It's So Funny

Finally, this school thing is starting to feel real to me. I was protecting my fragile heart from disappointment all these months, with the missing transcripts, delay delay, uncertainty about the process, the worry that it's really just too late to be relevant.

It's real. It's really happening, I am now a full time student again, it is OFFICIAL. I did it!

Crossing the line of demarcation almost effortlessly yesterday, while standing in a line for my photo ID, gripping my stack of 'welcome students' materials, smelling the strange mix of fruit gum, coffee, vintage 70s student lounge and youth in the air, I emerged a student. Say hello to the new peculiar institutional structure, go stand in long lines, there's always a few hundred people doing exactly what you want to do when you want to do it, and off-campus living means structuring my time when on campus to get more things done. But I quibble.

My hair looks fabulous. The gray was growing in fast and furious, so the fine student Emily at the Aveda School salon layered in some warm brown and light blonde to take 10 years off me, and gave me a swingy flip cut that brushes my shoulders. That photo ID card will be my constant friend for a few years, and I didn't want to scare myself each time I pulled it out. After scoping my required textbooks at the school bookstore, I came home and ordered online for a fraction of the price, saving enough to pay for half a new laptop. That student discount can really come in handy.

Most of the orientation was kind of a snooze, I'm afraid to say. It was a full force gale outside and the tour leader's voice was whipped away, and we all just followed her like baby ducks from stop to stop as her arm waved in this direction and that. Okay, there's the library, look up the hours later, here's the music building, looks neo-classical easy to remember, here's the athletic complex, check specifics later, student parking structure, dorms, health clinic, student center, engineering , let's go back check your maps. Since I hadn't waited until the very last minute to register, I skipped out on the 'how to register' section at the end of the afternoon and went to the text bookstore before the other 350 newbies headed over there. The campus looks very urban after dark while rush hour traffic crawls by at 4:30, the bus really is the best option.

It just feels so perfect, completely right, on-target, natural and fulfilling. So I'm already thinking ahead to grad school. A four year plan to getting my masters degree is the bigger picture as it appears to me from here, and it looks doable. Anything else just fades into unimportance in comparison, except the usual; animals, friends, crafting, Porch Time, and gardening. Gone gone gone are all the days and years of not feeling genuine in my own life, going through the motions. Instead of automatically reflecting back to my old retail-centric life, I'm enjoying the distance I feel from it all now, it's really fading away, too.

It was easy to close down my booth at House of Vintage, it felt like the right thing to do, and the rumor is the building is going to be sold anyway. I'd made about as much money with it as I was going to without a cash infusion to keep buying to restock it, and that wasn't happening. So, I'll keep crafting to sell online, which is no rent, and I can work on it at my own allowable pace with school and everything else. It's all good. Fabric Depot was having a 40% off sale yesterday and today, and I found some yardage I really love for a futon couch cover, so I'm going to head over there later this afternoon when the Estrogen Brigade thins out at dinner time. Why bring toddlers to a crazy-busy fabric store? It's insane. Shop in shifts and leave them home. Please.

Betty is waiting for me to call and give her the report on school updates. Better have some breakfast first.

Since You Asked

Thanks for the support, the waiting game is tough.

Still no word from Portland State University on my admission status.
My transcripts are all in, and I've already gotten a letter that had a student ID number on it, but it may have been regarding another student with my name and some previous PSU term grades. Of course, it arrived on a Saturday, when the office is closed, so I sent off an email asking them to please look into this ASAP so it doesn't hold up anything for me.

Classes start in 5 weeks!
Aaarrrrggghhhh!

Anyway, that's where I am with school, and will probably be able to meet with someone this coming week to get going with Registration and Orientation, etc. Then get a campus job and get going with my new life. Yesterday I talked to a woman close to my age who had her nursing school books spread out all over her workspace at a shop on Hawthorne, her anatomy final is this coming week, and she was cramming. We talked a long time about Life, and the timeless what-happened-during-my-20s-and-30s, and how it's pointless to regret past choices and what got in the way the first time. She said her hardest problem is wanting to be too chummy with her professors, being her peers, and not being a stand-out too much by answering all the questions out loud in class. I didn't ask her about the Mrs. Robinson Issue, maybe she's happily hooked-up, so she didn't mention it either. I'll have to just behave myself.

Speaking of... Consistent Mr. Torso sightings at the gym have me doing laps like Aqua Girl. He's in training, I overheard him saying the other day to the only other person under 60 with him near the pool besides me. Whatever gets me into the swimsuit and the water, whatever it takes. He's got to be under 30, which means I really need to get a grip and just admire the scenery.
Whatever. Like I told my pal Jolie, lucky for me he has a cheap hobby like swimming, all he needs is the goggles and trunks, unlike some people I know who have to own horses, rent the barn, buy the chaps and hat and gear, pay to show the horses, and you never get to see them (legally) smiling and relaxing in the hot tub almost naked. But she does have the hunky ferriers...

Sorry, my middle-aged lady got loose again, got to do something about that.

And I'm not going to Florida for the holidays, since Betty and I do the weekend 3 hour phone calls, we're pretty much caught up I think, and other than getting her computer set-up working at optimal level, there isn't much reason to fly me out there. Earlier this year I had thought about it, but that was so long ago, and now all I care about is getting into classes and arranging a job around that as best I can so I still have a life, time to study and write papers, and make stuff to sell. I'm going to get a portfolio of my stuff together, take photos, and shop it around the Portland Craft Mafias and see who wants to hook up with me, to supplement the Etsy site and focus on some local interest, too.
The Oregonian did a nice article on the hand craft movement here in town, and how high-profile it is becoming nationally, encompassing re-use, reduce, recycle and how to support local shops and craftsters instead of going zombie-like to the mall to have your brains and wallet sucked dry. One December night a few years ago, I came home zombie-like from my store at the mall, poured a tall tumbler of Merlot, and spent about 90 minutes being Santa and took care of Christmas all at one sitting. Didn't even need to refill my wine glass. What a relief that was, all shipped, all done. Ho ho ho.
This year I took the hand-made pledge. Hopefully they'll forgive me.

While I Wait....

This waiting thing is twisting me in half.

Reading other of my favorite blogs, they write about the usual things they always write about, crafting, writing, living with non-creatives, work, family, online life, kids, politics. It's comforting to read and know that these blog-pals are forging ahead, spit to the wind, writing when they can, and knowing why they do what they do.

Talking to my landlady last night, I saw the smiling webshot of the new Brittany dog coming home tonight from the shelter, and it is heart-warming to know the house will have a big lovey dog in it again. I have been doing dog-watching more frequently, and that has eased some of my dog-envy, but it never goes away. My cats love me, I love them (little beasts), but the space in your heart for a dawg is a specific place, like for a mate, a kid, a horse. Nothing else really fits that space, and you make the best of it, and love the hell out of what you do have. My life would have to completely change some more for me to fit a dog into the mix, and I don't know how much more utter change I can handle this year. Hanging tough with what I have started in motion feels like the way to go for now, and focus on school.

And wait some more, send polite emails with a slight edge of urgency, double check my paperwork and deadlines, and wait some more. Oh yeah, Thanksgiving. Sure, happy happy, whatever. Do not tell me the admissions office is taking this week off or I will run screaming down there to lodge a protest. Since when did Thanksgiving become a week off like Christmas?
It's a one day holiday, maybe two if you're lucky, but the whole week? WTF?

I am working through some of the frustration by swimming laps at the gym, with the occasional Mr Torso sightings keeping me motivated. Sometimes it's great to be half-blind in a swimming pool, you just don't care how you look because you can't see them either, so you're invisible. Except for the Mr Torsos, they're all a sodden blur, and I just make another turn in the lane and head out for the other side, odd number out, even number back, 19 out, 20 back, 21 out, 22 back, keep going until 30 then stop counting. Collapse into the steam room, inhale eucalyptus clouds, leave the gym a new woman. Come home, still no letter or email from the admissions office, grind teeth, continue job search. My gym is open the morning of Thanksgiving, so I can go swim off the feast I will eat later, excellent! There's a rhythm to this, and it's working so far, and I look forward to enjoying my first non-retail, non-restaurant business Thanksgiving and Black Friday in over 20 years. I remember working in a family owned deli in 1986 where they closed for the four day weekend...I believe that may have been the last time I was off.

Little things...I checked out of the Multnomah County Library a series of DVDs featuring classic Russian paintings, produced by a brilliant Russian director who won an Oscar in 1996(?) for best foreign language film. His name is Nikita Mikhalkov, and he made this series for Russian television and schools, but the subtitles are poetic and he presents each artist with passion and intelligence. I had never heard of any of these painters, and Mikhalkov delves into their biography, presenting each painting with an audio setting of what the painter may have heard surrounding him while painting and perhaps chatting with the subject of the portrait. The music is haunting, evocative, and pulls you into romantic era of these artists, from early 18th century portraits through early 20th century Impressionists. Delighted to see this DVD set is available on Amazon for @ $50, now I need to find some big Taunton or Rizzoli artbooks with these painters, because unfortunately PSU has no History of Russian Painting classes in the catalog.

This morning, a break from the rain, a splash of sunshine, but the chill is here to stay. Gloves and wristmitts to keep the damp out, and my craft room is too cold to use comfortably. So it's time to move the desktop computer back into the livingroom, rearrange the furniture again, vacuum like a madwoman, toss more stuff into the crawlspace, set up an area to study for school. The cats try to help, but I wind up shutting them in the bedroom for a few hours so I can actually get something done. They always sit just where you were pushing the couch to.
One of my favorite bloggers lives in Australia and is at the "too damn hot to knit anymore" stage of summer. I am building little nests of wool sweater for the beasties to sleep in on sunless days, every old wool store-bought sweater is a potential pet bed to me, and I have the nerve to felt a sweater I didn't knit, cut it up, and make it into something new and wooly-smelling. The beasties approve and don't have to fight over who's bed is who's anymore. It's the little things...

Hot hot hot historic telenovela will be starting after Univision's Gaviota concludes the first week of December. These are great series of Colonial Mexico, with carriages, horses, swords, duels, gowns, haciendas, rancheros, chaperones, nuns and priests, Generalissimos, mysterious spinsters, etc. Should be 9pm, maybe 8pm, depending on whether they overlap it with the finish of the Gaviota novela or not, check your Univision channel. Here in Portland it's Channel 31. What writers' strike?

Laugh Your Ass Off

Today's Poppalina Blog


I'd love to go get sloppy drunk with this woman, or a least tea-tipsy...

Okay, the joke is that the sweater pattern came from an old
knitting book from the 40s or 50s, I think, and the pattern
was called 'Jason', and Shula started the sweater and began to
refer to it as Jason, and it took on all the qualities of this bloke
in the picture and their up and down relationship (hell of a
knit project, tiny needles, yarn like thread, huge size, tedious),
and increasingly she was over it, over it, OVER IT!! See the
relationship connection? Plus she whaps us with her cursing,
biting humor, and it's a riot (to us knitters). Never mind.

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.

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.

Alternate Universes

I said vehemently that I wasn't interested in having my own store. And repeated this to anyone who was nearby and probably not listening anyway. In renting a booth space at House of Vintage, I was splashing in the kiddie pool of a shop-thing, but not really committing. 'Easier than a continual yard sale, yadda yadda' and felt fine with this. Fine, I said. Really.

But that's all changed now.

Thanks to CRAFTzine's blog, I am now hopelessly in lust for my own funky green/sustainable/vintage fabric-textile-fiber-sewing shop.

Rhett, whatever shall I do now? There's no hope for me.

This picture is from Ambatalia, a fabric nirvana in Mill Valley CA, and I'm so beside myself with love and inspiration and envy that I may need to walk around the block a few times and eat ice cream or something. Good god. Like the time I first stepped into the former Hexafoo retail space on Belmont and felt faint and pierced like St Ursula with raptureous pain. Here is my ready-made life, just with someone else's (husband's?) money and some sexy younger woman living it. And a small artsy staff. Maybe I can re-adjust the time-shift sequencer and do this again slowly...

No good. The owner of Ambatalia is named Molly, and her inspired visionary oasis has classes and things for kids and moms and non-moms and our ilk of fabric fanatics; anti-mall, anti-plastic, pro-sustainable and renewable, un-crassly-commercial, very creative and unique. She begins her store blog last October 31st by talking about her reluctance to throw up the usual obnoxious Xmas window display, and how her store is so not about that. I hugged my monitor. There's lots of pictures of Molly and her store and her amazing staff, and her beautiful goods, and the website is fun.

I think it was the crappy weather this past weekend for the Hawthorne Street Faire that sort of deflated my hot air balloon of love with Groovy Rhubarb, that I didn't get the sales and turn-out that I was hoping for and honestly, counting on for revenue for August. I was kinda blue-ish and not on fire this morning to whip up stuff. I spent an hour with Sunday's job classifieds, drinking what felt like really bitter coffee, but that was just my mood. Another gray chilly day, blah blah blechh. Where's my Muse today? Should I abandonez-vous?

Then I opened the link on CRAFTzine to Ambatalia's weekend fabric sale, and I decided to live again (with deep envy) and stay on focus with my own funky alt-business. If Molly can do it...

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.

Short and Very Very Sweet

l to r, top to bottom:

pimped-out book cart
Molly Doll
Spiral by Andrew
Bea's Clown (toile)
Fishin' Clown (toile)
Shula's napdog
Jewels on Etsy
Hello Kitty sewing machine at Target
Felt Gateaux by Softies

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!

The Booth In the Back, In the Corner, In the Dark

We watched the Flip Wilson Show with almost as much reverence as we watched Johnny Carson...

Anyway, I just returned from restocking at the Groovy Rhubarb booth at House of Vintage, and am pleased with the weekend of moved merchandise. As the owner said, the LPs seem to be the biggest sellers, and also the books. Sold the Ouija board.
"House of Tschochskies", step right up, don't shove, get out yer money, no $100 bills unless you're taking the lot! I was inspired by a website I visited for those of us who love to make bags, and I'm going to whip up some 1960's looking beachy bags and totey bags, simple simple simple, and make'em look like those butt-ugly ones my neighbor ladies always seemed to bring back from Mexico or Florida, and I'll make some cute ones, too. I'm discovering that kids pay money for bags. This---I totally can do.

(what in the world did I do before digital photography?) Here's the new string bag, the heavy duty, go ahead and get the bottles of juice bag, that I whipped up in less than 24 hours from 100% cotton. You could use this on a trebuchet, it's so strong. I'm pleased, and want to whip up a bunch in fun summer colors and punch 'em onto Etsy ASAP, along with the button bracelets and button-encrusted bags in progress. And you thought I wasn't 'working'. There being a slight difference between what is best for Etsy and what is better for the Groovy Booth, I'm floating both series of projects at the same time, because tiny and smaller objects are better for Etsy, and larger, harder to steal things are better for the Booth. Just give me the money and let me get back to the manufacturing.

The Portland 'locally made' movement is thriving this summer, and living in Southeast like I do, I forget that there are even things known as malls. In the neighborhood reclamation movement taking over little communities here, even the blight known as 'strips' are being re-done by locally owned businesses, retro-ed or modernized, and provide us with hand-made, crafted and Pacific Northwest originated products. I so dig this. Last week Linsey and I were discussing how hot Portland is with the New York Times this year, and how instead of Portlanders going East to NYC for inspiration, NYC seems to be testing the waters out here for new concepts and areas to pirate. It makes me feel kinda smug. As long as they leave our real estate situation alone, they can buy and import whatever they want to sell in Manhattan, here's my card.

My Powerball numbers weren't even close this weekend, so I'm going to hit up Craigslist again today, and drop off some clothes I sorted out of the closet this weekend that are not booth material. Jeans that I've given up on. Odd gifts from B. that I will never wear. The thinning of the house inventory is a great feeling, and again shows me how much my tastes have changed in even the past 7 years, since moving to Portland. What I can't sell I'm donating, even books. Yep. There was an episode of "Mission Organization" that was a woman setting up her sewing studio that was an epiphany for me, except for the wall color and $1500 worth of plastic organizer thingeys, on how much inspiration and productivity increases when you have all your materials easily at hand. Grab and make it! So, I'm making progress every day, and hopefully, making money, too. I may not be selling Harry Potter volume 7 this summer, but I'm plowing ahead nonetheless.

Raj is watching these local pigeons in the back yard cherry tree, and he chatters at them as if they will mosey over and say hello.
So he can snap their cherry-eating little heads off. Neek already had a go at them this morning, and is resting in the bedroom, so it's Raj's watch this afternoon. Later, when the squirrels come back for cherries, it will be utter madness. It can't be any better than this.
(well, I could somehow find myself rescuing Bentley the Dobie across the street and be a dog owner, but that's not likely)

Finding an Art Friend

Yesterday I had the chance to talk at length with someone about some of the really "out there" ideas I have of projects I want to do. For well over an hour, she just let me go in a scattershot manner, covering galaxies of genres, narrow the focus for a while, then launch off into another dimension all together. No arched eyebrows, no grimaces of polite uncertainty, no sighs of impending heartbreak---she would hear the excitement in my voice, and ask me another question to give me a chance to hear my own passion when describing it. "Details, give me details," she said, like what can I do tomorrow (today) to get this in motion, who can I call right away, have I added a completion list in the sketch book to go along with all of the lists of potentialities I add there every day? After the first 45 minutes, I had uncovered enough ground to actually reveal what the big goal is for me, the 'not playing it safe' goal, and she just gasped--"Now I have goosebumps, now we're getting somewhere, how long has this been hiding in you?"

I'm jazzed, invigorated, ready to go, en fuego, re-prioritized, break out the art supplies!

The other thing I realized (again) is how essential it is to have a parallel reflection in your world when you are striking out on a new path. Not a yesman, or polite nodding and hand patting, but a source of enthusiasm, someone who understands how important this new venture is to you, and is a safe chat spot in the whirlwind of day to day life. The whole idea of 'coaching' comes to mind, and I did consider that, but sometimes it's even simpler than that, like making a new friend in your new area of exploration, or diving into something together with a friend who is also wanting to shake it up and plant a new flag. The ground rule has to be that staying the same is not the goal or default setting, wanting to be vividly creative is life-enriching and fun!

Okay, 'Art Friend', what does that mean? Does that sound too woo-woo? I'll branch it out---
Writer's Group, Work-out Buddy, Yoga Pal, KnitWits, you get the idea. Someone to speak the jargon with, swap the verbal shorthand, provide the knowing glances, call with breathless messages, open cafe meetings with the best question, "How fabulous are you today?" by getting to the good stuff right away, the new passion? And, I'm sorry, talking about something other than spouses, pets, kids, can we please? So many dimensions, so little time devoted to them.

In my pursuit of all things creative, artistic, exciting, and colorful, and being on a knit-fast, I have been surfing the creative sites for visual snacks and positive reinforcement, inspiration, and pure envy or idea-harvesting. So here are some places to visit that can show us how it looks when the flow is a river and we're doin' it for ourselves (in public) and loving it.

For we who have dreamed of having our own little shop: Reform School Rules

Places where the made by hand of all kinds holds first place: Craftster, whip up, Etsy

Quirky, wonderful, colorful, mad-wild art sites: River Bend, Soule Mama, Junk Market, more to follow...

Gotta go be Groovy Rhubarb, then do some more writing---it's a rainy chilly summer day here in Portland, and I'm actually grateful, no porch time today, no watering, all craft, all artful work all day today.

(serious knitting jonesin' goin' on here, no trips to Yarn Garden, go to Yarn Harlot's site instead)

Oh good, rain is coming

I say that not because I am a native Pacific Northwesterner, or because I'm tired of the beautiful early summer weather we've been having, but because the garden needs a really good rainwater soak, and I need to stay indoors and really get some work done.

There were these 15' high walls of windows at my middle school, mostly 7th & 8th grade, and they looked out over these rows of big maples, elms, a playground (before the parking lot went in) and rolling spots of sun-dappled grass to sit and have intense conversations with your best friend. It was in those classrooms that I realized what a window-gazer I am, perched two or three stories above the ground and looking out and away into the blue sky and canopy...I'm out of my body and hovering there in mid-air myself.
The rotation of the earth has its way with me and I have to be outside, that's all there is to it.

There's that feeling like I have piles of neglected algebra or geometry homework to do and Mr. Rolf is going to get all tight-lipped and stern with me.

Pa-shaw, it's only some laundry to fold, paperwork to finish, some dishes and vacuuming, the usual suspects. How can you toss your satin black cat off a pile of pink sheets fresh from the dryer when he looks so adorable nested in them? He always picks the pink ones, and all my sheets are cotton, so that's not it. Another photo op.

Update on the Noro Betty sweater: finished the front piece this morning, now just two short sleeves to whip up, then piece it together. My left index knuckles are going wonky with all of this tiny intense knitting, and moving that huge bookcase on Friday with 90lb Edina, the House of Vintage owner, sent my knuckles into walnut-sized. But. Must. Finish. Sweater. Then---I will allow the knitting to go on a summer hiatus, while I work on the button carding, jewelry making, sewing projects, sweater embellishing, and over-all turbo charged production of all things Groovy Rhubarb. and also painting. And writing. And more photography. Which reminds me---

Check out this new 'zine, called LAB. Many of the talent and references are Portland-PNW oriented, is it here in PDX? Not sure, but one of the contributors is an intern at Wieden-Kennedy ad agency, did work for Nike, and some logo work familiar to folks up this way. Doug Fir, for instance. I downloaded both released copies of this new 'zine and spent some time reading, marveling, and seeing into the future of print/web-based art. Guess that makes me a wanna-be, but I'm getting it started, and am certainly in the right town for this kinda thing. If you want to be amused and baffled and inspired, link to LAB. I found a page from Keri Smith's book, The Artist's Survival Guide, that radically cheered me up on a blue day and reminded me why you should never tell anyone what you're doing unless they also tend to bubble over and tell you all sorts of project ideas. Or your tractor will be up to your head gasket in swamp. Surely a metaphor everyone can understand.

Must press on, end in sight, stay strong.

Sweater Love

I'm up to my eyeballs in them---all lined up in a row on my front porch railing drying in this sudden and windy heat wave. Lucky for me, because you can imagine the smell of damp wool/silk/mohair/angora lying helplessly flat on every horizontal surface indoors. Rather not.

It's so much better this way, and as yesterday was just as beautiful as today is going to be, I'm glad I did the first batch then. Lucky lucky me, I get to play with sweaters I didn't have to spend months knitting in the first place, cutting, applique, felting, ribbon & wool embellishing, funky patches & unmatched buttons, lace inserts...I'm dizzy with excitement.

But today is more business than pleasure, I have to get some business cards together, take some pictures and finish the pitch portfolio already. I worked on the business plan last night after Sunset Porch Time, and I want to walk down to the Hawthorne & 48th Ave antique mall before it gets to 90 degrees today. If only I had a better quality printer...

You just never know where the inspiration will come from, or what it will actually look like when it gets here. I had been thinking it would look a certain way, BE a certain thing, and that isn't what happened at all. And as electrifying as it has been to sing out with it to people I know, and to see them happy that I'm excited and jazzed, I have to also deal with the quizzical looks, uncertain smiles. pointed questions, and, frankly, their obvious doubts about the sense of what I'm talking about. This has been tough for me. Most of these folks have only known the workaholic for Borders me-person. This Earth Martha Hippie is catching them off guard.

Am I off my nut?

Especially when I realized that doing this vintage thrift thing is a lot like what Betty did when we were kids, dragging my brother and me to garage sale and estate sale and roadside liberation of old furniture, making us work in her booth at the flea markets, haul shit around and sit on it to keep it from falling over, fighting with each other while we waited for hours in the parked car while she wheeled & dealed some old lady out of precious heirlooms. This is a curious turn of events at this point in my life. It feels like I'm doing it my way, though. Maybe I'm just kidding myself.

Yesterday I popped into Powells' to pick up a freebie paper, and saw a sign posted for a bookseller for the Hawthorne location. No less than five employees were hanging out chatting, holding up the counter or sitting with their feet propped on the desk tiddling on the computer, and I had a brief flash of "not a bad way to make $11 an hour" as I flitted back out the door. There is always that. Books, retail, but without the corporate culture thing. I don't wanna go there. (keep moving, keep moving, sweater love, buttons, retro booth, business cards, paintings, jewelry, writing, go go go go go !)

Just about half done with Betty's Mom's-Day & B-Day combo sweater. Half of the front panel and the two short sleeves left to do. The yarn makes such a beautiful variegated colored pattern, with slubs of satiny strand colors strewn in like jeweled grains of rice. I love it, but will be so glad when it is done. I've got so much else to get in motion, this necessary but beautiful task of finishing this gift feels like goofing off. It certainly looks that way to everyone who passes by, seeing me on the porch late in the afternoon yet again, knitting (of all things) and maybe a beer next to me in the shade, "when is she going to get a job?" is all over their faces. Or so I think they're thinking. The Boss Lady has not completely left the building. Right now, she is reminding me that the sweaters are sitting there needing to be brought out of the water and taken to the porch to start drying. Gotta go. Lo-o-ove those sweaters, though.

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.

Hand Cramps & Forearm Seizures

No, not from gardening, but from choosing a freakingly tiny yarn and needle size to fabricate the beautiful short-sleeved sweater for Betty, and having an unrealistic deadline for completing it. It's a combination Mother's Day & Birthday gift, them being within 6 weeks of each other this year, and she's cool with that. But this morning my hands are frozen like claws, and my forearms are twitching and so fatigued I can hardly type. And I'm not even half done. But the back piece is almost done, and the yarn makes a stunning fabric, I'm deliriously happy about that. Pretty sure she'll find it cool enough in its rayon-blend light weight to wear, and that the colors are what she wanted. Her friends will be impressed. It will look great with black and other bright solids she has. I hope I will actually take today off from knitting and let myself recover, maybe immerse myself in some hot dishwater and get dishes done, or better yet, go for a steam and a good pounding in the clinical strength hot tub at the gym. (Can I grip a steering wheel safely?)

Over the weekend, I had an afternoon of insanity, and hung out on eBay bidding on batches of old buttons. To make cool stuff with. To sell. The "Ideas" notebook is filling up, and I saw some amazing button creations that inspired me to make something less cutesy and more funky. It is true, the Etsy bug has bitten me, and I'm in a fever to create, to make, to arts around. There is a new Thrift Emporium on Hawthorne, near the wildly popular Presents of Mind, where a used books & magazine shop used to be. The neighboring Thrift Stall Shop expanded to take over the entire building, and I'm checking it out, rates, percentage of price commission, rent, etc. to see about having a booth to sell things, that I don't have to inhabit while it's open. That is the cool thing about these Emporiums. Your merchandise tags have your vendor code on them, and the customer takes up the stuff they've picked from the various vendors to the central cashier, and you get credit by the code for the merchandise of yours that is purchased. So I could sell online as well as locally and not be tied to a store 7 days a week all hours. And the Emporium would be great to sell the bigger items I have, antiques, books, records, heavy stuff, odds & ends. Stuff that would be challenging to mail if sold online. Re-purpose, re-use, re-sell, re-furbish, re-invent.

Right now, I could really use a hand and arm massage. Signing off for now, maybe more later...

Great Gifts From Web and Tube!

While the sun is out, and splendid is the breeze, I am to be found outdoors, in the car with the windows rolled down and music turned up, on the porch, in the garden, harassing the neighbors.

Then the icy North Wind crashes my party, and I'm running inside for a sweater, or if the sun disappears, I just stay in. Stuff to do, and all that. There's the writing, dishes, napping, and the usual work-pursuing, web surfing and tube watching. Before I chide myself for all this slacking, I need to just say that you can never predict where your inspiration will come from, or what freebie gifts you may uncover using these tools of the devil. Allow me to elaborate...

There's The Chair from the Requip commercial, restless leg syndrome drug. "The Chair" has thousands of people (like me) very stirred up and looking for a clue on how to get one of these. There are threads and blogs and a torrent of interest for a chair that does not exist. The drug company says the ad agency did a mock-up just for filming the commercial, and since all the interest has been on the chair and not on the drug, "The Chair" is being de-emphasized in the newer runnings of the Requip ads. There are millions of dollars to be made on manufacturing this chair, and so far, the demand in the marketplace is not being met by anyone. All that money not being made. As a former business woman, and whipped horse of the corporate 'delight and surprise' dog & pony show, this unmet market astounds me. Millions, I say. No one is biting.

Another television gem has been the Lexus ad featuring Nina Simone. I remember when she died a few years ago, and we played her CDs at work all the time when I was a music department manager. But the gift of this ad is that the CD this song is taken from has been out of print, a live from Paris album 1968, and now this interest from the commercial (Google it & see) is bringing this amazing artist to the attention of a wide sweep of listeners, young and not so, and I'm sure will resurrect this CD from the archives and make it at least downloadable somewhere. This is beautiful.

Back on the Web, I have been trying to find which roses are growing in our garden here, and the web has great resources to do this. Being in the City of Roses, it is a fun day to go to the Rose Garden, but I kind of get overwhelmed and would just rather enjoy the experience than do research. Our neighborhood yards have some really old rose specimens, and my neighbor thinks that some of the grafted stems have died off and the root stock is reasserting itself after 50-odd years of predictable blooming. If you drive past some yards along a street, there are common trendy types from years past, that makes me think that Fred Meyers had a sale in 1963 on coral lipstick pink teas, or they all shared divided clumps. I love a mystery.

Etsy. I wish I had thought of it. I have big plans now to max my tschochskies there. Sounds sleazy. The marketplace for all things hand made, and the only crocheted toilet top tissue box covers you would find would probably be a reference to what this website is NOT. This is the next threshold for the hipster DIY nouveau-geek or whimsical offbeat crafster. I am so there.

The History Channel had a two hour show Monday night called "Hippies", featuring many interviews, film footage, analysis by contemporaries, Peter Coyote and the Diggers, music, Vietnam, and the Man. Although it had its omissions and gloss-over-lightly areas, it was a great show and I'd recommend people of all ages to see it, younger viewers with their Boomer of choice to fill in some gaps. Fabulous way to spend two chilly evening hours.

While Google-ing some people I used to hang out with in Ann Arbor, I discovered that my old pal Misty Callies is super-famous!! There is a prime level hip restaurant in New York City called 'Prune'. The chef there is named Gabrielle Hamilton, a famous younger woman who has almost single-handedly revolutionized "great little eatery" standards in Manhattan. I'm sure Paris has been thrown out of there at least once. Anyways, Gabrielle wrote an article for Food & Wine magazine that goes on and on how my pal Misty was her mentor in the late 90s in Ann Arbor, working at Misty's restaurant on State Street called Zanzibar. Misty and her brother Todd run it, but Misty is the visionary and driving force (as she always was 20 years ago) and taught the future Prune owner a new, non-NY way of creating a restaurant. I was so thrilled, and the story had a pic of Misty at work, and talked about her gruff communication style but genius of concept and attitude. Misty was my hero for many years back in the early 80s when I worked with her and her brother at various places in Ann Arbor, and it was so gratifying to see Misty getting some national press and praise. And the stories I could tell about parties at Misty's house...and I may some day with the names changed for the usual reasons.

Two more commercials, and I'm done...

The silly Comcast (how I hate thee) one with the tiger striped tattooed guy---"Sorry Roger, you tiger now!" Can't help it, I laugh every time.
The one with the Asian guy all done up in a Riverdance costume and headband, dancing his heart out in the middle of his living room, twirling, leaping, kicking, Irish pipes playing...then his wife and daughter walk through the door carrying shopping bags and just gawk---"Wow, you're home early" he says weakly. I can't remember what the product is, because I just laugh so hard, oh wait, it's a flooring company. Hardwood floors. Must be HGTV. It's tough to write funny ads, it so skews to the target audience, but everyone who sees it should get it.

I'm an amateur sociologist, it's my job.

What I did on my Spring Vacation

Because I know everyone wonders what I do all day...

This project has the delirious combination of drinking corked wine, intense focus, immersion in details, more bottle opening, getting contributions from corked wine drinking friends (no stinking boxed winos, please!) and lastly, a comfy floating chair to swill away in and be insulated from static shocks and ever being taken seriously as an artist or sober adult. I found this on the Martha website....ha! No, actually, this comes courtesy of the fiends of fabrication at MAKE magazine via the CRAFT blogsite. Instructions for the wrap-around sectional are sure to follow...

Speaking as a spanking new craigslist entrepreneur, those archival copies of ROCK magazine from the 70's should be flying out the door and netting me in the high two figures...although in Portland, you never know...could go higher. I told my landlady that the heirloom tomatoes should bring in serious bucks, since they sell at Trader Joe's for $4 & $5 dollars a lb. She gave me that blank stare, as in "What the F are you talking about? You're going to sell tomatoes?"
Well, we don't have the acreage for a tea plantation, so zapotec & brandywine heirlooms are it for this summer. Does that really sound strange? Stranger than getting a job? Really?

I just found out my neighbor is opening a yarn store. I'm completely boggled. This is going on right under my nose, and for all the hours I spent knitting in full view of every passersby all last summer in my front yard, no one even mentioned it to me. Last night another knitting neighbor and I were discussing Portland yarn stores, highs and lows, and a third piped up that knitting is really hot in Portland lately.

Right out of a sit-com, we two shot him an eye-roll withering look and tsk-sighed him into a quivering mass.

We both threatened to teach him knitting. It might work. Like a puppy, a guy knitter is a date magnet. And then I could blog about his escapades with sticks & string. Another genre fiction category sparked by my marketing genius mind, metropolysexual knitter hipster vampire centaurs in Stumptown brokering business and marriages, crime solving and tentacle-ripping, time shifting and swatch gauging, hyphen hyperventilating, hard loving baby-making mistresses of sultanic mayhem millionaires, and all centered around the Central Centaur Community in South East. Yep, they're here somewheres. Lest I be considered a snob, Portland is the place where it all can happen and I'm sure it does, so someone needs to write about it. See you on the shelf at B&N.

And I thought I was such a needle-pro

Perusing some of the blogs mentioned on the Craft site, I found a link to Poppalina and this amazing article of needle working madness, (only) twin-bed size says the creator, and I'm struck speechless. Usually giving knitting a pass over the warmer months, I had been assembling some ideas for crochet and cool cotton---which is what you need to make this "baby" blanket. The woman behind this work of art is named Shula, and she's in Australia with her daughter Mym, and she "whipped this up" with leftover cotton yarn from other projects. See her website for more and close up pics of this feat of brilliance. Shula covers more than needle arts, and the first few posts of May cover her mom's suicide many years ago, but she's an amazing artist and mom, covers a lot in her blog, and there's many other voices to read there, too. Don't be shy, zip off down under & be impressed. Now.


I found out today about the Mt. Tabor Art Walk on May 19-20, Saturday and Sunday. It's free, and takes you and your art-loving pals on a great tour of one of the finest nooks of this part of Southeast, and there's more info at Mt. Tabor Art Walk. I picked up a brochure at the new art supply store here on Hawthorne called Muse Art and Design and I'm so glad I can walk to such a well-stocked shop and get lost there. When on the way to Portland Pet Supply for Science Diet for the boys, I get to feed my art freak, too. The shop has lots of art-toys as well as the serious materials, in all price ranges, as well as art supplies for the kiddles and beginners. I needed a table easel, the metal tripod one got lost in one of the moves. Now I have absolutely no excuse to not paint. 'Cause the 'no easel' one was working for me for a while.

There was a great lead on a writing job, "edgy" and "be a personality for us" and "RAW" were repeated a few times...I'm sure that was a whiff of testosterone I caught there...5 to 10 cents a word, oh yeah, "GONZO" was in there many times. I love this whole idea, and am happy Jolie sent it to me, but somehow I only want to do this if it's aimed at women, or at least a broader spectrum of the population than the younger segment of the extreme sports cult. Am I prejudiced? Generalizing? Age-ist? Gyno-centric? Should I be so picky, nookin' per a yob n' all? I mean to ask one of my many celebrity friends who wrote their way to the top while I was slinging a nametag and cashiering, oh the humanity. There was a great conversation I had with a former employee about the difference between just doing your own thing and someone happens to notice and you hit big, OR, you do whatever you think will make you break through the pack, and then do your own thing to greater compensation and glory. Yes, it was Jeff, and it was probably between coats of wite-out on the dashboard geisha's face, but we really knocked this point around a while. We finally came to the conclusion that you should just do your own thing, but sleep with people who will promote you before you break up with them. I really liked that guy. "Yer young, ya got yer health," I'd say to him, "emulate if you must, to learn some technical parameters, but at some point you have to strike out and do your own twisted vision," and he'd snort and say, "Yeah, and wind up living back in the House of Gothic Lesbians again and asking you for my old job back," and that actually did happen. I miss him sometimes.

Trying on yet another template style...if anything looks too weird, please let me know. I had a request that the font size was small for a colored background, so...I love the color block styles, but as in the DK books that became the Google style, the more white space, the easier it is to read. And the pictures have more zing. Ding-a-ding ding.