House of Vintage Rocks!

Rainy, chilly weekend. October arrived early and started sulking immediately.

*sigh*

I went down to House of Vintage right after it opened to see how my big weekend discount sale was going, and to make the Big Decision---close it or stay open and hang tough.

Number crunching until my teeth hurt, I knew it was bad business to pull out right before the pre-holiday sales ramping started, but I thought about just cashing it out and starting something new, paying the bills and relegating the booth to the summer period.

You know what's next: Get a real job. But I have to say, I spent three hours there, going through each booth, checking out the new vendors, new merchandise at the usual vendors, seeing the shoppers and post-hangover-breakfasters moseying, buying, and marveling at the place, then going to get more coffee then coming back to look some more. And the big TA-DAH moment descended upon my shoulders---I need to stay here. This will continue to pay off more and more and supplement whatever other income I manage to free-lance upon, and be an outlet for me to sell what I make and/or accumulate for re-sale. And it leaves me free enough to do something like a (gulp) job and it upholds a huge slice of my personal values of artsy-crafting, and reduce/reuse/recycle/repurpose/resell. This was a big TA-DAH I'm talking about here.
And I found a $3 oil-cloth bag from Harrods Knightsbridge in perfect condition, perfect waterproof satchel for the next two seasons. So happy.

Dear NYT updated update

Another full disclosure---

I just received a call from the New York Times, Dining section. They want to print my letter, possibly next Wednesday or the Wednesday after.

"It was a bit long," she said diplomatically, "if we edit for style and punctuation--"

"YES! I knew it was a tad long."

"A little, but if you're okay with--"

"Yes, sure, absolutely."

I raced to call my best pal in Denver. "OMG, OMG, OMG!" She's a writer and totally got it. Like when I chatted up Robert Plant, like when she snuggled Sting, we raced to call each other, shrieking like junior high girls. Instantaneous understanding.

Now all I want to do today is write. The genie (or yeti) is out of the bottle (or ice cave). I'll try hard to not be insufferable.

Dear NYT, update

This morning, the story on Portland's Dining and Drinking and cheapness is still the number two most emailed story at the New York Times, after spending all day Wednesday and Thursday being number one.

Maybe because so many people west of New York only subscribe online and are interested in nearby Portland?

Or should we be preparing for the alien take-over?

(I keed, I keed, is joke)

One of my friends told me that I should be looking forward to the rise in wages the New Yorkers would bring, and I told him to calm down and get ready to wear an apron and a name tag. I think we're still friends, but it took me a while to get out of the composter he stuffed me into.

Honestly, all keeding aside, it makes me happy that Portland is seen for how amazing it is, and that we aren't dismissed as some sort of marijuana plantation clearing house. Our historic legacy and unique climate being a magnet is only enhanced by the continuously evolving art, music and literary cultures, and now the food and drink. More than Stumptown Coffee and Voodoo Donuts? Sure, why not get all of it out in the open to be enjoyed, and the local business owners keeping the dollars in the neighborhood?

There might be a blip of culture homesteaders who cash out and migrate here from The City, but we're still too far out here for there to be a huge wave like there was to Southern California, because our weather isn't as seductive, we're still too far from Japan, and even further from Europe than the East Coast. We're liberal, but isolated in the conservative zone. Might as well just go to San Francisco, where prices are more like New York and half of the old college pals are there and looking to sell, skip down to LA all the time, more familiar territory.

Just as truckers hats and flannel were a fad and are now so passe back east, I think the folks on the west coast predictably like having some rougher edges and aren't so easy going that they're all willing to become a servant class to new residents expecting submissive and impeccable service. We don't all need to be famous and we're not all eager to please and live for a big tip and a pat on the head. Have you noticed how many east coast men are over-grooming their eyebrows? What's with that? I don't think that many guys are working at drag clubs at night, I really don't. It's all cool, whatever, but again, a coastal difference. We're still goatee-ing it and no-make-up-ing it out here, because we seem to like to please ourselves first. Very cool with me. That's why I'm here.

Dear New York Times

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/26/Portland-Golden Age of Dining and Drinking

Dear Eric Asimov,

We love that you love our city and our amazing restaurants. It's been curious this past year to see the number of articles in your paper on Portland, and satisfying to read that most of them are favorable, and for the most part accurately describe how great it is to live here. But there is one facet of your glowing article and of the other coverage that I need to bring into sharper focus: Real estate is not "cheap" for those of us who live here and are offering the "regional" level of service in these restaurants, working behind the scenes at these farms, in these kitchens, and are the support staff for these rich and successful recent entrepreneurial imports with the European and East Coast pedigree. As delightful as it may seem to see what an "average" home or commercial property sells for here, I need to remind you that the wage compensation matches the market, and no prep cook in Northeast Portland is making what a prep cook in the East Village is making. It takes a two-income couple to buy one of these "cheap" properties here because each of the two incomes is "regional", just as the New York wage and real estate levels are "regional" to New York. And in making a full disclosure, I moved here from South Florida seven years ago and have yet to be able to afford to buy one of these "cheap" Portland properties on my own. So I encourage you to continue visiting and enjoying your time here without sales tax and with "cheap, regional" wining and dining, but don't follow the traffic pattern of all the Californians who have bought here and commute to Los Angeles and San Francisco Monday through Thursday, and are rapidly changing the flow of life here and pricing out the current residents. Who will work for you? Who will teach your kids in school, pull your shots of espresso, and wash the pots of those amazing restaurants? Will we now be earning New York wages, too? See you at Pok-Pok!

Laura (etc etc)

I just sent this to the editor. The article in this morning's paper is splendid. Photographs and a glowing mention of Pok Pok, but it sent shivers up my spine. My love for this city is fierce, and I don't want to feel forced out because I can't buy a half-million dollar bungalow as a single woman.

Am I over-reacting? Not enough coffee yet this morning?

I don't think so. Linsey and I were both struck by how many reviews and travel pieces have been featured in the Times in the last year or so, almost as if some wise-ass PSU alum went to make fame and fortune in The City and writes these bits as homesick treatment. Or their sister and brother-in-law just relocated here and they visit them just a bit too much because it's all so cheap. Because it's obvious they don't actually work or know someone who works here. Their sib & hub are maybe still living off that real estate killing they made on that 500 sq ft apartment they sold in the East Village.

"I smell bitter here" says the virtual Linsey voice in my head.

Okay, right on target, so what? I want to stay, is that so wrong? And I love New York, read the Times each and every day, continue an affair with the Old City for over 30 years, have all Jack Finney's books in hard cover, New York 1880 is like a bible to me. An old map of lower Manhattan is on the wall in the hall.

Just don't ruin this place, is what I'm thinking. Visit and go home with 5 extra pounds, a tired liver and a stack of receipts. See ya next year. Look what a mess a bunch of youse guys made of Florida---isn't that enough?

Last Chance, Sundance

*sigh*


Such high hopes for harvest, such dwindling results, and I'm talking tomatoes now.

Seven plants.

Planted the end of April, that caught all those sunny and hot May days, tenderly staked & watered.

I was planning on washtubs of salsa, pasta sauce, mountains of BLTs, maybe even a little table with a sign, "Heirloom Slicers, $2.00 a bag".

Maybe next year.

I'm taking the AC unit out of the window today, putting the box fans into the crawl space along with the AC, and switching out the duvet cover to the one that's already faded on one side from the reappearing southern sun in the bedroom windows. Moving the feline Lido Sun Deck of their permanent life-time cruise closer to the heater, and folding all the sleeveless shirts and assigning them to the back of the closet. Sweater Sniff-Test 101: Hint of Tresor perfume? Not cleaned since being laid off. Mrs. Meyers' Lemon Verbena and woolly? Recently handwashed, okay to hang in the closet. Where's my leather jacket now? How did I accumulate all these scarves? And how come it still isn't enough? Time to start another pair of fingerless gloves in some of that new Noro yarn? (calm down)

Summer's over in more ways than one. I am excited to be going into Fall (or Q3 & Q4 as we used to say) without thinking of it as The Holiday Build. I am hoping to perhaps enjoy this strange winter time habit of gift-giving and over eating that you earthlings call The Holidays.
I found my large gift bag of Christmas CDs that I took to the store every year, right on the floor in the living room closet where I heaved it in January, and I didn't even cringe. That's progress!

Sunwise, we're where we were in March, Equinox time, and continually working our way back again to December and Winter Solstice. This is how we Porch Worshippers calculate time, where is the Sun and when? Imagine trying to ripen tomatoes outside in the sun in March. You see why I despair. Thanks to my friendly neighbor Kathy, the solar domes are working their magic on the partly sunny and overcast days, but when it's full-on sunshine, I run out there and pull them off, do my Ripening Ritual Dance, then run inside before the police arrive.

This past spring, as the sun strengthened and the days lengthened, I felt less and less like working and more and more into seeking---answers, alternatives, peace of mind, perspectives, my current state of being. Autumn brings me back into wanting to get busy, languid is over, my mind sharpens, my hands are restless, I need a brisk walk, the day needs to be scheduled and the To Do List is no longer the TA-DA List, because now it's detailed and lengthly. It sounds almost like Boss Lady is back, and that may be so, in such a way that I am roping my own stray cattle in, that roamed all summer in the tall grass. Those green tomatoes are in for some serious discipline in their ripening attitude.

File Under Too Cute

Halloween must be on the way, and the ever so helpful folks at Amazon presented me with these little costume suggestions for the dog in my life when I was looking up a book title the other day.

I guess it goes without saying that I'm having a dog issue right now.

Cats won't wear costumes. Not that I've tried. Really. Other than that one time with the sleeve I was knitting for a sweater and for fun I tried to slip it over the head of Neek when he was a kitten.

The skin grafts took rather well, I think.

Rated R for Ranting

I've been on the verge of writing this topic for months, but tonight I've just had enough.

Love love love the Science Channel, National Geographic Channel, History Channel, Discovery Channel---but.

I am completely fed up with the hundreds of commercials I've tried to ignore for pharmaceuticals for this E.D. thing. Along with Flo-Max. And the cheesy music, raised eyebrow, and everything but the Mel Brooksian freight train through the tunnel. There's even a Korean Airlines one with the guy popping the champagne bottle at crotch level. And here all this time I thought guys were watching TV with just the remote in their hand.

What are the kids thinking who are watching these shows for science classes? Pre-teen boys and girls need to see this? Over and over and over, these geezers chasing their wives around the vineyard/driveway/golf course with a hard-on? "Grandpa, what's E.D.? Do you have it?"
"Grandma, what's E.D.? Grandpa said to ask you."

"Erekile Disgustion? Will you die?"

And then they hear the truth.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW, that is so gross, ohmigod grandma, stop, I don't wanna know anymore, I'm tellin' mom you said that to me, gross!" And they look at Grandpa with that stinky face look for a long time, for years. When Grandpa tells them that their daddy has it too, they run away from home or tell the pastor their family are perverted Satanists. Here comes Family Services...

My theory is that these guys are suffering from Remotus Televisionitis Crotch Atrophy. They never have to get up once enthroned with the remote, and those groups of erector muscles just start to die. Hours and hours and whole weekends spent reclining slack and immobile, ingesting trans-fats and growing breasts. What do they expect?

E.D. How about Energy Dysfunction?

Carried away, as usual, but I'm really annoyed by these ads interrupting my richly enjoyable science shows on string theory, M theory, 86-ing Pluto and the secret life of Stephen Hawking.
Is it the rockets blasting, booster rockets with Viagra sponsorship like NASCAR? Einstein got along fine without it, read any of the latest of the racy biographies published in the last three years. The man with two brains....very sexy. Chicks dig Einstein, look at those soft dark eyes...

Anyway, I certainly am not wanting anything like a blitz for pregnancy tests, vacuum cleaners, or laundry detergent, things that advertisers seem to think only women make use of. How about----computers? Industrial technology? Banking or investments? Cars, beverages, eyeglasses? Real estate companies?

There is that hilarious one I see sometimes on the Comedy Network, for Encite, the mod 1960s spoof of "male enhancement" where 'Bob' and his lovely and happy wife are poolside by the springy diving board, have frozen smiles and all their friends are droopy and sad-looking. We can keep those, and the construction worker one with all the industrial pipes being hauled up by cranes and installed with 'Bob' smiling as usual. I laugh every time.

Malaised and Confused

My astrologer said this would happen.

Sometime in September, some aspect of my future working life would resolve and become clear, and I would have a genuine "A-HA!" moment, and not to sweat it in the interim, allowing myself to get antsy and a tad worried and fret.

Last night was a fret night. Yesterday was an antsy day. So I was thrilled to get an email that a hold was waiting for me at the library, because it was a copy of "Starting Your Small Business in Oregon" newest edition with CD of extras, and I would have something solid in my hands to dive into and feed the antsy beast. Forms, charts, checklists, sample conversations, info on lawyers and accountants and taxes. Ahhh, so much better. When in doubt, educate. Works every time. As does the music I checked out at the same time as the book, Chopin's Nocturnes 2CD set, Blues in the Desert, Bollywood classic soundtracks, and the big Crosby Stills & Nash boxed set with unreleased material, cuts I haven't heard 100s of times yet, soul food.

There's the Groovy Rhubarb booth. We're just coming out of the slow time of year and going into the busier time of year, so there's going to be more income there than before. My on-line store is always expandable, as I make more and post it, there's more to sell, simple equation. And no monthly rent to pay them.

So I dove into the "craft thing" this year, one of my goals since being laid off. Cool. Nice job! And I've been writing, here and on other ideas, and that was another huge goal. That's working---great! I enjoyed the spring and summer in the garden, working on growing and eating things that grow, another huge fantasy that is now my everyday life. Again, great job! So so happy about these things, and no regrets about any of it. So...anything I haven't done yet that I was carrying around all that time as a Borders wage slave as a dream in my heart? Other than that Johnny Depp thing?

Uh, ye-s-s, and I'm almost ashamed to bring it to light. Because there's no good reason to not do it, other than my own stupidness and shyness, and inner critic hang-ups.

Somehow, I made along the way some idiotic bargain with myself that I couldn't let myself dive back into painting again until I got all and everything else organized and taken care of and out of the way. Only then, could I reasonably paint again. Until the studio was perfect, the apartment all re-organized, the craft thing paying well, the writing flowing thick and fast again, only then is it okay to lay out the brushes and pore over the sketchbook for the right project to start. To activate yet another yearning to bring forward to the light, somehow I must earn it by being some sort of Cinderella of Tasks, then I can go to the Ball and be seen and real.

"Hello, Therapist-o-Rama, can I make a virtual appointment to discuss---"

"Press 1 for Freudian, press 2 for Jungian, press 3 for Buddhist, press 4 for Kabbalist, press 5 for Wakantakan, press 6 for Nietszche Nihilism, press 7 for Gender Issues, press 8 for New Age or Wiccan, press 9 for Come to Jesus, star for Alien Abduction, and the pound key for weight issues, 0 to repeat the menu."

So, I called the astrologer instead, a few months ago, and she gave me the heads-up about the mid-September malaise and uncertainty. So here we are. Malaise-ing and uncertain.

What a perfect time to bring out the canvas, I thought. I've been fighting with it all summer, all spring, too, when I said I needed to wait until Betty came and went for the best time. Then there appeared other reasons, good reasons, reasonable reasons, so I fought it some more. Make more pillows to sell, take down more LPs and books, clear out the studio, re-do the bedroom, iron all the new fabric, read the new book, do the dishes, weed the garden, vacuum, water the plants, take VHS tapes and CDs to the booth...I always lost the fight with painting. This weekend I have a project to finish, sweaters to take to the booth, more dishes to do.
I need to face it, that there are always going to be reasons to not-paint. But the fight is making me crazy.
So then my back acts up, I get that midday headache, by evening I'm restless, antsy and starting to fret.

We know what this is. The thing we are not letting ourselves do. Biting away our peace of mind and good intentions. So you can't really do anything else fully, either.

Time to walk around the block, get the mail, and watch the squirrels bury walnuts for a while. The referee just called for a Time-Out.

Beer With Bookseller Chick

Finally, a chance to get caught up with the most famous Portland blogger and also my pal and former assistant manager Linsey. Her celebrity status making even brief tete-a-tetes difficult to manage, and getting through her entourage with a message being almost impossible, it was a delight to be IM'd by L.J. Schmidt herself yesterday morning. You may also know her from her brilliant contribution to the 2007 Writers' Handbook, chumming with Erica Jong, Neil Gaiman, et al. Being so genuinely happy for her keeps me from wanting to pull her hair and teeth out with jealousy. (Jealous writers, a lethal gang indeed!)

Bringing some humble home-grown tomatoes as a feeble tribute, I spied her tall and willowy self on her way to the Bagdad and we grabbed a table on the sidewalk and proceeded to drink beer. This now being late afternoon, I should add. No bodyguards, no entourage, just we two and keepin' it real talk about life, the universe, and employment status, books, and how life is better after 25. I let her go on at length about that, agreeing with her but not wanting to be a wet blanket about the crowding 50 part of this new wisdom she's gained. There's wisdom in Hefeweisen, too, and you can get wiser and still drive home in a couple hours.

We picked the Bagdad because we are both doggie-watchers, and there's so many cute dogs walking down Hawthorne on nice sunny days, and we are both dog-less. *sigh* When she isn't doing a Houdini to get out of her bra while stuck in traffic, or shooting blue comicbook covers with friends from Darkhorse, my friend is looking for some post-retail gainful employment in the publishing industry, preferably here on the West Coast. We both had to laugh about how picky we've become after having some time off, "No nights, no weekends, no holidays, no cold-calling, no commute," and realized this will probably mean inventing some kind of work situation and maybe a limited part-time thing for moms with kids in school.

"Another round, please" as our illustrated waiter-man swept by, a DEVO shirt and faux-hawk de rigeur. He was nice and patient with our three hour squat. The woman behind us with bright cherry hair was flirting with him, and two amazingly clean and ruggedly-handsome men in their 30s sat down together, but my gay-dar wasn't working. They looked and smelled good, so I guess it didn't matter, really. We were there for the parade.

Again, Linsey and I decided we should start a business together, but with no capital and lots of ideas, it's a tad early to draw up a business plan. She doesn't want to return to modeling, and I don't want to be a boss lady anymore. I am not a Border Collie type now. We both hope that the writing thing will come through somehow, as Julia and Natalie say, "Keep writing, no matter what, keep writing!" so we both do. That thing about the money...it may be temping in our futures, a nice office-y thing for a few months at a time that we leave behind at 5:30 so we can go home and hermit ourselves with everything else we need to do that actually feeds our souls.

For me, for now, that's okay, I did a stint with The Corporate Thing already, but Linsey is early on her ascent arc and the heavens are before her. The COOL and BIG job is ahead of her, so I'm going to dust off the reference letters template I drafted earlier this spring for her, and find that logo stationery I stashed somewhere in February.

Good thing I left my entourage at home, so that none of them could see my softer side and use it against me later; projecting all this ruthless talent is hard work.

Fast Forward 20 Years

This week I met the woman I want to be in 20 years.

I acted casual, easy-going, all that laid-back stuff I do so well. But my brain was spinning like a cold fusion cube, and the high ceilings with ochre paint treatments, oil paintings, narrow french doors and old-growth timber floors were wavering and rippling around me. Had to plotz for a sec.

Old historic spaces do this to me frequently, but then also meeting this kindly multi-talented woman who owns this oasis just shot me into the Never-Never Land of Potential Future Lives.

What in the world do I do now? and a little voice said, "just what you are doing already, dear"

A few posts back, I was winge-ing on about a former employee, not calling her back, etc. Bad me. So I finally emailed her, telling her how busy I am in my new careers, starting a new project, happy happy happy, gotta go. Not only did she call about the old days in our store, she was calling because she is going to be running a seasonal kiosk for our old employer this fall and winter in our old mall storefront, and she's looking for former co-workers to work for her. I may screen all my calls until February. Talk about going backwards...

Not interested. Not even a smidge. Work for her for $8 an hour. Not happening.

That would be re-wind 10 years.

Fired off a fast email to my pal and former asst. mgr. Linsey, "Heads UP!" and all that, and reminded her she would still make more using up the rest of her unemployment than going back to that situation. "No worries!" she said, "I wished her luck and told her I might be by to get a 2008 calendar."

So the take-away here is that once you've done all the mental earth-moving to step forward into your new life, going backwards just isn't an option. Because then you are being buried alive. And I don't think that's too bleak an assessment, because of all the people I've worked with and known well who felt squeezed and took the familiar step back, and then within a week, knew it was wrong, and were kicking themselves hard to numb the regret.
Keep growing, keep moving, forge ahead, stretch out, learn a new skill, surprise yourself with another thing you do well. You'll meet new people who will enrich your life, and being bored or tolerating hours of crazy-making drama will fade and be forgotten. Get outside and enjoy this wonderful gentle late summertime to re-charge, and dive back into your new stream.

Sorry for the interruption...

Let me introduce you to my little friends...

l to r we have Senorita Zapotec, behind her a stripy black Brandywine, assorted Sungolds and Sugar Babys, and two Black Princes.

Plus I've been making a large dent in a fragrant pile of bark mulch, that only caught fire one time last week, as I'm happy to join any landscaping party that involves frozen strawberry daiquiris and rum raisin ice cream as a parting gift. Bring on another pile!
As we Portlanders know, we are about reaching the tail end of our splendid summer, and I have been spending every possible moment outside with the sunshine. So bring out some pillows to blind-stitch, buttons to card, the lap-top to write, weed some more and water the herbs, deadhead the roses, ride my bike to the library, read craigslist on the porch---tick tick tick as the sun heads south and sinks earlier behind the houses across the street. We put hoodies on by 6:30 lately, and that used to be the intense solar bake time. Next year again, I console myself.

I am so happy to declare that all my pillows sold out at Groovy Rhubarb, so the crush is on to crank out some more, as well as do some research for some friends who are interested in maybe starting up a book-type store that serves coffee. As a joke I told customers in January that after being laid off by Borders, I was going to open a consulting business. No joke after all. It's an exciting project for me, and makes the multi-stream new career that much more interesting.
Between the photography and the writing, research and selling, manufacturing and gardening, I am almost there. With heirloom tomatoes everyday! Other than my pal Linsey, I don't miss the old retail grind at all. I still get a little managerial when I go to Powells and see the can't-pretend-to-care service, and am disappointed these folks aren't a little more happy to be playing with books all day, but I'm getting better. I'm not buying books there, I'm selling, by the way. Plus, they sell CRAFTzine, okay?