about. Decades. Hundreds of crafters.
OCF is a bit behind in that kind of documentation and policy, partly because instead of seeing each other every week, OCF crafters see each other once a year there. The direct relationship has eroded. Some people are selling things they haven't made, for various reasons. Some are making them to a degree, for instance they may be solid-color dyeing commercial items, without regard for the fine distinction of the complexity of the garment and the dye job (a refinement the Market has worked on in the recent past) or they might be selling some product they invented but is now being made by contract workers or a factory. OCF does have a crew who looks at the crafts displayed, asks questions, and attempts to determine whether or not they meet the guidelines, but they haven't had the backup of the detailed policies used at the Market.
That is going to change. Crafters and others at OCF are meeting to work out the details on a tuned-up set of craft policies. It's needed and a good thing to do and I'm glad we're putting in the time, but we don't have decades and decades to do it. I feel some urgency, but it's a plodding and plowing kind of activity. Patience is necessary. Most people don't really care and would just as soon get stuff at Pottery Barn online so they don't actually have to deal with a real artist. Plus it will be cheaper.
But you won't get any soul with that stuff. You won't be able to treasure it, to pick it up and see the fingerprints of an artist you know (or knew when they were alive) and to have a role in their life while they have a role in yours. We will lose that direct relationship just as we have with our food (getting that back) and our houses (hardly anyone builds their own nowadays, though you can) and our own souls, which are fed by these satisfying transactions. That's a lot to lose. It needs our protection. We have to care.
Not everyone will. I think minds will be changed, though, as the hand-crafted becomes more and more rare and the necessity for protection more clear. People like me will find better things to print, like the bags I had sewn in Springfield instead of China, and it is my hope that people who have taken shortcuts in their crafting will get back on the long high road. I think I'm seeing that happening. I want to believe that people try hard to be honest and live with integrity, so that those who are telling the large and small lies about their products will let themselves rise to a more pure level of the relationship. I'm going to keep working with this hope in our abilities to improve our lives. We're doing it for ourselves, for each other, for our supporters, and for the future.
See what you can do to help. Improve your product in some small way that you can feel proud of. Buy something handmade yourself, or tell a friend about Holiday Market and go with them there. Maybe you can find something at Market that will delight you way more than the Pottery Barn deal, plus you will get to have a fun and special experience that is way more memorable than one more trip to a parking lot and a big box of a building. With real music made by musicians, and real gourmet food made by cooks. Never the same Saturday twice. Never the same walk around the eight, never the same Fair as last year. You know your soul has been longing for that. Feed your soul.
At Saturday Market we are usually pretty clear about the Maker is the Seller, but defining the maker is complicated. Some of us (I'm one) use commercially produced blanks that we embellish, so we don't make the whole item. That's acceptable under current guidelines, but it needs to be looked at from time to time. I don't feel great about it any more, but I can't sew the items I sell, and screenprinting is my craft and I have to do it on something. That's just one person and one issue. You'd be amazed how many nuances there are.
I thought of an image that works for me. As an artist I have a direct relationship with my craft item. I put my heart and mind to it and my hands on it and make it something to sell. This is of course a stronger image with a piece of pottery or a knitted hat, but you can see the image of a person holding an object in their hands. They made it. It wouldn't exist without them. Then they extend the item to the buyer in a second direct relationship. Simple and defined, one person to the other with the object as the bridge. This is what we really sell, that personal interaction. You can't get it from an employee to get that juiciness, or from a gallery, or from an online sale. You can get close to it, but not it. You can only get it in person at a craft fair.
So how far away can you get from that and still preserve the purity of it? Saturday Market allows a family member to sell for another, so you can hear "my mom makes these" or a similar phrase. That's pretty close, but when it's "the person who pays me to stand here makes these" you're too far. Of course gallery sales and online sales help support the crafter, but the direct relationship is less. On etsy I think people like to make a point of putting a lot into the packaging so it really feels like a special item, and I'm sure they put in notes and things to be personal, but on some level it becomes middle distance and then far removed from the source. We don't want that at Saturday Market. We insist on the simple direct interaction.
We have all these specific craft guidelines to preserve that, telling the artist how much of the work they have to do to make the item a craft from the maker. They are online so you can go look at them if you aren't familiar (eugenesaturdaymarket.org) with the details and are curious. It has taken years and years to accumulate them, lots of meetings of the Standards Committee and lots of individual cases to explore and make decisions about. Decades. Hundreds of crafters.
OCF is a bit behind in that kind of documentation and policy, partly because instead of seeing each other every week, OCF crafters see each other once a year there. The direct relationship has eroded. Some people are selling things they haven't made, for various reasons. Some are making them to a degree, for instance they may be solid-color dyeing commercial items, without regard for the fine distinction of the complexity of the garment and the dye job (a refinement the Market has worked on in the recent past) or they might be selling some product they invented but is now being made by contract workers or a factory. OCF does have a crew who looks at the crafts displayed, asks questions, and attempts to determine whether or not they meet the guidelines, but they haven't had the backup of the detailed policies used at the Market.
That is going to change. Crafters and others at OCF are meeting to work out the details on a tuned-up set of craft policies. It's needed and a good thing to do and I'm glad we're putting in the time, but we don't have decades and decades to do it. I feel some urgency, but it's a plodding and plowing kind of activity. Patience is necessary. Most people don't really care and would just as soon get stuff at Pottery Barn online so they don't actually have to deal with a real artist. Plus it will be cheaper.
But you won't get any soul with that stuff. You won't be able to treasure it, to pick it up and see the fingerprints of an artist you know (or knew when they were alive) and to have a role in their life while they have a role in yours. We will lose that direct relationship just as we have with our food (getting that back) and our houses (hardly anyone builds their own nowadays, though you can) and our own souls, which are fed by these satisfying transactions. That's a lot to lose. It needs our protection. We have to care.
Not everyone will. I think minds will be changed, though, as the hand-crafted becomes more and more rare and the necessity for protection more clear. People like me will find better things to print, like the bags I had sewn in Springfield instead of China, and it is my hope that people who have taken shortcuts in their crafting will get back on the long high road. I think I'm seeing that happening. I want to believe that people try hard to be honest and live with integrity, so that those who are telling the large and small lies about their products will let themselves rise to a more pure level of the relationship. I'm going to keep working with this hope in our abilities to improve our lives. We're doing it for ourselves, for each other, for our supporters, and for the future.
See what you can do to help. Improve your product in some small way that you can feel proud of. Buy something handmade yourself, or tell a friend about Holiday Market and go with them there. Maybe you can find something at Market that will delight you way more than the Pottery Barn deal, plus you will get to have a fun and special experience that is way more memorable than one more trip to a parking lot and a big box of a building. With real music made by musicians, and real gourmet food made by cooks. Never the same Saturday twice. Never the same walk around the eight, never the same Fair as last year. You know your soul has been longing for that. Feed your soul.
We have a pope! Err...Manager!
I was supposed to make the announcement on the members' page but I was at the dentist. Such a sense of relief for me last night when the new GM was chosen by the Board. I hadn't realized how much focus I had on that one issue for the last six weeks. Went to bed exhausted, got up all chipper and threw in the laundry before I checked the weather forecast. Wrong order...I don't have a dryer. Didn't realize yesterday's weather was quite that precious, but apparently it will be sunny again tomorrow. Hung the clothes up anyway under the eaves where I have a little line but they won't get dry there. Little problem. I put on my rain gear to bike to the dentist for a cleaning, though my 40-minute ride was quick and dry with a tail wind. It didn't start raining until I set out for home, when I got soaked and had a head wind. So more wet stuff, but I had the rain gear, so I was pretty well off.
That bump on my gum turned out to be an abcess...uh oh, first root canal. Not a happy piece of news. Didn't have enough money for today's bill since I had given some money to a woman struggling with a bag of cans under a bridge way out by Chase Gardens. That is a long way from that redemption center in the industrial zone. I told her there was a 75% chance of rain and she said "at least it isn't 100%. I can deal with 75." That tickled me as I tend to think that way, and I'm glad I helped her a little. The dentist knows I'll pay up next week when I get the big bill. I asked for an estimate...omg. Good thing I had a little saved from the summer and hung onto it so tightly.
So here was my inner monologue on the way home:
Dang it's wet...so glad I have good rain gear unlike all these other wetter folks on bikes.
Root canal...well, it's the first time that's happened. I trust my dentist so I'm in good hands.
Root canal and property taxes, which one hurts more...so glad I have a warm hand-built house to pay taxes on. I can get painkillers if I need them.
Antibiotics...good thing I just bought some probiotics yesterday. They can fight it out.
Got my pile of wet soggy leaves from the city today...got my leaves so I can work outside.
Dang it's wet...almost home and now I have a reason to curl up and take some time off. I can blog!
That is a skill set I have been working on for the last couple of years, reframing complaints so I don't get caught up in my own potential drama. I find reframing one of the most useful techniques I've picked up. I still need a little encouragement to use it sometimes. Complaining is just so easy. But nobody really wants to hear it, and I don't really want people to feel obligated to help me, so it amounts to some kind of self-stimulating in a kind of negative zone. Next step would be not even complaining to myself. That might take some work, but really, isn't complaining just a version of playing the victim? Like saying "all this stuff happened to me and it wasn't my fault." Clearly all the things I had to complain about were my fault. I put off dealing with the mouth sore to save time, since I was going to the dentist anyway. Major error...those things just get worse. I got DIY with it and thought hydrogen peroxide would fix it, or tea tree oil. Inexperience, and not asking anyone for help. Biking, while great exercise and always a good idea, is optional. I could have driven the car. I bought the property and improved the house, so the property taxes were mine. I ordered the leaves.
So at least I wrapped all that stuff up and now I'm warm and have dry socks and I work for myself so if I want to move wet leaves around today instead of working I guess I can. At least I have to clear the sidewalk so I can bike out on Saturday. When it is not supposed to rain, and everyone will be happy about our new GM, and I will be with my community. See you there!
That bump on my gum turned out to be an abcess...uh oh, first root canal. Not a happy piece of news. Didn't have enough money for today's bill since I had given some money to a woman struggling with a bag of cans under a bridge way out by Chase Gardens. That is a long way from that redemption center in the industrial zone. I told her there was a 75% chance of rain and she said "at least it isn't 100%. I can deal with 75." That tickled me as I tend to think that way, and I'm glad I helped her a little. The dentist knows I'll pay up next week when I get the big bill. I asked for an estimate...omg. Good thing I had a little saved from the summer and hung onto it so tightly.
So here was my inner monologue on the way home:
Dang it's wet...so glad I have good rain gear unlike all these other wetter folks on bikes.
Root canal...well, it's the first time that's happened. I trust my dentist so I'm in good hands.
Root canal and property taxes, which one hurts more...so glad I have a warm hand-built house to pay taxes on. I can get painkillers if I need them.
Antibiotics...good thing I just bought some probiotics yesterday. They can fight it out.
Got my pile of wet soggy leaves from the city today...got my leaves so I can work outside.
Dang it's wet...almost home and now I have a reason to curl up and take some time off. I can blog!
That is a skill set I have been working on for the last couple of years, reframing complaints so I don't get caught up in my own potential drama. I find reframing one of the most useful techniques I've picked up. I still need a little encouragement to use it sometimes. Complaining is just so easy. But nobody really wants to hear it, and I don't really want people to feel obligated to help me, so it amounts to some kind of self-stimulating in a kind of negative zone. Next step would be not even complaining to myself. That might take some work, but really, isn't complaining just a version of playing the victim? Like saying "all this stuff happened to me and it wasn't my fault." Clearly all the things I had to complain about were my fault. I put off dealing with the mouth sore to save time, since I was going to the dentist anyway. Major error...those things just get worse. I got DIY with it and thought hydrogen peroxide would fix it, or tea tree oil. Inexperience, and not asking anyone for help. Biking, while great exercise and always a good idea, is optional. I could have driven the car. I bought the property and improved the house, so the property taxes were mine. I ordered the leaves.
So at least I wrapped all that stuff up and now I'm warm and have dry socks and I work for myself so if I want to move wet leaves around today instead of working I guess I can. At least I have to clear the sidewalk so I can bike out on Saturday. When it is not supposed to rain, and everyone will be happy about our new GM, and I will be with my community. See you there!
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