Not Fade Away

I don't really enjoy autumn, even though of course I know it is part of the circle we all are on, but the fading of summer always leaves me wanting more. I'm finishing up outside painting projects, canning tomatoes, working in the yard and garden. Sitting in the sun whenever it is out seems mandatory.

I scheduled the removal of metal from my foot for late October. It's scary to open up the incision again and sign up for some amount of healing and sitting around icing and elevating again. This foot injury has consumed so much of my life this year, I just want it to be over. 

Yet I'm still learning from it and hope it will encourage me to be more careful and in synch with my body so I don't injure myself again. It scares me how close to death people get as we age, and how many fronts we have to monitor to keep ourselves going.

I analyzed the Saturday Market safety net for what we might be calling vintage vendors, or some such designation. We have so many policies and practices in place, I feel rather secure about my aging experience at Market. The best part of that is that those policies are in place for everyone, not just our treasured elders. We treasure everybody.

From our simple membership point accumulation to our case-by-case system of responding, we have about a dozen options for those suffering difficulty. I didn't even remember to list neighborhood responses, which are primary during the Market day. Every little group of us has an agreement to keep things flowing, whether it be parking to load or unload, the work itself, or booth-watching and networking with each other. We often stop short of creating policy because our agreements are working so well.

I spoke to the Standards Committee about the issue, and began by saying to those gathered at our big round table that one of our core tenets is equality. We may never decide to allow extra services for any interest group because we have so many already in place for all. In almost all aspects of our Market experience, our gathering as equals sets the ground for what we do and how we think about it.

I watched a new vendor in our neighborhood last week have what appeared to be an isolated, rather unsatisfying experience, and I wondered if maybe in our comfort we seemed to be unfriendly to newcomers. I know most of us vendors are intimidating to customers, but I have to remind myself to constantly open up to other Market people as well, actually looking at and even buying their products, and engaging in the level of community we all want while we are there on any given day. When you don't know practically everyone and their thirty-some year history as I do, it must seem sometimes like an ordinary festival where you come and sell and take money home and repeat that in many similar locations. 

But Saturday Market is so much more than an ordinary festival. The frequency of our gatherings, every Saturday and then every weekend at Holiday Market, fosters the familiarity and routine we thrive on. We start to be able to look around and create community, to be generous with our time and profits, to track our experiences, and to want to share our emotional wealth. We often can't afford our neighbors' goods, but we can certainly appreciate them and even perhaps add to their artistic experience with our educated feedback. There might be some intimidation (going both ways) with customers, but there isn't very much when it comes to each other. 

I recently bought a Batitat, a very cool bat house I had been admiring. I bought the kit but it was still a substantial frivolous purchase for my current situation, but I need to encourage myself to get back to making other things besides my craft. But of course, in my confidence, I did not watch his online video or even take the time to examine the construction of his built houses, I just put it together with a glance at the photo on the instructions, and I did it wrong in several ways. I had to take most of it apart and do it again. It was embarrassing, but I did discover a way that people could fail, and suggested to him a couple of ways to change that. He's a super lovely person and I hope he appreciated the feedback. 

The rebuild was successful and reminded me that creative people take a lot of risks when they make things...they often find new ways to do simple tasks, sometimes an improvement, sometimes not. But as I had planned, using the drill got me more interested in picking up tools again, so I got more than my money's worth from the purchase. 

I hung it on my house after some internal debate about screwing things to my siding. It also re-piqued (there's a word for you) my interest in my house and I started researching again. This is one of the upsides of autumn, more time indoors to do writing projects, something that will also help me get through the minor surgery I have planned and keep me grounded through the winter. My house is an endless fascination to me. 

I studied census records for more info about my people, the ones whose names I found on the boards inside my house. I will have to go back to the newspapers for the kind of stories I want. For instance, my original landowner, James Huddleston, died rather early from a gangrened leg, but that doesn't show in the census. One decade he is head of household, the next one, his widow is. The Floyd G. Vaughan whose daughter was Grace Bowers lost his first wife (not Grace's mother) in a buggy accident in 1882. In the 1880 census his household included a housekeeper, Miranda Haskett, and in the next one, (actually 30 years later, as he seems to be missing from 1890 through 1910, probably because I am not looking in the right place) 1910, he has married Miranda and they have more children, including my favorite, Grace. There are a number of missing children, presumably deceased. Miranda's first husband died from a rattlesnake bite (really!) in 1853 yet she has children born in 1880 so there might be some gossip in that situation. There is a somewhat endless trail of leads and tantalizing details to follow up with more hours of research. All of it fascinates me as much as it would if they were my own relatives.

I love that Eugene history is only about 150 years old. Back in Delaware, where I grew up, things are 400 years old, and lead back to the Old Country. In my Mom's family, we have pictures of the farm in Poland where the ancestors were born, and my sister has researched my Dad's family to find things like relatives who fought in the same battle on opposing sides in the Civil War. Rich stuff, but my house is something I put my hands on every day. I am so intimate with my house, it's a relationship. I so wonder what details I destroyed in my ignorance. I'm so lucky the people pencilled their names on the boards, and so curious about the details of their stories.


I am so involved with my imaginings about these people, I cling to my square nail and my autographed boards and my pages of research, and look forward to the eventual book I will write. Like many writers I enjoy the isolation and free time necessary to do the research and writing, which lead in so many directions and use up so much energy. I need something to look forward to, especially when nature is telling me to wrap it up and fear is saying it might be cold and wet all too soon. 

I need to make things, to be working on things, simple and complex. It's my response to life. And I need to be able to use that energy to make money. Thus my love affair with Saturday Market, and my deep interest in keeping it relevant to my life, to keep it feeding me. I find myself attending meetings and speaking up, even taking on projects, that don't directly serve me, except as a member of this amazingly nurturing organization. I just love to look at it and record its doings and think about ways it can improve and sustain itself.

I'll admit there are many mornings I have to power myself through the impulse to stay home and create rather than take on the vulnerability of loading up and biking down there for a few bucks. Sometimes it doesn't pay off, and sometimes it doesn't quite satisfy emotionally, but overall, I'm getting a fabulous return on my investment in the Market. 

I was looking at early pictures of me there (I started in 1976 I think) and it is compelling that I have formed my life around Market. This fascinates me as much as the way my house people formed their lives around farming and acquiring land and building this house and others. It's a rich history, and if Colleen and I can get around to it, we might write a lot of it down. She has the memory and the drive, and the heart, to keep it on the burner until it proves out. I hope I do too. I'm glad I saved so many artifacts from my own life. They may end up at the dump, but they mean a lot to me now.

And yes, of course I wrote my name on the boards too. Someone someday will remodel or knock down this house, and I hope they find a trace of me. Maybe a lot of traces. 

They will look at what I left, like the marred Batitat and other somewhat foolish choices I made in the process of extending my house's life, and they will wonder what my stories were. For a minute. If I'm lucky. I won't know about it, I suppose. I will have a legend, possibly, but it will never tell the whole story.

Unless they find my blogs and my boxes of notes and false starts and brilliant ideas and piles of creations, unless they find me fascinating enough to research my many trails. Me and the millions of other fascinating people. 

So many stories! So little time! Thanks for reading.





 

From the Inside

It was fun seeing the Slug Queen Competition from the inside...or close to the inside anyway. As a Celebrity Judge I was quite peripheral. I took it as an honor nevertheless, and anyway a great chance to spend a week or two on costuming, preparation, and Jell-O. I attempted to make a Slug-on-a-Stick for each Old Queen, with a few roses as back-up, but I ended up being so in love with my rose and calla bouquet that I had only two or three roses to give away. But many of the Queens enjoyed the gifts.

 Some of them confused them with bribes and I have to admit I don't enjoy the bribery system too much. For one thing, I didn't get many! I got no chocolate whatsoever, good or bad. Or baked goods! But of course that is just as well. I think there is a lot of pressure on the candidates to bribe, and it makes things chaotic and unfair. Chaos is somewhat of an encouraged part of the process, though, and it makes the show funnier, so maybe I should just keep my reservations to myself.

Doctor Professor Mildred Slugwak Dresselhaus knocked herself out on printed propaganda and very cool keepsakes, and her little gift box was amazing in itself. It contained double-helix earrings which were brilliant and I love them. She ran a kids science activity of some kind, which I was too fluffy to really experience, and her efforts were outstanding. Any other year she would have won hands down, but it seems it almost takes two years to make any headway in the actual winning of the crown. You really have to cover all of the bases.

I see better what we need in a Slug Queen, and it is a complex skill set. I think there is almost always some authenticity required. You can have a schtick, and you need some kind of angle that separates you from the wannabees, but if you start into a rant about your obscure fantasy, the Queens and judges tend to shut down and distance from you. I think they want real, with a twist. 

I don't think claiming to be an alien species works that well, and political rants just get yawns unless they are funny and topical. Costuming is essential, and really counts for a lot, but the judges want original, and personally, I appreciate handmade and homegrown. I doubt I'm in the majority on that.  I don't like to see it become a contest where money makes a difference. 

Yet the fundraising/Junior League type of social commitment is serious and the candidate needs to show an ability to get that ambitious job done. Crowd support helps there, because if you have a lot of friends, they will most likely show up at your events. Queen Holly made a ton of money for arts education, and did an amazing job with that part of the role. I think the candidate Gloria Slimem was right on that, making donations in the name of the Queens (exact specifics elude me in the pile of artifacts currently on my desk) and she shows great potential as a quiet and powerful social force. In my opinion she wasn't convincing as a political radical but she might be able to develop that more in her next incarnation, if she chooses to run again. The Slug Queens vary in their political persuasions (a little) and being a radical in Eugene is something real, so unless it is very camp or very authentic it doesn't convince (me, at least.) But maybe Gloria is an old-style feminist and merely carrying through the politics she has lived, and didn't feel the need to overstate the obvious. Her talent was hilarious and simple, and that gained her many points I'm sure. Bringing in an ice-cream wagon with a new flavor (which was delicious) didn't hurt either. She gave me a gift certificate for a scoop!

Our winner Sadie had a lot going for her, but I think it was her charming realness that put her over the top. Her youth and enthusiasm counted too. She had evident determination, she was powerful and generous, and she put a lot of fun into the mix. She was glamour for the everyday young family-woman. Her dancers were real people being pretty serious about the routine, not just men dressing in wigs thinking that was enough. She prepared. 

Today's Slug Queen will not likely be a last-minute fling entry (though of course that is always possible.) There's a level of gravity in the position that might not show, but is all important to the Old Queens who do the actual voting. Most of them really want a candidate who can do it all, in style, and finish out the whole year, growing into the royal position and adding to the legend. They take it a bit more seriously than the costumes might indicate.

So there are rules, though rule-breaking is part of the spontaneity that is also necessary.  There is an underlying importance to the competition and coronation that goes beyond the guffaws. I admire anyone who attempts the task. Getting up there in front of your friends and family and letting yourself express some quirks is risky and wonderful. As a personally liberating experience it probably tops many. 

But I'm still not going to do it. Too much socializing, schmoozing, and real work to appeal to me, since I have so many other irons in the fire in my personal life. I accept the role of Queen of Jell-O Art, and I may appear occasionally since I love my costume and it's all ready to go, but I might not make it the type of all-city royal like those I sat among. My good works might be limited to the world of Jell-O Art and shameless self-promotion. I have pledged to promote next year's Jell-O Art Show, which will be the 25th Annual (more or less, because one was at Valentine's Day instead of April Fools and we're not sure if we count it or not) and I will do so as best I can. I entered my Jell-O in the Mayor's Show and it will appear in the not-the-Refusee show, even though that means I have to haul it down to the Market and walk it over to the gallery this Saturday. Jell-O Art is my cause, and since Sadie's is alternative art (or some such) maybe we will intersect nicely. At any rate she has my support!

It was thrilling to sit on stage with the Queens and see the candidates from the back while I watched the wonderfully enjoying crowd and the lovely summer evening. I felt uniquely privileged. Thanks to all who made it happen.

But I will admit that my favorite moments were biking downtown in my crinolines and sports bra, which were technically my underwear, with a basket of Jell-O roses bungeed on the back rack, feeling the hot summer breeze and wearing Jell-O on my head, and then biking home in the dark. I felt the most glorious, the most satisfied, the most beautiful then, because I imagined the wonder of a little girl who might have seen me pass.

"Mommy, I just saw a Queen on her bike! I want to be just like her someday." And I imagined that her mother might reply, "Then you will be, because every woman is a Queen as soon as she believes she is." 

No voting, no bribing, no costuming can make a Queen. You have to find her within, and then let her show. If you are having trouble getting started, try being an Angel first. Just unfold those little wings and make some art. Express yourself.

And then gather around you the people who will help you learn the ways, and go far away from those who will hurt you and hold you down. Liberate yourself. Then it won't matter if you win or lose, you will know your worth. 

I think that's what separated Sadie from the rest. She has an inner glow that is just infectious, whether she is competing or just walking around with her kids. She wanted it really badly, but I don't think losing would have crushed her. She has the grace and style required. She's going to be an amazing Queen.

We're lucky to have her as our irreverent Ruler. Brava!

Exciting Day!

I'm judging the Slug Queen contest tonight in my persona as the Queen of Jell-O Art, and I'm quite nervous about some of the details, such as how to manage my costume on my bike (in a box, most likely) and how to put on makeup as I have not done since my salad days. I'm sure it will all go well, however, as it is not really about me and I don't even have to explain myself for once.

I owe my blog some posts about the recovery from the broken calcaneus but it isn't such a pretty picture and I don't want to complain. I walk but very slowly, trying hard to place each foot in line, not fall over, and not limp. I can make it downtown if I allow enough time. I can ride my bike almost normally now though I still fear having to put my right foot down too hard. My doctor assures me it has knit and I can't break it again. (Knocking on wood anyway.)

I have some interesting pictures of how I coped, with a lot of tote bags hanging on my crutches, walker, and knee scooter, and I still have a loaner knee scooter which came in handy as a kind of little goat to move boxes around when I wasn't lifting things. I coped and coped, as people do. I was encouraged by the fact that I would indeed recover, and it seems to be taking a lot longer and requiring a lot more patience than I expected, but each day I improve. 

Of course when I get the metal taken out there will be a setback, but let's not even think about that today. I'm determined to keep doing the Market (I'm back to doing that independently and still extremely grateful for those who helped me, especially Nancy and Deb, who went way beyond the pale in being helpful. 

Oh, the book came out! I have lots of copies to sell. It is called Winter Tales II: Women on the Art of Aging, and it's still very gratifying to see my photo and words in a real book. You can go on Amazon and review it and somehow that will improve its internet presence and we will all approach millionaire status, if not quickly, inexorably. Or something. I'm thinking about my various writing projects, if not actually working on them. I'm trying to enjoy some summer. It's different as I can't really hike and my biking distance is still short, but I'm loving the weather no matter how hot.

I will write more, I promise, but I have a lot to do today! Come join me at the Park Blocks at sixish tonight. I know you'll enjoy it. I know I will!
 

Made it!

First morning post-Fair, and my challenge for today and the rest of the week is to break out of the pattern of overworking and get back to prioritizing my foot. Walking at the OCF was hellish and I restricted myself to the Shady Grove bathrooms and the Sauna. If I could get something on the way to either of those, I did, and if I couldn't, I had to send someone to fetch or depend on the kindness of my Fair family. They all took very loving care of me and Pamela even got me to ice and elevate once. She had foot issues of her own and we had a bit of grim resignation in our make-up this Fair. But we kept on and made it happen and it was gratifying and successful. Pamela is beyond helpful, into the realm of saintly, but her sense of humor and generosity with people-stuff keeps her on the ground. Tom took on the booth-father duties with Dave and Lisa took over the path-watering from her temporarily absent Dad and we all managed a lot of laughter and fun despite our rough circumstances. Losing Dave's beautiful booth and our shade was demoralizing but what mattered was still in place and we could recognize it.

My newly rebuilt bedroom/stockroom was fantastic and I had room for a rocking chair though I spent no time sitting in it. Dealing with the intensity of the sun was what took up my entire Wednesday pre-Fair and our shade was almost adequate. That was a giant tree. On further examination of the rings I now think it was just about the same age as I am, which is too ironic to consider. We both fell, and only one of us got up. But the tabletops from the trunk were gorgeous and lots of people ate in the little park across the way, so the tree lives on too, in another form. Thanks to Jen-Lin for her work on that and to Richard and his friend for the brilliant booth repair. I may add photos of it as it is definitely worth a look.

My son's friends came through for me as loaders, workers, and people to do me favors and I shelled out quite a few twenties and Sauna coins for all of the help I so needed and got. Kat is dependable and wonderfully helpful and Fabian worked out great, impressively so. John, my stellar son, walked all the way over to the meadow for sushi and even waited in Saman's line, and Ayla is really a fine, seasoned worker and I plan to keep her around. Tom and Pamela's sons Stewart and Tarq fetched ice, were cheerful and available, and Dave and Lisa's daughter Liz worked for me steadily and kept the best sales records ever. All in all we had some perfect ease with our younger generation, causing us to have lots of reminiscences of them running loose in the woods when they were little. I had wondered how we would shift to include our youngers and new ways continue to unfold. I feel really good about that. It was also great to include Natasha for the first time, with her refreshing enthusiasm,  and we're keeping Dan too. Such BIG THANKS to everyone.

Had some interesting conversations and made some plans about ways I can work for Fair and the craft community to ease our experiences in certain ways. I had a very difficult time dealing with procedures that required me to walk too much, but that just caused me to notice how much I was not the only struggling person and I have some ideas around that. We need to work on the anxiety of our arrival on site and get some advancement on how the various factions of Fair regard each other. It's my goal to rid us of us-vs-them (you've heard this before) and one person at a time I progress on this. I made a new friend in the wristband line as I functioned as listener for her as she unloaded her frustration, and she told me Sunday that it had changed her experience of the whole weekend to feel heard. Bingo. Let us just magnify that a thousand-fold. I did notice one guy in the junkyard-dog crew pre-Fair who did just that, admirably, and I know that more of that is possible as we evolve. It will get better and better. Listening is key. People really want to be heard and seen, and once that acknowledgement is in place, doors open. Vistas appear through the mist.

And now back to the rest of my life, writing and reading and weeding and continuing to get my full mobility back. I missed so much by not being able to walk to the meadow or the new loop or anywhere. It felt incomplete for me, so I'll be going out there to spend more time in the woods, putting the booth away and allowing the creatures to re-inhabit. It's a relief to have summer now. I shall revel in it.

Next stop August. At some point I would like to have a day without a list. Maybe two. I'll get there. Hope you are all well, and enjoying your lives. Summer may be brief, but it is full.

I'm dancing as fast as I can

Well, there went June with a single post and here it is July and the LAST WEEK before Fair. So many things to do I can't even keep up with making a list. I just keep my head down and keep working. Markets are great this time of year with all the out-of-town folks and the locals who escort them, and I am so grateful for the constant work of the Saturday Market and Fair staff who keep up with their own lists and make it all happen for me and for all of us.

It has been a tough month, as I'm still slowed down by my foot. I am walking, and can even do it without a cane, though I have a hitch in my get-along as R. would say. Yesterday I biked my full load to Market by myself! That was really a triumph I had looked forward to for months. Having my mobility back under my own control has been one of the most gratifying aspects of this busy month.

The June routine is old but every year seems new, but now at least I recognize the panic week when I am sure I will not finish everything and I am dismayed at most of my customers for how much they take me for granted with their last-minute decisions and impossible wrinkles in the familiar tasks. That was two weeks ago. Last week I got most of it done, and they all came through at least with their intentions, and starting tomorrow almost everything will have arrived and been sorted and the intensive printing will ensue. This will be the week of pride and dismay as I finish things and abandon things and get it all under control. I have always managed, and I am managing quite well despite the larger challenges.

Projects will drop off my personal list with regret. I have made no Jell-O since March and may not even take it to Fair with me. I ran through almost thirty books and ordered more, though. I'm making money from writing! That is a lifetime dream that still seems unbelievable. Market is going very well and I have to admit that not displaying the Jell-O is working for clothing sales...turns out it was a big distraction. When the clothing thins out more and I have more shelf space perhaps I will bring Jell-O Art back in a more subdued form. I still love it. Making money has just been more imperative this spring and I had to follow my instincts.

Fair will be a huge challenge but there will be ice and ibuprofen and perhaps good weather and lots of potential help that I will have to take advantage of. I have to make it up to the Sauna a few times but if I had to send young people out to find food and run my errands I would survive. At least two parades daily and many spontaneous happenings drift by my E. 13th booth so if I had to stay "home" all Fair I would still see plenty of magic and friends. 

I will miss the tree immensely. I will try to write an homage. I slept with my feet against the bark of that mighty ash for more than twenty-five years. I think we built that booth in 1985. The tree was the back corner and inside my bedroom although in the last year we built a wall just to the outside of the lean with the idea that when it fell it might miss me. And miss me it did, shearing off the pegs of an old Bob Walden coat rack that I had fastened to the wall. 

I do regret not hobbling out to place my hands on the trunk and experience the lingering life of my tree as it fully expired. I could still feel life in the slabs that became tabletops across the path, and a quick ring count convinced me that my ash was between one hundred and one-hundred-fifty years old. Now I see old ash trees everywhere. I have a new interest in what trees were here when the white people arrived to take up lands, and I see ash in my yard, though it probably planted itself. It freely seeds my garden and I pull a lot of ash trees up every spring. Yesterday I noticed at least a dozen huge, flowering catalpa trees on Monroe...who planted those, and when? They're just like orchids, covering the street and sidewalks and wafting fragrance all over the neighborhood.

The stump of my ash will prop up my booth now. I love the completeness and logic of that. I'll ask people to look at the rings on those tables and see what they can tell me. I'll pay more attention to trees, listening to their characteristic rustles and getting down the details of their bark and leaf shapes, until I can feel trees around me all of the time. Trees are so important to me. I still remember explicitly the weeping willow of my childhood, the one I escaped to every summer with my book and my confusions. I'd make a good tree-sitter. For the next while I will be staying on the ground though, and just glad to be putting two feet down at the same time.

I'm feeling really lucky, in fact, lucky to be alive with fixable problems and options I haven't even fully explored, and excitement and anticipation for the coming festivities. I'll get to see my son and his courageous partner, and enjoy my great neighbors and colleagues, and in a couple of weeks I will get a small vacation. August is by far my favorite month and I plan to swelter and languish and might even get the hammock up again. I'm happy to be alive and embracing the pains and sorrows with hope and compassion for the difficulties we all endure. I gave a book to Lotte yesterday in such gratitude for where her idea for an open-air Market in Eugene has taken us. She said she is now painting and drawing more and exploring color and of course that is the way we will progress through age, taking up whatever tools we can hold and whatever interests our eye. There is no end to art; it evolves, and we follow it.


I may be following slowly, but I haven't changed course. See you on the path!

Momentary Rest

Oh the sadly neglected blog. Much as I think about topics I just can't keep up with all of the work I have on my list. I am still researching the house, a few minutes a week maybe, and still watering the garden, though not planting anything in it. I'm managing to serve my customers, but not managing to make anything new or fill in the gaps in my retail inventory. Making money seems essential but my priority is supposed to be my foot.

It's better, more flexible after two weeks of PT and acupunture, chiropractic, orthotics, etc. I'm biking on a stationary bike I got as a curiosity from someone's free pile, which turns out to be much more useful than expected. I can go for about 30 minutes though my form and speed are pitiful. I don't care about speed at all, but I will need impeccable balance and a lot more muscle strength to prevent my good leg from doing all the work and to avoid things like falling over and putting my injured foot down too hard. I keep saying *a couple of weeks* but last night I dreamed I was biking along and today I know that is not happening. 

I'm down to one crutch, which I don't always need depending on the shoes and the circumstances, but I'm limping and wanting to hold onto things so am trying to slow down and carefully place my feet. I don't want to teach myself how to clomp about all cattywhampus. I want to take the time to relearn how to walk even more gracefully and balanced, since this is my big chance for improvement. All of this takes so much time, appointments nearly every day which involve more travel time than appointment time, since I'm insisting on scooting there under my own power. I need the cardio and fresh air and love the independence, so I'm working that good leg hard and probably looking quite mad as a grey-haired terror on the sidewalks and streets. And let me take a minute to say sweep your sidewalk, all of you, and see if you can do something about all those cracked and fragmented places! The sidewalks in our town are disgraceful. This is why you see so many vulnerable people on wheelchairs in the street. Look down when you stroll around the block. Even the curb cuts are inadequate as can be. Scary and something that can be improved with just a little effort.


I'm doing all the various exercises I'm assigned. I'm mostly showing up for things. I'm paying young people to bike my trailer down to Market and it's lovely to be back to that level of control. The Market has been such a positive thread in my recovery. Between that and Jell-O I have had many joyful moments and a wonderful network of help. I'm so very grateful for the people who care about these things with me. I feel the same about the approaching behemoth of the OCF. It represents so much work to me that occasionally I dip into the discouragement and complaining that is habitual it seems, but having the shirts to print this spring was a terrific source of self-esteem, not to mention income. 


I worked hard on my personal evolution regarding the persistent *us vs. them* that comes with the territory in large cooperative groups. It's easy to step out and feel not included for us iconoclasts but the more I participate the more I love it, and this is something that should have been a lot more obvious. I have learned to love the sometimes weighty process of trying to make sense of the dynamics and the decision-making. Certainly I don't always agree with the outcomes of the process, but I have a lot of faith in the process, and even more in the people engaging. We are a giant group of really fantastic people full of heart. It is way more amazing and special than we can possibly even witness from our limited views.


I love feeling connected with these long-term friendships and acquaintance-ships. These forty-some-year-old organizations are so embedded in our lives and personalities that we take them for granted and even dare to run them down with sarcasm and our other many defense mechanisms that exist because we care so much. We hold our organizations to such high standards of course they can't always please us. It sometimes hard for us to even admit how much we care, and how easily we are hurt when we don't feel seen and heard. 


I am here to say that I hope I never again engage in the complaining and criticizing of the past. Everybody is doing the best that they can, and in some cases, this is some stellar effort that often goes unrecognized. I am very proud of us. If I get to print one of my *special Fair shirts* this year (a tradition that goes back about 20 years now) I promise that it will be a loving one. Last year I did *Spawn* which largely went unrecognized, and I had to trash the one I did of the wicker woman due to my inability to draw her properly, and actually I sincerely doubt that I will manage to make one this year. But I have done many surprising things in the last few months so I don't want to deny myself the possibility of a brilliant homage. You never know.

My book came out, the anthology called Winter Tales II: Women on the Art of Aging, with an essay of mine included. It's rather thrilling! It's my first real publication and while I didn't get paid, I get to sell copies for a tidy profit so I ordered a pile of them. The essay is so much about my life that it almost hurts to read it...but it won't hurt you. I hope you all get a chance to enjoy it. I think I'll donate a copy to the library since it has been such a big part of my evolution and is still so essential to my life. There will be other people you know in it. Check it out on Amazon. 


I also managed a photo shoot with esteemed photographer George Filgate. I wanted good photos of my Jell-O and he managed that, plus he took some wonderful portraits of me. It's a bit hard to watch a long slide show of oneself but it was fascinating to look at each one and try to select the ones that had real authenticity of expression, no posing or faking or inattention, just the real me, exposed. Some of them are quite charming. Now when I am put in the Smithsonian I will be able to provide a great photo for my artist's statement. 


I decided not to do much in the way of costuming, but just present a simple real me. It turned out to be a good counterpoint to the complexity of the Jell-O. Even though I had to spend an entire Sunday dusting off the sculptures, it was well worth the effort. I'm unclear on the destination for these photographs so I'll post one here that is not among the very best, in case those get submitted to something exclusive like the Mayor's Show.  Be assured that a gifted photographer can do amazing subtle things with lights and positioning that could make anyone look photogenic and charming. It wasn't just me. 

This one is the real me, though the hands don't work for me in the composition...but they are great hands, and I'm glad he wanted me to show them. And maybe the smile is a little forced, but the nose is crooked and the face is not symmetrical and this is what I really look like. Even to me. And I certainly no longer hide that grin behind my hand like I did in my teen years, before I got braces in my thirties. I don't hide much these days.


I will, however, not allow the ones of my neck folds to reach public display. This is what 62 looks like, and it isn't that pretty most of the time. Yet pretty is over-rated. What we want is the real. That's what I want, anyway. More of it. Apparently I have a high pain tolerance. 


A good quality to develop.

 

Life on Mother's Day

I haven't been blogging lately. There are quite a few things that I haven't been keeping up with, and as usual when I feel my control slipping I fall into being at my worst: bitchy, intolerant, rude, full of fears. Weak and little and helpless and scared.


Which makes me normal and human, with that level of self-hatred that seeps out and makes human interaction so unpleasant. My list of complaints is long, and while most are legitimate, that makes me normal as well. Life is hard, and people die from it. In comparison to that, I should feel lucky and get back on whatever made me so positive during this broken foot ordeal. 


Writing those cheery daily emails was what worked for me. I was forced to put a good face on things and be generous because everyone was being so helpful and generous with me. The little pitfall was that they were doing it because of my injury, and that makes me caress my little disability and be just a tiny bit reluctant to let go of it.


Just one part of my psychology, of course, one that I fight to keep recessive. Being special because of one's needs and thwarted desires is a big trap and not something I want to nurture in myself. The drive to get back on my feet (literally) is just so difficult emotionally and physically and so far from my usual operating personality that it will be a huge relief to get back on my bike and hook up that trailer and re-inhabit my working life.


Not that I ever left it. I just finished my big 1500-piece order and am quite proud of myself. At one point it looked like I would have to let it go to someone else after wanting the contract for 20 or so years. I managed. I didn't think I would make it to opening day of the Market, or Tuesday Market, and I have managed all of those things and have served my existing customers and even taken on a few new ones. It was a lot harder than before and I have had to watch a lot of people do my work, at considerable pain and effort to them. But I did manage it, quite a lot of it.


It's evident that people who need help themselves are often the ones who end up giving it. They are too familiar with the helpless and hopeless feelings of need. They don't help because they think they will get something from it...they just can't help responding. They ride the line between enabling and saintliness. It's messy and uncomfortable and I would so much rather be in that world where I didn't need anyone and no one needed me. 


Not that I was ever really in that world...just imagined it sometimes. It seemed so simple and quiet. I just played with my Jell-O and imagined myself in the Smithsonian. Being crowned fed that illusion nicely and it was just fortunate that all that hoopla came at a time when I was living such a compromised existence. Now that it and the birthday and the Hallmark Mother's Day stuff is behind me I have to get back to my real life. 

Physical therapy starts this week and I know it will bring a lot of resistance and hope. I just have to get back on my bike, and start getting myself fully back into the retail that makes my living. OCF is looming and I have made no inventory whatsoever. And might not get to. My custom work is taking priority and now that the big order is finished I will be getting the *little* orders that are the crew shirt backs and I like to do those.


I actually felt very happy printing all those giant piles of shirts the same color. It was efficient and I know I will see so many of them walking around the place, and it makes me feel proud and a part of things. I enjoy feeling independent and productive so much. It's a huge part of me and why I work almost every day. I have been remembering that I don't even take Sundays off between May and mid-July...usually. 


And here I am working. Even blogging is a bit of a chore with this cervical or carpal distress or whatever it is I am having. I'm going to ask the PT to work on it with me too, since my foot is just one end of the body that is undergoing this problem. My whole body and my whole life is undergoing this injury. I'm out of balance, and my life is out of balance too. 


Restoration is the phase I'm in. Bit by bit I take my life back. I am forgoing the boot for a shoe and even a bare foot and trying to put weight on it, a little more each day. I pushed a little hard one day last week, seeing how long I could stand. I worked a full day and included about two hours of standing at the end. My foot swelled up and got bruised from wearing the wrong shoe (I have one suitable shoe for my right foot, and it was supposed to be an indoor shoe.) I had to scale back a little, and try again, more slowly.


I'm in what feels to me like crushing debt, with no progress in sight. I'm constantly paying out for what should be bringing it in. I have a little silent scream ringing in my ears. I know I need counseling (blogging therapy is limited...) but that costs a lot of money too! It's a vicious circle and I already knew about it and don't think I needed this extra lesson. 


But I suppose I did. Compassion is not the same as empathy and although I am caring, I can do a lot better. I was rude and demanding yesterday, trying to survive Market with only two hours of sleep, and I feel like my little Catholic girl needs to go to confession and communion and do some prayers of supplication. Mother Mary intercede for me and make everything better please, because I am doing all I can already and it is all too much. 


But prayers are thin efforts compared to the actions I must continue to take to maintain my relationships and return some of this help I've taken. I have to continue to struggle to be graceful in my distress and notice the distress of others. There is a long list of what makes me feel so lucky and whole and it begins with still having my real Mother in my life. 


Every day with her on my side makes me strong and resilient. She is the source of all my strength, the one who taught me how to put myself to sleep at night and to feel safe in confusion and to work hard, to clean well, and to keep order in all things. She set the standards and paid attention. It was not easy for her to raise five kids and gardens and hopes and dreams and to get us through times that no one knew how to navigate. 


My continued emotional dependence on her is really more of a nostalgic thing, as I am 62 now and do have my own life in some order. I don't ask her advice really but I do find I often write her emails listing my distresses and giving details of my hardships...I wonder how she receives these. I remind myself not to complain and to spare her things that might worry her, but I also feel compelled to share with her what my life is really like. I want her to know me as I want to know her, and whenever we are together we do have a beautiful connection that is a deep river in my life. 


I was once part of her body...that is a force that can barely be understood. She has known me every day of my longish life...in a way that no one else can come close to. There is much she does not know about me, of course, as it should be and is with all of us, but she knows things that even I have a different take on...she has my full life history to draw on when she reads my complaints.


I hope she remembers my resilience and cheery nature and how much I loved folk dancing in junior high and costumes on Hallowe'en and Christmas traditions that involved a lot of work and little real deep emotion. I hope she sees me now as an extraordinary person who took what she could give and ran with it. I hope she forgives my weaknesses and momentary lapses in grace and sees my whining for the real sharing I wish I could do in better ways. 


I hope she is more than satisfied with me, I hope she is proud of me every day. I hope she is proud of all of her family and what we did with her genetic material and selfless nurturing.


Birthdays always remind me of how many years we did not celebrate my Mom's birthday. Despite the gorgeously decorated angel food cakes and special dinners she always gave us, the parties and clothes and cards and now checks she always provides, Mom never got much attention from us on her birthday. It must have been galling, and I hope it was not as bleak as I think it was. I blame my Dad, of course, for not making us do it as parents must train their children constantly to meet their societal expectations. We didn't treat my Mom like she deserved to be treated. I'm really sorry for that. 


As adults we have tried to do better but I'm 3000 miles from Mom and even a yearly visit is so hard to do. My efforts to honor her don't match the depth of emotion that comes up when I think of how much I love her and appreciate her. It's my primary love, as deep as my love for my son, which is just another facet of the same love. 


As my grandmother's genes were in the eggs in my mother that made the eggs in me that resulted in my son, you can't separate yourself from your children. It's a miraculous and superlative aspect of being human that is almost beyond our emotional capacity to address. 


What your children are is what you are, and we aren't as separate as we wish. My Mom is essential to me. My son is my life in a new phase. This line, enriched by my fabulous siblings and enhanced by my wonderful friends, is for me, the pinnacle of human life. 


And life, on this gorgeous spring day, is bursting with beauty. I'm sad about death and destruction and disability and disaster, but we need those to balance the beauty. We suffer those to feel the fathomless force of life. 


Thank you, Mom, for the gift of my life. A day and a card and a phone call can't do justice to all that you have given me so selflessly for so long. 


I'm going to sit in the sun today and look at the glory of a clean glass of water sending sunlight to the tops of the quince branches. I'm going to transplant my little tomato seedlings grown from the best of last year's Rife's Red Hearts saved from the year before. 


I'm so lucky to be here. By next month I will be back on my bike and back to what seems normal in my world. It will feel good. That's a glimmer of what feels good. 

Life's a mystery and a joy. May all beings be well. Thank you so much, universe that I see and can't see. Let my eyes open further to joy and sunlight and Life.


And thank you to all women, who carry life around like it was just an ordinary burden. Just a task on a list of tasks. Just a moment in an ordinary day. Which it is, as it is all we know.