The Ends of the Earth

I fell off, it's true.

It may have been the 12 straight episodes of Deadwood DVDs, or the complete freedom of no classes, no job, no worries. Or too many hours on the phone with Florida. This week I have been remembering Bruno and not in the mood to write anything. Last week I was reeling from how tough the Astronomy class was turning out to be.

Today I sat on the porch after school, soaked up the sunshine, and read textbooks, all the while realizing that there's been such a shift in the whole picture. A change of season brings these bubbles floating to the surface of my mind, along with wanting to do some mental spring cleaning as well.

No, going back to school has not yet become day-to-day la-de-da no big deal. It is still a huge big deal, although the walking along the park blocks marveling that I'm there is ebbing. I'm busting my ass some days just race walking to get there on time, taking the flights of stairs without gasping, not wanting to sit in a sweat through a class. I snarked off at one of my professors last week and am still cringing when I meet his eye in class, sitting silent through animated discussions like a mushroom, not contributing, now enduring every minute of a class in my major that I had been really looking forward to doing well in. Shit.

But getting thoroughly saturated in this new endeavor has definitely shut the door on any lingering vestiges of my old retail manager's life and mental space. One of my old employees is in my astronomy class and we got caught up afterwards yesterday, and it was really the first time the whole B-store episode felt done done done and dead to me, really fully behind me and in the past. Can I be allowed the slack to take a bit long to move beyond a ten+ year period of my life and identity? Stockholm Syndrome, I think it's called, otherwise known as drinking the Kool-Aid, Corporate Culture. I did go into it kicking and screaming, as I recall. But then you find yourself accepting that first promotion and going salary instead of hourly---your soul is signed over and you bitch about it every moment until you get out. The relief is overwhelming.

Of course, I'm looking for work now, and going over all of this in my head again, how do I go about this again, doing the work part without signing over the soul part? What do I know now, to do better this time? They don't need my soul, they just need me to show up and do a good job while I'm there. Whatever it is, a campus office type spot would be perfect.

Last spring about this time I had just put Betty on a plane after 12 days and was recovering by spending intense time in the garden. After getting all the dandelions, I put in the tomato starts and some herbs, weedcloth and mulch, marigolds, nasturtiums and lobelias. This spring I'm lagging behind, spending more time enjoying the season, watching Peg shoveling woodchips, cheering her on. "Isn't it beer-thirty yet?" I hollar out. "Can't slow down yet, I'm on a roll," she throws over her shoulder on her way to another load. I go back inside for another beer, I'm getting exhausted just watching her. Gotta start those pea and bean plants, I'm thinking, there's enough sun now. Zzzzzzzzzzzz

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.

The Actively Waiting Game

Absolute flurry of activity since Monday, and now I am on pins and needles, wondering, waiting, carrying my phone to the powder room so I at least hear it ringing, checking email 17 times an hour---no it's not the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, I'm waiting for word from some of the many applications I've been submitting, and still applying while I'm waiting.

My friend Steven has helped me do a breakthrough with this process, by reminding me of some staggeringly obvious things about Working: A: If you don't like it, quit soon.
B: If you need to work ASAP, it's okay to take
another retail job and keep looking for
a new job while you're earning money.
C: There's a million office jobs that will allow you
to leave the job at the office, to go home and
do the art, writing, craft pursuits that you
have re-prioritized as essential to your new,
non-B.store manager Life.
D: You had a great sabbatical, keep your values.
E: Get serious about your money & your worth.

Whew! Is he a pal or what? I've promised him a fine dining experience at our favorite local restaurant Venerable Quandry as soon as it is feasible for me, and probably some more stops at Pok-Pok nearby.

I've already checked phone and email twice while writing the above, this is madness.

So, part of the Re-invention Process for me is also remembering the interview process from the side of the table I am now on, and being warm, engaging, disarmingly competent, using just enough corp-speak to sound like I know what I'm talking about but not so much to sound like a Dilbert cartoon, and find out what the holiday scheduling will be like---I'd still like to figure out a way to get in a four day stint to FLA for Christmas, or at least get a few days off. My new priorities are showing.

I also need to make a list of all the places I've applied to, after 12 you can start to forget. This is when it really hits me that I haven't applied cold for a job in over 10 years, and before that, there was a lot of 'he knows my friend, who worked for them, who dated her' kind of thing. How often is too often to call to check on your app? My rule was if they call more than once every other day, that's too often. If I didn't respond within a week, it meant I was not interested in setting up an interview with the applicant. But the County, State and City hiring procedures are based on a cut-off application date, so if someone applies right after the job was posted, the waiting period may be three or four weeks until the hiring manager even looks at the applications. Now that I am the applicant, it gets me growling, grrrrrr.

My booth is still operating, but I had to re-evaluate the profit vs expenses aspect of it, and since I always knew at least a part-time job was in my future, I decided to do something full-time that was less interfering to my personal life than retail management, and secure benefits, too. Once I gather some more capital funds to invest in the project, I'll see greater returns, and besides, it's still a blast and very creative. In fact, I feel like I'm just getting started with it, so taking the pressure off of it to be my sole income source opens it up to more whimsical and funky ideas, just in time for the Holidays. Overall, all is good with Groovy Rhubarb. I have so many cool sweaters to sell, and things made from old sweaters that I felted and fabricated into new items. My great-aunt Meta would be so proud (and 112 years old) to see my craftiness, and she would know that she was the greatest contributor to this obsession I have, Auntie's influence lives on.

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.

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?

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.

Maybe I Need a Truck

(so many topics for this picture, thanks U-Handbag!)


Da-da-da-DAH!! Groovy Rhubarb is my new occupation, and I even considered ending the blog, because the 6 months of post-Borders life is behind me now, and that's how I started writing here. Re-inventing myself, the dreaded Mid-Life Crisis, dumped for a younger business plan, etc. Boo-hoo.

But, this is the first stage of this whole process, I think, and it now has little bearing on Borders, or bookstores, or being a manager. Publishers' Weekly online reported the 6 month straight decline in bookstores' sales for 2007, and 2006 was not great. My former industry is undergoing some ruthless anorexia nervosa right now, will they survive? I think I got out at just the right time, and would be dancing on eggs right now if still running my old store. So I'm trotting my extensive skill-set on to this newly hatched project, and we're going to fire the second stage booster rockets and leave orbit. The Hawthorne Street Faire is this coming weekend, and we'll have great weather and mid-80s temperatures, so lots of foot traffic. I want to sell insane amounts of stuff, and charge ahead into September in the black already. (should be sewing, not writing, dang!)

One of the great archive pieces of my overland migration was hauled to the booth today, my 1880's domed-lid steamer trunk, that I've had since high school, and am wanting to be free of it.
It's emblematic of the clinging to the past, the stockpiling of treasures, antique ideas needing airing, and besides, I can barely move it by myself anymore. Someone will give it a good home and take over from me as the New World guardian of this sturdy wooden chest, and I can look forward, into the light wood of my future. It doesn't need to be Ikea, it can be Mid-Century teak or birch, whatever. My old trunk would make a great scary Halloween prop for a haunted house business (hint hint hint) and you could re-sell it afterwards! Wow, smashing idea!!

There's a seductive stack of freshly washed linen tablecloths whispering to me and I must go. The sink of dishes is trying to get a work in edgewise, but my hearing is selective today, in spite of the aroma of Mrs. Meyers' lemon verbena, one of my favorites. And that new Martha mag arrived in the mail this morning...hmmmm. NO. Load the bobbins and grab those scissors, girl.
Time to make money.

Official Re-Invention Chapter 3: Create Your Job

I'm job hunting.

Seriously job hunting.

As in "just a decent job I like to do" instead of "this is my next expedition up a corporate ladder."
(sooooo lucky that there are so many jobs out here right now)

What kind, where, what hours, what money, who with, how long, gotta get away at the holidays.

One of my friends suggested that I float on Groovy Rhubarb and not distract myself with another group of associates and workplace politics, just "do" the GR 60 hours a week and it would make money. And that is probably good advice, and partly true, just not enough money to live on yet. My strength is in idea formulating, conceptualizing, and BIG PICTURE stuff.

My weakness is in the details. "Where's My Staff?" Too much Martha, not enough Assignment Editor. My astrologer would say it's the Venus in Gemini, a double helping of an Eye for Beauty, more Snow White than the 7 Dwarves. Collaboration is great, I love it, but it has to be with the right person, and I do better with a layer between me and the masses. I can't do barista again, or even busy bookstore.

I am a Maker of Things.

Hopefully, of beautiful things, delicious things, useful things, descriptive and unusual things. Not so much a Seller of Things, although I have been known to fool people for a long time that I was. A Seller. But never, not really. I was rather a Provider of Place for Things to Be Bought. The Maker of Place, I am very very very good at. Provider of Selection of Things, again, very very good at. Hostess, Cheerleader, Girl with the Fan, not at all so much. I honestly don't want to be involved in making people buy just anything, as much as making something they feel they have to buy, or have to go to. What they do then is up to them. But I'd love it if they told everyone they know, "You've got to go get ______ at ________!!!" There is the perfect situation for me.
Completely pleased about making my living this way. Thank you, see you back soon.

Once upon a time, in a land far ago and away, lived a pretty but shy girl who loved books. Being in a village full of bookstores, she soon found the three that she loved more than anything else in the whole small world, and she made a wish. "Someday, I want to have my very own bookstore! It will be just how I want it, and I'll be able to unpack all the UPS boxes of new books, and read everything, and meet cool customers, and live so happily ever after!" The young girl had made some friends at one of the bookstores, run by a friendly beautiful Jewish Buddhist Witch, who let the girl learn things and volunteer at the store, and order cool incense and crystal necklaces, and invited the girl to participate in her Crafty Buddhistic Fairy Witch Circle. For some years, not enough in a row, the girl was happy to do this, and felt closer to her dream. But the girl had to leave the magic village by the river, and found herself somewhat closer to Hades, and very much farther away from her dream, or so she felt for a long time, too many years in a row.

One day, the now not as pretty and not as young woman found herself in a coffeehouse filling out an application to a bookstore, which back in the village had been only one tiny store, but had magically grown in size to encompass the entire whirld these many years. It was a serf's job, but she thought it would be a beginning. Unbeknownst to her, she was soon sucked into the gruesome, grinding Managers' Maw of the Underworld Corpse-oration the little bookstore had become, and she lost her soul, her name, her youth, her girlish figure, and her mind. How ironic, that this place had once been one of her favorite three bookstores back in the little village by the river.

Grasping at a glimmer of light she desperately hoped was the sun and not another red eye of the Beast, the woman slung herself across the land to another less grinding Managers' Maw of the Beast, and then soon again after to an even quieter eddy pool of swamp she called My Own Store. At last, gathering every fiber of beauty, kindness, laughter, magic, wit and whimsy, the woman wove a nest of wearying but entertaining labor of a noble sort, the bringing of magical books to the souls who wandered in while caught up in the Swirl of the CrassMall, the marble Tomb of the Unknown Salesgirl. There was, for a short time, a momentary Oasis of Knowledge and Wonder. Insanity and illogic, of course, still being an appendage of the Corpse-oration, but then suddenly, at the most insane, at the most frantically intense, the fairies were all set free.
The spell was broken, the ring of fire became gentle rain, passing to the clear blue sky and happy sun above and plenty of hours to sleep and be rested. There was much rejoicing.

And the woman had a large View of Realization---having emerged from this tale of enslavement and enchantment, two of her biggest wishes in her entire life had been granted. First of which was to have her very own bookstore, that had her stamp upon it, and she had completed the fulfillment of that wish. The Second Wish, well, meeting Robert Plant in her very own bookstore was pretty much the Sword from the Stone kind of event. She was completely and deliriously satisfied how miraculously the second wish had been fulfilled. And called everyone she knew. And cried.

And the Third Wish? Obviously to the woman, embarking on this was the next part of her journey. And, curiously enough, it was not instantly revealed to her exactly what that Wish was. She had been a stranger to herself for so many years, there was an awkward small-talk and getting reacquainted phase to accomplish, getting to know and trust this bold and free person she was becoming. Some mornings, she awoke excited and ready to live the rest of her life as this creative and fearless person. Other times, it was all just too much, she was shy and completely at a loss, alone and afraid. Her Fairy Stepsisters were off in far off lands, cranking out their own Realization Magic, and sent their love and sparkling encouragement, hugs, emails, and cackles. One afternoon, the answer to her seeking, the Vision of the Third Wish bloomed in her mind, and she felt a relief to her many questions. There was now a direction to head into, a place to look towards for her bearings. And she knew it was the right thing to do, completely.

Anything else was a path back to bondage, a compromise and distraction from her clear sight.

"All of my power, all of my gifts are in the Making of Beauty, the Creating of Beautiful Space. These years deep in the earth have shown me how to make something from meager tools and ingredients, to keep it alive and finally succeed. The Masters I have served pressed me into a Diamond of Light and from now on, I have to keep shining, keep making, keep sparking the fires of creativity.

My Third Wish is to live as an Artist, at this age I will not sell my soul again, I won't give up on what I value, I am eager to live my Genuine Life, bring to life what I see in my mind, and give it to the world. And do it again and again, as long as I live. And I'll continue on even after that."

Strategy Meeting

I'll provide the simulated snacks...from CRAFTzine, of course!

Anyway, I'm convening this meeting for a few reasons, and I'm hoping we can put some issues for discussion on the table and have a chance to contribute and brainstorm, follow a tangent or two, and finish before our virtual sugar high makes us all useless. So everyone go refill your coffee and let's get to business.

Where's Jeff? Did he go out to smoke? Let's just start.

Okay, I went to the Groovy Rhubarb booth and although finding it adequately filled with items for sale, it didn't "surprise and delight" me. Put down your weapons, I'll stop with the corporate jargon crap. We need to take this to the next level, and I have some ideas, tell me what you think. After doing some market research of my own, we need to branch out into furniture and higher ticket items, and find a funky garment display rack for the sweaters starting next month. Also, Etsy is choking with jewelry stores, so we need to research other made-item site stores with similar demographics to post jewelry on, perhaps more local to Portland. Or, maybe even our own Groovy Rhubarb store site. More admin effort from me, but no cuts taken by Etsy or another header seller, and we can do it with Paypal I think. Put that on my list to follow up and report on by next week's meeting. I want us to re-merch completely the GR booth this week, and clean the carpet and look at the prices of the slower moving items--mark down or switch out as necessary. Being peak summer, it's too early for the back to college hipsters yet, so we need to grab the strolling street shoppers and tourists. Tschochskes to take home that are light to carry and instant gratification, but also bigger ticket items to balance out the higher volume of low-end sales. Any imput?

Uh, yeah, how about hanging that brand-identity sign on the wall and adding some incense and more hippie stuff? Jambo store moved way down the street?

Perfect, great ideas. What else?

Art, like Portland postcard things, small scale but around $20?

Okay. And we can move these online, too. Great. I want to get moving on the funky hippie suncatchers and windchime-y things, inexpensive to make and fast, as well as bags and the pareao wraps, those sold.

What did you decide about the silk hair scrunchies, ready to make a come back?

Still thinking, although I have been really using my throwback one the last few weeks, it is so much softer on your hair than elastic ones. I need to mull that over some more.

We really need to cover that waterproof bag made from wild materials-thing. That would move, especially if it's obvious the material is recycled.

Yep, very hot, and fun, and one of a kind, and local, and around $20. Perfect, top of the list.

Cool, very productive, covered about everything, and we have a lot to get going on. Are we psyched? Ready to rumble? Hit the neighborhood yard sales running? Excellent. If it's raining this weekend, lets go to Value Village, Salvation Army and the Foster Rd shops and see what we can find. Meeting adjourned, back to work!

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.

Absolutely Boggled!

Pulling myself away from the two boxes of BUTTONS that arrived this morning to share with y'all my utter rhapsodic bliss and new flowsy determination to launch the new money-making thing.

My trip to the Thrift Emporium yesterday was very worthwhile, and I browsed there for an hour, to "get a read" on the place and the people there, and the shoppers. I am now on the contact list for the owner/manager to call me, since it is nearing the end of the month, some people decide not to renew at the last minute, and they have sudden openings. The used record store that used to be two doors down closed after Christmas, and I think it is perfect for me to segue on in with all my vinyl and used books, since the place also used to be a used book and mag store. This is very exciting, dare I say.

And as my pal Jolie reminded me, look out yard salers, Laura will be blitzing you and making off with goodies!! Oh what fun!

But the buttons... Within an hour, I had started sorting all the Bakelite ones from the mother of pearl ones, and tossing the bone, wood, rubber, and metal ones in little piles in a flat box.
The mother of pearls began a nice cozy soak in some warm Mrs Meyers' and water, and the bed is layered with beach towels for them all to dry in the spring breeze coming in the south windows. (sounds like a great place to spend an afternoon to me) I've already been dreaming up the way to card some of them up to wholesale to stores and sell on my soon to launch Etsy site. I'm using them for lots of things besides fastening layers of clothes together, as you may imagine. Like beads, some sort of past life thing makes me value buttons like primitive money, trade currency, circulate and value, hoard then sell. I'm a crow, they sparkle, feel good in my hand, look good on a string, and I wanna just pounce and fly away with them.

Perhaps I'm being naive, but this feels like the right thing for me to be doing right now. The ultimate irony of a Worst Case Scenario being realized in January, and the screeching end of a 10+ years commitment like being dumped for a younger woman is, I look around and see only good as a result. I do terribly miss Linsey and some of my peeps, and the day to day intelligent and goofy fun we had, but almost everyone has gone on to greater glory, and that is a delight to me. I had wanted this to be the summer fer shure that I got out of there, but being termed was better, just more of a shock and adjustment period. Re-entry to my real life has taken me most of three months, really. And there was that pay off... (gracias, Spiritu Mejor!)

Almost everyday I sit down here and write something, either blog, essay around, business plan mission statement type of thing, or another list of story ideas. Almost everyday, I go outside and check out the tomato blossoms, pull some weeds, water herbs, smell roses, put in a new plant, check out my neighbors' plantings. Free Wi-Fi has hit my neighborhood, my cellphone is fun, the gym is nearby, I walk to the Daily Grind for some veggies. Late spring, great apartment, fabulous folks nearby, great dogs and friendly cats, grills in the evening, and I am so in gratitude that the push to reach here has actually led me here, where I dreamed and intended to wind up. Is this a mid-life thing? I think so. Two months ago it dawned on me I just didn't care anymore about a title, a corporate identity or status, whether I was promoted or passed over, listened to by muckity-mucks or unheard, valued and retained, or just a number and let go. It doesn't matter to me. It felt so good to let it all go, and be happy where I am, doing what I choose to do from here, loving my Portland Life, feeling more genuine than I have in .... years and years and years.
I've got 15 basil plants going on my back porch to plant in about a week, the tomatoes are staked or caged, the lavender and sage, creeping thyme and echinacea are filling out in the rock garden, and I found a nice Thai basil plant to add to the collection. And now the buttons...
Nothin' but smiles from me.

Workaholic at Large, Seeks Meaningful Activity

Wow, I'm officially unemployed.

This is a profound situation, unknown since 1996, and while enjoying a leisurely second cup of coffee, seems unreal. Up since 6:30am, I've already emailed three people, watched two hours of news, made a list, pretended to go back to sleep and failed, and now am with said coffee and at a loss of what to do first. I applied for unemployment within an hour of coming home from my last day of work yesterday. Income taxes were done last week. I could start sorting through the boxes of flotsam I brought home from the workspace yesterday, which included a hefty supply of cleaning products. There's a great place to start.

I've checked Monster.com, and so fulfilled my job search requirements for today. Dum-dee-dum, what to do, what to do, what to do?

Pathetic, I know. It usually is like this when I take vacation time, a good three days until I can really kick back and be the slacker, a few naps, quality time with pets, and some time tumbling over the Big Life Questions. And some epic Chinese movie rentals with good Hunan and Szechuan takeout.

A dear friend has already tried to get too sentimental about this whole separation from the Company process with me, and I told her I'd call her in a few days to chat. I felt kind of sentimental about a month ago, during the whole 'holiday' period, as I was coming out of shock and seeing clearly how much of the fun part of the job I would lose. But this last week has been all about getting the messy job done, be the good Executor, leave them feeling the task was handled well by the right people, managing the needs of the laid-off staffers. Not entirely in jest, I asked people, "Who am I going to boss around now?" I've been a Boss, a Manager, a Leader of Projects, an Answerperson. Today...what? Who? When I get to be just me, and not jump at the ring of my phone at odd hours, thinking 'it's the store', when my hair is let down, the music is turned up, and I've set down the Company's Agenda for the last time...I'm not totally sure who this person is, what she looks like, or what she wants to do now. Other than rent some Gong Li films and stop by Fu-Jin's on Hawthorne. Perhaps that's all that needs to be on the To Do list today. Tomorrow is 'Cash Paycheck'. Saturday is 'Wrap Party with Co-Workers at 5pm'.

So far, so good.

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.

Hansel in the Woods with Pistachio Shells

It's days like this that I realize I don't know what I'm doing.
Having an amazing lunch with my director, hair let down, real-time talking, no bullshit back and forth, and I see even more clearly my time with this Company is over. Then I ask her some questions that sound so paranoid, she just looks at me with that disappointed let-down eyelids look, and I see I just blew the great lunch. Caramelized onions with rigatoni and basil garlic cream sauce and grilled chicken. Yee-gads. I may need to call her later this year to test the pre-holiday job pickings, but I hope not. There's so much to do to get to February and the free-lance life---then the sun came out, it stopped sprinkling, and we stood outside watching the trains go by, both amazed Christmas is actually behind us again.

-----flashback-----

This time last year, I was feeling the same way, only without the lay-off. I was sure I was on my way to the Artist's Life, make the treasure, uncover the beauty, craft the good goods, smile humbly, collect the money. Repeat in a leisurely and profitable fashion. I began locating the raw materials, I sketched, I researched, I planned, I web-surfed, Googled, stalled and brainstormed with everyone. But it was a damp box of matches. And the sideways glances from those in my immediate nervous circle did not buoy me with confidence or validation. Much sighing, more stalling, then the deep sink into premium ice cream or beer.
One of the best summers of my life was shared on my front porch with my landlady, every dog-walking neighbor, baby-in-tow or no, drop-by folks and planned guests with ale, grills, glasses, bottles and sooooooo much sun. Spectacular Portland summer spent thoroughly. I knitted an entire Noro wool cardigan sweater while tanning. And as I crept into late August and the dimming of the eternal day, came the waves of bruised gray dread that ahead lay another holiday build into madness and no escape from the runaway train.

------we're back-------

Oh dear, so bleak. I found some strength, and submitted to the ride, came out again alive (always so startled) and this time I lost my job at the end. Whoa. The train slowed and threw me off. I know it's a good thing, but the bumps and scratches need some time.

Selfishly, I stole an employee from another division a few years ago, and we have been the Genius Bitch Posse, intent on world domination, promoting trashy culture consumption, and making sure we had a good grip on the fun factor of day to day doing business. We revived vaudeville retail to rave reviews. Today while discussing future plans and buy-outs, I felt sick, suddenly realizing how much I will miss working with her everyday in the asylum. She'll be fine, whole life ahead etc etc, but our lab-o-laffs is shutting down. The best thing about this Company has always been the people in the vortex with me, and we reach escape velocity to fling away across country, back to school, into relationships, arranged marriages, "real jobs", away in every possible direction. The great thing about Portland is that slingy boomerang phenomenon---beads on a singing wire.

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.