Starting Back Up and Art Bingo

The Saturday Market closes on Christmas Eve and all the artists go back to their tiny caves and polish their hammers and read novels for the next three months, or so goes the myth. Actually the organization takes a teeny break for staff vacations, which are not even all at the same time, because the work must go on. There is a tiny moment when the data base switches over and we go from over 500 members to zero. It's just a technicality of course, as many of the members of Saturday Market have a long membership, and fortunately we continue to enroll new ones every season. Soon the applications will go out again and the membership will build back up.

We had our January Board meeting this week. Officers were elected and I was again honored to be elected to serve as Secretary, with the emphasis on the word serve. People who volunteer a lot know that of course you do get a reward for it, but it is not much but the reward of participation, belonging, and the giving of your time to make something greater than yourself possible. It's significant, highly entertaining and sometimes quite difficult, but always worth the effort.

I've been volunteering for Saturday Market on and off for the last 40 years, even being lucky enough to have been the Chair back in 1981 when we incorporated, so there is my signature on the articles of incorporation. In a nice symmetry I also got to sign the articles of incorporation for our nonprofit, the Kareng Fund. It feels like a legacy to have longstanding service, and I am both humbled by it and grateful for the opportunity to have something in my life I really care about that is way bigger than me.

The Kareng Fund was begun in 2002 or 2003 by Judy Vanderpool after the death of a Market member, Karen Buxton. Like most artists Karen left behind much of her unsold work and Judy decided to sell it and use the money to fund grants for others of us who were in situations that could be helped by a bit of cash. The fund grew and others joined in and a Board was formed. The name honors Karen and another member we lost at the same time, Liza Karen Loube. They live on in the name which is hard to get at first but is simply the Caring Fund with an artistic spelling.

In 2012 with the guidance of the formidable Beth Little, the KF Board decided to take the big step of getting out from the umbrella organization which was providing us with nonprofit status and strike out on our own. We learned that to qualify we would have to broaden our grant base, which used to be just Saturday Market members. We decided that it could be our advantage to broaden it to all independent artisans in Oregon, those who live under 200% of the federal poverty income line, while broadening our donation base as well. We could go public with our work. Most artisans have little in place as a safety net and exist by the work of their two hands, their hearts, and their minds. When crisis hits, they often do not have the resources to get through it while continuing to work and sell their work. Our small grants (now up to $750) have funded artists after fires, accidents, health crises, and the deaths of family members, plus situations less dramatic.

Before the Affordable Care Act, there was a great demand for grants to help with health issues. Most craftspeople work their bodies hard and it is often repetitive, forceful work. Lots of us could not afford health insurance, and indeed we are one of the groups who have greatly benefited from the so-called Obamacare. We at the Kareng Fund know that this is true as we set up a program to assist people in enrolling, and many of us did. Now we get fewer grant requests for these issues, though of course there are many needs that insurance does not cover in a time of health catastrophes. We are happy to help with related bills or other things that arise at the time, such as replacing water heaters or paying bills incurred unexpectedly. We no longer just send a check, but can reimburse or pay bills if they meet our conditions and we have consensus regarding the need.

Speaking for myself, I am so comforted to know that there is a bit of a net for me. When I broke my heel, not only could I not work, I couldn't drive or bike, for three months and then a longer period of regaining my mobility. I needed a lot of help and getting that card and grant was the most heart-warming moment ever. Just knowing that I was noticed, important and cared for was an immense comfort. I joined the Kareng Fund Board shortly afterward and have served as the Secretary since, helping shepherd us through the paperwork and all the learning we had to do to get our 501(c)(3) status.

Other members of the KF Board have been so generous with their time, and care so much, it often brings me to the verge of tears. The most astonishing part, however, is the continuing generosity of all of the Saturday Market members and others who have donated time, money, and their incredible work to the fundraising efforts over the decade. This is most evident at the Holiday Market but throughout the year many members donate small amounts to the Fund when paying their fees every week, by rounding up their 10% with a small donation or directly giving their hard-earned cash.

The Holiday Market is when the generosity is completely brilliant. We fill five or six giant baskets with the assorted, donated crafts of literally hundreds of artists and have a drawing to give them away. We hold an Auction with Percussive Interludes to sell other items back to ourselves in what we lovingly call the Pottery Smash. This developed when a couple of potters tried bowling pots down the aisle with predictable horror and shards and the energy was corralled into an auction. Potters and ceramic artists and others donate items that are auctioned quickly and if they don't get bids, they are sometimes broken with glee. Really the pieces broken are almost always seconds with cracks or flaws that ruin them for retail and only rarely are valuable pieces destroyed, but there is a cathartic element of destruction that can happen with artists who are reaching the end of a retail year and often grueling holiday sales period, and some delight in the breakage. Sure, it can be horrifying, but life is full of horror and dismay and some of like the nonfictional aspect of this contrast to our usual sales experience. Anyway, this year we raised some $6000 at the Holiday Market through all of the ways we sought donations, a truly remarkable show of deep caring.

In two weeks we will have our first public fundraising event, Art Bingo, which will be held Sunday, Feb. 8, at Cozmic at 8th and Olive, from 5-7 pm. The games will be family-friendly, low cost, and there will be kids' prices too. All of the prizes will be donated crafts, art pieces, and gift certificates from local small businesses. We feel that this is a launching party for our bigger, more far-reaching goal to make and give a million dollars in grants. No one ever believed we would give $20,000, so a million sounds do-able in someone's lifetime anyway, maybe not mine. But I will do my part, and even bring some Jell-O art for some lucky winner. We'll have a little entertainment and a lot of fun, and refreshments will be available at the Edsel, which has that delicious pizza and hard cider and lots of other treats which you can purchase to support the generosity of Cozmic too. They are the place for fundraisers as all small local nonprofits know, and they really deserve our support for all that they give to organizations in our town.

So  please plan to be there, join us, and do access our fund if you need us and qualify. Our brochure is out with the application right on it, and you can pick one up at the Saturday Market office, open Tues-Fri 10-4 as usual. We have a website at http://www.karengfund.org/ where you can donate or access an application. We are indeed part of your safety net if you make art in Oregon and need a hand. We are happy to serve you. That's what we do when we are not hammering things into shape and toting tubs and pop-ups down to the Park Blocks. We care.

How I love the offseason

I am so happy to stay in bed until 8:00 on a Saturday. Actually I do prefer to be up by 7:00 but the point is that I don't have to go anywhere today! I can listen to Frank's show on KLCC or a variety of great radio shows on KRVM, I can watch woodworking shows and cooking shows on PBS, can play around in the yard or do what most people do on Saturdays, clean the house.

There is always some part that hasn't been cleaned in (literally) years. I am not a great housekeeper, though my training was comprehensive growing up in a family of sisters. We always cleaned on Saturday mornings in my memory, dusting, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom. I do not do any of those things weekly, sorry Mom. There are many domestic chores I just put off until I am disgraced by the state of things. Cleaning the stove, the oven, under the sink, in the corners...just takes way too much time.

I use the excuses that I work for myself and am a fulltime artist and those things just take priority. I also have to take care of my body and mind in my spare time and maintain my house and shop and have most of the pressures that most people have in the 21st century, but there are many things I just opt out of and updating my house and keeping it in shape for visitors just doesn't happen. I have had the same curtains for decades and my decor changes minimally unless it is time to paint. In contrast to the *normal* American lifestyle I am something else.

When I think of the hundreds of thousands of dollars I would have needed to have *kept up with the Joneses* all these decades, I feel very fortunate that I made the choice to opt out of consumerism. I do still have to buy things and in big stores I feel the seduction of things I just like or love and want to own...and see the way certain things would improve my life, but that money is pretty hard to earn and it seems way better to save it and use it on things like my art. If I had a big family or even a live-in partner I guess I would have been forced to make different choices. I envy those who have big comfortable houses where people can gather and stay and eat big meals and have the counter space to do things easily without moving other things out of the way, but the amount of time needed to clean and maintain big houses is far too expensive in my view, and I am not the sort to hire people to do my work. I do not want any servants.

I run around in the circles of ethical choices and am aware that one plane trip will tip the balance of all of those plastic things I've kept out of the landfill and all those car trips I've opted to bike or walk on instead. I'm okay with feeling that sometimes it's in balance and sometimes not. I can wish for things that are in opposition and just know that I won't get all my wishes.

Time is what I want, my time, to do with as I please. That's what I get in the offseason when I am not trying to retail anything and not consuming much either. I enjoy the round of work: doing the books and taxes, deep-cleaning the few parts that need it the most, working on my Jell-O art and my research. I put up a big table in the livingroom and spread out both the Jell-O and the research and just go from one to the other with lots of snack breaks and a day of yardwork if the sun comes out. I get a chance to enjoy cooking or baking something. I write, read, and just take my time to do things. No pressure.

The trick will be to do so much of this that I am sick of it by April and ready to start Market again. The Jell-O Show will be the last Saturday in March, and then I will get two markets before I go to Australia. When I get back I will be turning 65, which probably will not be a big deal. I do wonder how I got this old.
Then all the hoopla building up to OCF, and another year goes around. I guess that is how I got this old. It will be my 40th year of being a member of Saturday Market. Time flies when you are keeping it simple too.

The Post post

We made it through the Holiday Market, most of us picked up our booths and our spirits and now we are in the lovely off-season. I hope everyone in my circles has a way to stretch out and enjoy the time for creativity and a way to survive the loss of retail for a bit. I am so looking forward to the long uninterrupted time to think and feel unpressured and enjoy the other parts of my life.

Things got a little desperate there, I know I was really over-sensitive and even just a few days off returns me to rational thinking and most of the things that seemed so important are easier now. The funniest thing about irrationality is how hard it is to see it, how hard it is to have perspective when we have lost perspective. We all need people who can ground us and things we do to heal up and really relax. I know even just a bit of solitude and silence clears up a lot of distress for me and after a few days of that I feel normal again.

I'm full of enthusiasm but it doesn't seem forced or over-the-top. I'm excited by Jell-O Art, my true heart's art form that I do for the love of it and to promote the Jell-O Art Show which will be March 28 this year. It is not the first day of Saturday Market, thanks to the sensitivity of Maude Kerns Art Center or the luck of the calendar. The years it lands on Opening Day are way too packed and although I have tried doing both I won't try it again, but I have to prioritize Jell-O if that does happen. I'm the Queen, what can I do? (The link to my Jell-O Art blog is gelatinaceae.blogspot.com )

I'm working on a book about my property and house remodel and am anxious and ready to get back to my research. That means spreading it out on tables in my living room but I like doing that and as soon as the decorations are packed up I get to start again. There will be a struggle for priority between the book and the Jell-O Art but that is not a problem. It's also time to get last year wrapped up for taxes and planning and to get ready to go to Australia (after the Jell-O Show) and do next year's retail season. Between the inside work I will prune the fruit trees and spread my still-giant leaf pile around the yard and learn Italian (for the Australia trip) and make bean soup and watch episodes of Dexter (I finally braved it and actually like the character enough to watch a few more seasons at least.) And read. I really want to read, I have stacks of books half-started to finish and new ones to start.

There's a little pressure to resume fiction-writing but it's hard to bump it up to importance when real life is so interesting. My fiction isn't as self-referential as it used to be, finally. For the many years I've been learning how to write I used my own stories but now they seem so much less compelling. Maybe I've finally told them enough. I'm just entering the period when my son is old enough to hear some of them, though, so you never know. The thin veneer of fiction makes some of them much better stories. He doesn't really need to know if all of it is true. I had a fun conversation with Ken Babbs about Kesey stories. I asked him if he had trouble remembering them and he laughed and said he just made things up. Of course he does. No true stories are really objectively that true anyway after we filter them through our brains and emotions. Still, I am drawn to real nonfiction writing much more than fiction and fortunately my writing group is pretty open to whatever I care to write.

Social interaction can be a problem during the offseason. Despite the difficulties of retail there is still a great comfort in having one day a week to be in the public acting like a completely rational person, interacting normally with other normal people. When I do it once or twice a week I don't have any disconnect around it. If I stay at home alone too long I get a little confused about whether or not I am rational, not that I am one to label myself with a mental illness but like everyone I tend to embrace my own reality over that of other people. It feels comfortable that way. When I get way into Jell-O Art or writing I can immerse deeply and don't welcome interruptions, so I think I put on my prickly suit and drive people off. I have to remind myself that I like and need other people, and I do, so I try for some offseason routines.

I talk to my Mom every Sunday and that works great for both of us. We will be travelling to Australia together so have lots to discuss. I text with my son every Saturday and we both like that as well. I have to remind myself to check on my neighbors or at least notice them when I am out in the yard, and I have to remind myself that the people who work in the Kiva are really not what you would call friends just because I have seen them so frequently over the last 40 years. The blogosphere is the same: these are not really conversations. I am telling you stuff and I am not really even sure who you are, much less what your response might be. I am comfortable with this middle-distance relating but it is not really a substitute for real human interaction.

So I have my meetings and volunteer work and the people I see on my walks and appointments and the real friends and relatives that I now actually have time to appreciate and get together with. It's nice to have the choice. I journal every day and put things in my way to force me out of my cave. I am happy as a clam in the summer sand so don't dig me up, I'll come out when the sun does, but I do send my foot up to look around and see if the coast is clear now and then.

I hope you all had a warm holiday and are doing what pleases you. I won't worry and don't you worry either. All will be well. See you at Art Bingo on Feb. 8th, see you at the SM BOD on Jan. 21, see you at the HM evaluation meeting on Jan. 14th or the OCF Craft Committee that same night. See you at the library or the grocery store or in the neighborhood. Stay warm and dry and help others do the same if you can. Was that the bell?

The Last Days

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.

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....

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.