Doing The Math

60 next week.  Ak.  Actually, my knees are 60, the rest of me is still 45.  (Thank you Edgar of BoRics on Ashland near Diversey.)

Charley's cancer really solidified our resolve to figure out what we REALLY want to do in this life.  The goal is for him to retire next summer and for us both to begin doing something that brings us satisfaction and a moderate income.  It's a lot riskier doing something like this at our age with The Sam Factor than it was when we were young and unencumbered.  On the other hand, it may be our last chance to risk everything for a dream. I remember sociologist Tony Campolo once cited a survey of 80 year olds who said their greatest regret was about some opportunity or risk not taken.  So we are getting serious about this.  We're probably going to be 80 in 20 years.  Or 35 years.

The thought that has been repeatedly coming to me is that I am not a beginner.  I have done and learned a lot of things over the decades.  No really.  A LOT.  I'm not starting from scratch.  So all my experience must add up to something, I just have to do the math.

Sadly, math is not my strongest subject!

To get a handle on what/who I am, I've been going over my journals.  This in itself is weird.  I write journals feverishly at times and then not at all for years.  I keep them mostly because we have a house and there's room.  I never actually planned to look at them again.  All I really planned to do with them was destroy them before I die.  But turns out they are very interesting.  (What a narcissist!)  There are several themes that run as far back as the journals.

I love:
Creativity - making lace, jewelry, knitting, general craft stuff.  Music - singing, string instruments, penny whistle, odd percussion instruments from all over the world (http://www.propane.pro/tanks/the-propane-tank-recycled-for-the-drum-circle-0211/).  The wisdom of people with cognitive disabilities.  Children. Learning something (anything) new.

I have a very love/hate relationship with my interpersonal skills; but I am a good leader and a good listener and perhaps a good teacher.  Listening makes me insightful because I can synthesize what I hear from different people, or the same person at different times, into a single thought.  I'd probably be good at negotiation, except I wouldn't like to spend a lot of time in the same room with angry people.

Listening also helps me notice when two people are arguing about two totally different subjects.  Sometimes I can notice this even when one of the people arguing is me! It's a very odd experience and one I really don't know what to do about in the moment it occurs.  It is usually best to first agree with the other person - since their point really has nothing to do with mine - and then cautiously restate my point.  It's funny how often arguments are not about what the participants think they are about.

My journals also point out that I have a lot of fear which is mostly nutty and keeps me from making my dream into a goal.

And I like to write about the philosophy of me.

I don't know what this adds up to, but at least I've defined the value of X.

Experiments For Further Reflection on the eve of my 60th birthday:

1: Charley is going to buy me a ukelele  (I think I'll get a tenor, it has more tuning options)
2: I'm going to go to the beach with my grandchildren and try to blow giant bubbles like this:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3i-zYdOPG2k
3: With my friend Lawrence from Esperanza (http://www.esperanzacommunity.org) I'm going to paint a picture of "Helen's Bird" as part of the project "Dynamic Duos: Works in Collaboration" which will be displayed in October as part of Chicago Artists Month.

Happy New Year

Happy 2011.  This is the year that I turn 60 and I have three grandchildren.  I think that endows me with certain inalienable rights among which are the right to rebel against certain absurdities.  Why we do things is sometimes more important than what we do.

For example, there was this young priest who took over his first parish in northern Minnesota - or maybe it was Saskatchewan.  After he celebrated his first Christmas Eve Midnight Vigil, he noticed a certain growing resentment on the part of his rural parishioners.  So he went to his deacon and asked him what the trouble was.  

"Well frankly, Father, many of us are having trouble getting used to your new ways.  We aren't used to these shorter rites."  The priest asked him to explain further and the deacon explained, "Well, many of us missed the way the old priest used to bless the church at midnight during the Christmas Eve Vigil." 

Bless the church?  The young priest had never heard of this, so he went to to see the old priest in the retirement community which was now his home.  After an hour or so of discussing various parishioners, their children and cattle, the old priest asked, "And how are you settling in, young man?"  This was the opening he had been waiting for and the young priest asked for an explanation of the rite of blessing the church during the Christmas Eve Vigil.

After staring at him blankly a few moments, a smile dawned on the wrinkled old face.  "That old church is so cold and drafty!" He explained.  "Even in mid-summer I got cold.  But Christmas Vigil was the worst!  So before I began to celebrate Eucharist, I used to go over to the radiator and warm my hands!"

Or there were three generations of women who passed on family traditions faithfully.  As each one got older, her daughter would take over the task of preparing the Christmas Dinner for the extended family.  Each mother carefully taught her daughter all the family secret recipes.  As the youngest daughter was being inducted into the mysteries, she was told, among other things, that it was important to cut off the end of the Christmas Ham before putting it in the oven.  "Why?" she asked, bringing the proceedings to a screeching halt.

"Because you'll ruin it if you don't." Said her mother.  "Isn't that right, mom?"  


"I don't know," replied the grandmother, "That's just the way it's done."


"But why?" asked the rebellious daughter.  "Let's go ask Great-grandmother."  So they went out into the living room where Great-grandmother sat in state, knitting, of course, and asked her why it was so important to cut off the end of the Christmas ham.

"Because" she told them, "my old wood burning stove was so small the whole ham didn't fit in."

So back to being almost 60.  I'm old enough to start asking why and stop worrying about the "Right way."  Well, maybe I've always been a little that way, but I'm going to be a lot MORE that way from now on.  

Beginning with knitting.  Why do we pull from the center?  It's a neat little magic trick that goes wrong about as often as it goes right.  But why do we do it? I just spent 40 minutes trying to find an end that didn't come out of the center smoothly.  I'm done.  The only reasonable reason I can think of for pulling from the center is if I'm knitting with a double strand and only have one ball.  Otherwise, I'm knitting from the outside from now on.  


If I want magic, I'll buy a Fushigi.


 

Craft Fair Blues

My Position

I have been to grocery stores with little fences around them so you can’t take your cart out into the parking lot to your car. They always say, “Don’t worry about anything. There’s someone here watching your cart. Just go get your car and you can load your groceries from here.” But I worry. I have rarely seen anyone actually watching and, even if there were someone, what would they do if I started loading someone else’s groceries? Would they even know? When I get home with all my groceries I heave a sigh of relief and try to believe in the basic honesty of human beings.

At the last craft fair I attended, there was an elderly volunteer standing under a tree in the “loading zone.” She said, “You can’t drive up to your assigned space, but you can just unload everything here and I’ll watch it. After you park, you can come back and cart it to your space.” I thought, “How is that a good idea? Everyone is unloading here and how will this woman know which pile of stuff belongs to which crafter?” But everyone seemed to be going along with her instructions, and I did too. And nothing bad happened.

So today the woman in charge of the craft fair said, “There are numerous volunteers here who will help you get your things to your car.” And a young woman I’ll call “Heather” offered to help. I said, “I’ll go get my van, you help my friend bring the things out.” There was a little mix up about which door, but that’s not the main point. My friend said, “Stay here and watch these things, I will just go get the rest of our stuff.” So she stayed. Then some woman in a van drove up and said, “Oh this is mine,” and loaded my entire inventory into her van and drove off. It isn’t “Heather’s” fault. I don’t think this has anything to do with her age (13). I think it is exactly what the elderly volunteer would have done or the grocery store clerk. It is exactly what I would have done in her place.

But now my entire inventory is gone. This isn’t a hobby; this was a business. Six months of time and creative energy gone in a flash. My very expensive gamble on a start-up business devastated. I am wiped out. And all anyone can say is, “It’s not “Heather’s” fault.” I agree. So what? My livelihood is missing. I have already paid a $200 fee for another craft fair and I don’t have any inventory. I am worse than wiped out. This is not a small thing. I gambled my family savings on this venture. And it’s gone. I have nothing to show for the last six months of work. I have no way to pay back our savings account for all the money I drained out of it. This is my own personal hurricane. I was in shock. All I heard was, ““Heather” is crying.” I was very sorry that “Heather” was crying. I wanted to go somewhere and cry, myself. I don’t think she did anything wrong. I went to “Heather” to tell her I didn’t blame her. Oddly enough, she was the first person who seemed to truly understand this terrible situation. God bless “Heather”, at least she said, “I’m so sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”

If someone took my groceries by mistake or design, I think the store would feel some responsibility. I don’t think the store would try to tell me I had been irresponsible for following their suggested procedures. (“Heather’s” mother kept shouting, “Who leaves their inventory in charge of a 13 year old girl?” The answer is, “Every other crafter who came to the show today.”) I don’t think a grocery store would try to “calm me down” by making light of the situation. (“But you have to understand that these are volunteers.”) I understand that, what I don’t understand is why the adults in charge were reluctant to help rectify the situation.

I am willing to hope that this was all a big mistake and I will see my things again. I don’t in the least blame “Heather”. But I would still like to my inventory back. I don’t really blame anyone for this. But I wish people could have expressed some dismay and concern for my loss. I understand that this is a very unusual case and that people’s inventory is not usually stolen at this or any other craft fair. All I ask is that some attempt be made to recover it. I don’t have access to the list of crafters, I understand that it is not something that the organizers would hand over to me lightly.

Thanks to my friend’s insistence, the organizers did eventually decide to call all the other crafters to see if one of them had taken home my things by mistake. I appreciate this. It seems like the first logical step. I don’t appreciate how long it took them to agree to do this or how little shock, sorrow or empathy they showed toward me.

If no attempt is actually made to contact the other crafters, or if no one is willing to admit they drove off with my inventory, I will have to file a police report. This is not a threat or an attempt to force them to do what they have already agreed to do. This is just simply facing the reality that my entire inventory was taken away by someone who was not me or in any way connected to me.

If I were in charge of a craft show (or a grocery store with a little fence) I think I’d have some kind of coat check or baggage claim system. Although I can’t remember the last time some guy asked me if the luggage I was removing from the airport after a domestic flight was indeed mine. Maybe the world is mostly trustworthy. What would you say? 80%? Higher, lower?

Okay, I know. This has been a really bad day. Not as bad as finding out your father has been murdered by drug addicts on your son’s birthday, but still, pretty bad. I’ll grieve, I’ll recover, it’ll all be better eventually. It could have been worse. It’ll all blow over and I might even see my stuff again. But still…