Memoirs of a Slacker

A strange kind of weekend off, for a student person. The big lead-up to my Friday morning exam was all consuming this past week, cramming, making study-guide outlines, craving that "A". By 11:10am Friday, I was free, and felt just like I did after driving away from Pioneer Place Mall for the last time with my car loaded and no 'God' key on my keyring anymore, just over a year ago.

The sun was even out, it was about 50 degrees, and I had nothing pressing at all. My term paper wasn't due for two weeks yet. I stopped by FedExKinkos and got the artwork for it printed in color from my flash drive, and it wasn't even noon yet. what to do, what to do, what to do?

Caught the bus home, bought some beer, walked Miss Daisy Bassett, and basically goofed off.
It is a weird feeling, to be a "grown-up" and know in your head what you should be doing, or could be doing, and still just slack like you were born to be one, because nothing is a crisis right at the moment. I like this.

So, being the adult, I am spending a part of this afternoon being responsible, doing laundry, reading over my art history research notes for that paper, running over to New Seasons for a couple of things, but I may just be getting better at time management after all. Or getting better at power-slacking; like power-napping, in the right amount at the right time, I feel like I'm getting away with something. Or taking art classes, leaving the library with a $200 book on the history of still-lifes, and it was okay to do that, too.

It all sounds so silly, I know, but I just thought all of this was going to be so much harder than it is, and I had that idea since I began thinking about going back to school in 1986, 5 years after I had had to quit. The cost, the job-juggling, the shitty local Florida college, the re-locating to one I would want to attend, the relationship, the commute, the age difference, the unmet expectations, the Magic Golden Perfect Job at the end of the stage when I got my diploma, the debt to repay, yadda yadda yadda. It was all too much. Abandon ship! Just get a job and work your way to some mid-level with some insurance and make Life be about something else. Don't listen to that little voice going on and on about dreams and being real, get real about paying the bills instead.

Also, now is just the right time, it came together without the moving of Heaven and Earth effort it would have required before. There was some noticeable remorse when I was sitting in that room of my peers at the Anthropology Dept. lecture a few weeks ago---they have their Masters and PhDs already, shit, I'm still just an undergrad---and it did feel crappy. It really did.
But I realized I'm not interested in excavating all my regrets and reasons, it would take a long time and just make me feel worse, so don't do it. Keep moving--- advice I gave friends and employees for tough times, just keep going forward. Take naps---my other bit of advice. Put on some great music and something will surface. Lay in some snack-age, frosty bevs, and chill. Take a long brisk walk, come home to a hot shower, then snooze for 20 minutes. Then---get back to your task. Or not. slacker

The Tao of Pho

Everyone's been asking me how it's going, the school thing. And laugh at how I smile like a kid on Christmas morning. It's true, that's how the school thing is going for me, better than whatever Mary Poppins magic Santa ever left under the tree for me. I was always one of those kids who loved school, played school during the summer (when I wasn't reading under a tree) and thought August was truly the cruelest month.

It reminds me of that phase of infatuation when you don't need to eat, sleep, rest or think, the rosy sparkle cloud just carries you along effortlessly, buoyed by love and seeing the perfection of the Universe in everything.

That's how my first week of school has been. Sometimes the sparkle cloud is sky blue.

This morning I finally purchased my biological anthropology textbooks that came in last night, so we get a chance to catch up on all the reading before class on Tuesday. My first History of Prehistoric and Ancient Art class was divine yesterday, I barely got into it, thankfully a few people dropped it between Tuesday and Thursday. So for a few weeks I will be traveling in Deep Time and early history in all my classes, and reading for real what I've been gleaning from popular culture and cable TV for years. Like the 'Hobbitt' skeleton found in Sumatra that is in the center of controversy in paleo-anthropology right now; is it a new subspecies, or a child with encephalitic disease? This was on the National Geographic channel the past few months, and is showing up in my class, too. So so cool.

I'm finding out the category of anthropology I've always been the most interested in, it's called Post-processural Anthropology, uncovering the whys and hows of cultural history, and opening up the perspective to other viewpoints other than Euro-centric, Judeo-Christian, white male based. There. So now I know what it's called. (so happy)

Sipping chrysanthemum white tea and listening to classical 89.9, I find myself in a beautiful and unexpected place. There is a wonderful Vietnamese Pho restaurant near the campus that I stopped at on the way home for some lunch and chance to see the student flurry go by outside the wrap-around windows of the corner location. There are these occasions where I like to just observe and witness the whole picture and experience, to make it real each time while still marveling that it's happening. The restaurant was very busy at 12:30, and there were 5 or 6 women my age doing the 'table for one' thing, so I ordered a beer and the Bun Ga (chicken with vermicelli and the cilantro-mint-sprout-cucumber-carrot melange and sweet vinegar-chili sauce) and just relaxed. What a week! What a great beginning! Such a happy kid again. What a strange trip the past 12 months have been, and I could not have foreseen being here, now, doing this, from where I had been last January 11th, closing stores, ending so completely that 10-year phase of my life. It was a vast void of misty uncertainty to me then, what would start February 1st 2007. I like fog, I'm comfortable in it, can maneuver fairly well, and wound up here doing what has always been my greatest wish---going to school. Finishing school. Learning for real. And today the sparkle cloud is sunny yellow and gold, warm all around me, and stretching ahead as far as I can see.

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.

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?

What's the Password?

The phone rings, and I'm the type who thinks, 'Hmm, is there anyone I want to speak to today? No, not really,' and listen for the machine to kick on. Sorry friends of mine, but you know I'm like this and you still love me. If there were a finger of the Pacific Ocean that reached all the way into the coastline to an isolated outcropping of land, upon which clung a driftwood cottage, that would be me, Hermit Crab Woman. The sign on my front door says "Go Away!" so don't take it personally. Just because I have a phone, doesn't mean it gets to interrupt me. I even go so far as to find a great, hefty black 1940s model, my own piece of film noir, to trick myself into wanting to answer it. Funny, but the ringer doesn't work except at night between 10:30 and 11:30, when it chirps twice, but no one is there. This is a true story, and I don't want to solve the mystery.

Someone I used to work with in the bookstore keeps calling me. And I don't call her back. This sounds bad, I know.

Why not? you ask.

Lets be honest. I don't feel nostalgic for the bookstore. I don't miss everyone I worked with. I don't want to rehash all the last days of closing it down, and where is so-and-so now? Some of us have moved on, most of us, actually. But she hasn't. I'm not her boss anymore, she's not looking for a reference from me, either. She wants to dish, and remind me what she used to do for me this time of year, and how amazing and helpful she was, and how much she misses it and the gang, and weren't those the good old days, etc. She was one of the most high-maintenance employees I've had in years, and I don't feel obligated anymore to hold her hand and play nice because it's my job.
Three times she's called me, and I don't call back. I don't even want to put my mind into the space it would have to be in to have this conversation with her, even for 20 minutes. If she worked during one of my days off, she would call and leave long snarky messages just to bug me and try to make me call the store. The time is long past where I am obligated to call her back. Move on already, please!

So I'm a jerk. Delete. Lower the volume on the machine so I can't hear it from the other side of the house. Get on with my projects. Turn up the music. Decide to finally cancel the land line. I'm such a crab.

Cha-ching!

I'm so happy, all cashed in and no one around to celebrate with.
Linsey is driving to Denver.
Jolie is in FLA.
Steven is driving to the Coast for work.
Betty is in FLA.
Peg is at work.
Kathy is on Whidbey Island.
Can I bug Harvey? No--too many service vans in front of his house installing stuff. I need some more friends. Okay, so back to work it is then.

Edina left me a note, congrats that my first month was good, it's only the beginning! Now I see why people sell furniture there, more bang for the buck. Gotta get on that this month. Also raise my prices, because after surveying the other booths, my merchandise is on the lower end. Plastic is good over $10 purchases, so round it up when in doubt. I'm so excited!

Since it isn't reaching 100 degrees this week like it was predicted, I can actually get some things done in the house, like almost completely setting up my home office yesterday. Everything except moving the computer, so that will be today. I also found out that Southeast is fully out of reasonably priced tomato cages, so we'll have the Martha-esque look after all, wonderful slender bamboo stakes and sisal tastefully tied off, to bear the precious burden of the heirloom Zapotecs, Black Prince, and Black Brandywines in my future. In the Race to the Fruit, the four cherry tomatoes are surpassing the three slicer plants significantly, so it's time to work some Green Magic out there. A wind chime, some crystal pendants, Baroque music in the morning. I've been dreaming of a tomato surplus for years, and I want it to happen this summer, I can sell them on Saturday and Sundays at Groovy Rhubarb. Think of the lycopenes...

One of my former colleagues emailed me yesterday to catch up and say "Hi", and told me a bit about the old sales team, who's ahead so far, summer sales blockbuster preparations, the politics of old. It all seemed so far away. Has it been six months since Christmas already? Six months since we began shutting down our two stores in the midst of holiday insanity crowds and life uncertainty? Six months since I felt a tad panicked about not being a store manager for Large Chain Bookstore after over ten years, who am I now? Knowing I had a lot of time to figure it out and not to panic?
Yep. My separation process is just about complete, I've made great progress in finding out who I am after all these years in the machine. I didn't melt, fall apart, run sobbing to beg for my old job back, or walk around twirling my hair and 'saving' people in shopping malls. Life has been good, and I truly believe will continue to be. Money details are in process of being worked out, and the whole "status" of my "career" has been abandoned for the much more worthwhile purpose and over-all quality of life exploration. Not to veer into being maudlin, but it's been a meaningful six months. I miss playing with cool new books, trading one-liners with Linsey and the crew, and the money was okay. At the end of the day, it wasn't my store. But Groovy Rhubarb is, and the sketchbook is full of ideas for new money-generating items to spread into the world for some cash, and the beginning is in the black. I'm in total Groovy Gratitude.

Boundless Enthusiasm

The 'take-away' from the weekend was that I am only going to maintain connections with people who see the higher possibilities---for themselves, for me, for the world, for Portland, for creative people everywhere. Call me a snob, but...part of this whole lay-off experience is to upgrade, right? For all of us? There's just SO MUCH out there.

Okay, the sun was out today again. I become Glenda the Good Witch on days like these, besides the great feeling I got getting the murky basement cleared out. The nice boys from 1-800-got-junk came by and removed all the musty piles in the front yard, and I got to go get a beer and enjoy the remainder of the afternoon. Much happiness. I just thought I should capitalize on the head of steam I was still riding after we closed two stores in 30 days, clearing out neglected areas of my non-work life. Imagine. Boxes of books I had always planned on selling to Powells instead had morphed into future back pain lying in wait in my basement. Let the boys take them to the truck. They picked through them a bit, that was fun to watch. The drawing table from Ft. Lauderdale days went to the curb, too, now replaced by the solid oak display table from the store. My new command center. The yard sale leftovers went, the old futon, flooded basement stuff, and even more evidence of my years in Florida. Soon there won't be much of that left, either. Amazing.

Too bad the got-junk boys don't do dishes, that would really help me out today.

Over the weekend, I finally got to Voodoo Donut, and had a wonderful, compact and powerful Devil's Food donut. My next excursion in the sweets category is to visit Saint Cupcake, hopefully with a friend, and get frosting-faced at this whimsical emporium. Hope they sell great coffee. What's the next baked-good fad? Brownies? Muffins, again? Pie? Sticky buns? Artisan crackers? How about KNISHES? Girl could use a great spinach knish. Or a mushroom kasha.

I have eased a bit into this relaxing-thing. Still focused, still have a list of to-dos, still thinking of checking out that Martha Stewart Housekeeping book at the library, but---my plans have diffused into roping friends into a piss-up sometime this week, catching up on Mythbusters, and putting a few more inches onto the sweater I'm in the midst of. I'll do the resume-building next week, at my new command center. I don't want to run out of things to do too soon.

"We're Closing Because----" du Jour

It began harmlessly enough, some eye rolls, sighs, exasperated sidelong glances, tight-lipped "have a great day"s...I can't even remember the exact comment that sent me off into raucous hysteria, but none of us could hide that this question was getting too tedious; because the only real reason is because this person and 10,000 other maniacs didn't buy enough items in our store. There's the discount warehouses, suburban big boxes, 60" plasma orgasm fund-sucker factor, on-line buying, construction junction, grocery check-out line co-options, lots and lots of money mouths to feed, okay. 'Nuff said, we're closing. No one has jobs lined up, and it so sucks. Perhaps a concerned comment, thank you, we'll miss you, too. But when someone asks merely to let you know how much this inconveniences them to walk one block to another store to purchase the same two $1.99 & $3.49 magazines...this started the descent into madness and delirium.

I stood at the computer and began 99 pt typing "We're closing because--" and a customer receiving her change back said "Wow, I've never seen Iowa" upon spying an Iowa state quarter. I typed "--I've never seen Iowa" and that was the first sign. I did not stop laughing for at least an hour. It got progressively worse. "We're closing because my millionaire boyfriend insists" was next, "We won Powerball and you didn't", "the book deal came through", I've been appointed Minister of Culture of the Czech Republic," "our mission on this planet is complete", "it's time to make the donuts," "your mom needs me bad" (no, not that one) "American Idol's auditioning" and you got the idea. Hi-larious, over the top, snarky and for once, very real. As in, the souls behind the name-tags.

Most people laughed. An actual couple from Iowa thought it was bizarre. Most people got the gist, another store a block away, ha ha, but we liked your place better. The next question of "What's going in here then?" is the one I want to do next, but I think I'm feeling bitter and will be the only person to get the joke. "Watch for 'Big Bubba Hubba's Tattoo Removal and Face Tightening' by Feb 15!" Or the "Ganesh Love Handle Candle & Pawn". Landlord would love those ideas.

Sometimes you just need to laugh, and bring a lot of people with you. Try to keep up.

Tomorrow is our actual last day with customers. Then the sparkling carriage turns into a humble punkin again, and Saturday morning dawns haggard on instantly worthless products, mountains of packing, sorting, and ruthlessly dumpstering. It all reminds me of the bleakest Ebenezer Scrooge of all, Alastir Sim in a B&W post-war London film studio's Victorian sets, with the ragpickers, scullery maids and undertakers bickering over Scrooge's linens, bed curtains, and measly effects. I love that film, it's so real, and always converts me from my Scroogeyness. I feel gratitude, and quit being a crab-ass, and feel gently blessed.

This term of service with this company has been a ride that has provided me with a lifetime of material, for which I am , if not grateful, at least thrilled to escape with. We will put on some Led Zeppelin, inappropriate t-shirts, eat pizza and drink way too much Coke, pack up the detritus and redundancy, and hit the street full of party plans. Try to keep up.

Severance Ordeal part 1

I've been glib all day. Sassy, fun, excited at a day away from the closing business, enjoying a sun-drenched 30-degree winter's day, taking pictures, thinking this relaxed morning is a glimpse of my impending future.
After getting the mail, I sobered up real fast. The official "Severance Package" arrived, thanking me for my (4 of 10) years with the hang-dog division, never mentioning my 6 years with the winning dog division, and thoughtfully enclosing a 7 page document on how to conduct myself during the job interview process. I was a @#%*-ing Human Resources Manager for krist's sake, give me a break from the lowest common denominator bullshit for a minute. The COBRA is highway robbery (basically you are paying how much a month it would actually cost you if you got sick) and there was nothing indicating my amount of payout or how soon that package would arrive, let alone how long that form would take to "process".

Ohhhh, I feel the Big Bitter coming on. Good thing the sun is courageously blasting my winter world into golden wonder this afternoon, or I might have needed to reach for some strong medicine, like Swiss Vanilla Almond, abandoned Internet shopping, cheap frozen tequila drinks & ruthless sex, ear-splitting Led Zeppelin, or (gulp) the dreaded jalapeno Tim's Potato Chips. Over-doing something is called for, but I don't wanna get hurt today. It's too nice out.

I went in this morning on my day off to take some pictures for the removal company, & I saw two of the parcel drivers I've gotten to know over the past four years, and took a few shots of them with the big trucks. I cannot stress how integral it is to a business to have good drivers and good relationships with these hard-schlepping folks. I'm going to miss these guys so much, a piece of each day is extracted along with my employment status. I wonder about their new dogs, the high school daughter's college search, the new media room addition on the old house, the progress of the day-trading. They don't know quite what to say either. We both feel sad and yet a bit silly that we do. I guess they like me, too.

The fragile light this morning through the matchstick blinds seemed like fog at first, that amazing frozen fog hovering over the Willamette Valley, stinging lilac apprehension, fantasy sky we've had so often lately. When you awake, is it 5:30am or 5:30pm? You can't tell at first. There is that hush of thick air, gently carrying sounds, that reflected so much white light into the 6am bedroom I knew it was snow. Make coffee, curl back into bed, listen to the radio news and kids walking to school outside, dog leashes and toddlers' strollers, and hints of my neighbors' fireplace making it's way into the drafty unglazed windows by my head. How did I ever live without this? How did my life accelerate into numbness and drudgery? Can I really make the best possible world out of this lay-off, do I have what it takes, what I need to carry this off?
What will I do if I don't? Winter in Portland is a dormant time, post-holiday calm, heat is off, go to Hood or stay indoors. There are jobs, should I be worried? Should I apply for the new position launching in a different division of the Company, an ersatz promotion, new direction, keep the 4 weeks vacation, benefits, worthless stock options? Wait for the axe to fall again later in the year after the new CEO has warned all employees that the next three years are going to be "challenging" and "an opportunity for growth", all corporate jargon for "sucking really hard"?
Look forward to future lay-offs, division closures, "re-assignment" ie; demotion, hating it even more than I do now and kicking my own ass for not getting out now?

All of my co-workers have moved into the next phases of grieving--shock has worn off, and so has anger, negotiating was last week, this week was more feigned indifference, making lines of demarcation and stepping over them, using verbs indicating this workplace is past tense, plans for travel, relocation, school resumption. Parts of this remind me of finishing a film, I started calling the post-closing party plans the "wrap party". We want to drink, eat, celebrate the good stuff, feed the ties we want to maintain, let go of what we didn't want to carry in the first place, and I get to stand down from my vigilance of being the Boss. I look forward to that. These are good folks, that's why I hired them in the first place.

Diamonds Hovering in the Trees

Ending 2006 with the blindsiding episode of being laid-off, I began a furtive search for anything beautiful, shiny, glistening with potential, endowed with some gently hidden meaning just for me.
Opening my front door on a rare sunny late morning, I turned automatically into the warm glare from the south, and there were the dancing diamonds in the tree branches, glittering in waves like fish flicking away all at once. Unbelievably, a veil burned off and the sun strengthened, blinding me in mid-breath on the step, no time no time no time to waste anymore. I stood there for so long.

I'd had an intuitive flash of my next move even while still on the phone with the director giving me the bad news, but you keep your own counsel for a while, console them and be the good sport just to give yourself some more room and a pause (beat beat heart keep going) to finish the phone call, anyway.
'Take the money offer' has been the constant reassuring comment in my head, and after 10 days of pretending to consider my other options with the Company (there aren't any, really) I've begun planning the first few weeks of my Brave New Shoots life as a non-employee. I have so many tools, interests, a few connections, some ideas, big dreams and great stores of time ahead of me in this new Spring. Lists and budgets lie next to re-potted staghorn ferns and budding orchids.
Bare branches reveal the West Hills' lights at night and Mt. Tabor's shoulder in the early morning. I do not want to miss any of this anymore. I'm smart enough to figure out how to make this amazing opportunity work out for me, and know how much strength I derive from this oasis in the Southeast neighborhood.

This blog is about my absolutely sincere love of living in Portland, Oregon, amongst the urban tribes and various quadrant nations of all kinds, and how life evolves for those around and about who recklessly pursue themselves and their passionate whims of all hours. 47th Page & Light is the generating loft for my next stage of projects, including writing, web-pub-ing, art & trade, photography, travel & artifacts, reinvention, and collecting more ephemeral wonders of this river town.