Plan B

I went to "open sew" last Friday night at Modern Domestic, the awesome little shop where I'm learning to get crafty. My previous post detailed my plan - basically, have fun making little pouches and try my hand at an Etsy shop.

Here they are in the early stage . . . no one told me there was so much ironing in sewing.


Here's the dining room table at home - getting ready to pin the zippers in.


Back at Modern Domestic to face this thing:


In the middle of making two little cuties.


This is called a "seam ripper" and it's the instrument you use to undo "Oh shit" moments. I had several of those that evening.


The finished product - 3 little guys.


So I learned a lot that night and one thing I learned is that I'm not great at this! But I did have fun and I am enjoying the inspiration that comes from being around different colors and textures and just creating something.

I think the new plan will be to just practice and keep having fun until I get a finished product that I feel good about putting out there. I did decide to get a beginner sewing machine to practice on at home, so that little number shows up tomorrow. I think she's going to fit in around here just fine -- and I already have a name for her. More updates to come.

Project

I took my second sewing class last Saturday. My mother is an amazing seamstress, but I was never really interested in learning from her when I was younger. I guess that's how I ended up at 40 having never touched a needle. And I think at this point it's safe to say I am not a prodigy.

The idea was - actually there were a few ideas:

• to make cute pouches because I use them all the time to store little things and I've bought a ton of them
• to find something new that I have fun doing, to learn something new
  
• to make a few to sell on Etsy if I have fun making them and am not terrible at it
• to do something I'm not very good at to get me out of my comfort zone
  

Everything is going fine except that last thing. That last one is going great. I am *so* not good at this. But I am having fun, and it's nice to be trying something new. Plus, and I keep saying this, I'm already turning into my mother - why not just speed up the process?

I'm going to "free sew" this Friday night (does that sound like a rockin' time or what? I hope there's wine involved) and if I get a few decent zipper pouches made, I do think I'll try my hand at an Etsy shop. So now I just need a name. Any thoughts? Sizzle and I were thinking about Onshore Creations. Maybe something having to do with sewing, or any of my other "hobbies" like surfing, travel, something Japanese, or maybe something about Oregon. Ready? Suggest.

Be Here Now

I've been obsessed with surfing lately. I'm watching surf movies, I'm reading surf blogs, I'm falling asleep covered in surf magazines. I think about it all the time - remembering the lessons it's taught me, wondering if I'll be able to improve. I think about those first few steps into the water, and no booties day, and long, smooth rides.

Last week I was thinking of a session I had with Jules late last summer. It was after the EPIC SAGA of me getting to the point where I could actually stand up on the board, and I had been riding pretty consistently for a few months. After how long it took, it's crazy to think of sessions where I was up on my feet taking nice rides on every try, but that's just about where I was. After doing that session after session, I asked Jules, what happens next? Now what?

I was certain that my curiosity, my drive to learn would be rewarded with a little glimpse of the Next Steps; that my question would cause my Sensei to reveal the next section of the map.

Jules' reply, and I think this is verbatim, was, "That's the sickness of the human mind."

I honestly thought she had heard my question wrong. I just looked at her until she continued, saying that we're always thinking about the next thing, the next steps; we can never just appreciate where we are and what we have and just be.

I went surfing last Friday. I'd been looking forward to it all week. The awesome shop owner let me take out another board to try (seriously - no charge; I just walk in and walk out with another board. Is this what family feels like?) It was an 8'6" and what a thrill to start a ride with my toes hanging over the bottom edge. I've never done that before. It's not hard to pop (I mean, that's still a whole lotta board), but I had a hard time finding my footing on the deck -- always too far back, which puts on the "breaks". I had a couple ok rides, nothing amazing, and a lot of fun wipe outs, including a few front-somersaults. I always like those because I feel like those mean I can leave a session feeling like I really gave something - it's easy to fall off the board, but it takes a special effort to lose myself to the degree that I completely spaz out and catapult myself into space. In public. Csikszentmihalyi would approve.

The technical part is this: I felt better on the 9'2" than the 8'6", but I'm having a hard time thinking of laying down money for a whole new board for 8 inches. (My current board is a 10'.) For some reason in my mind, I'd rather buy an 8'6" because maybe I'll be challenged by it longer. (Like, forever?) In Costa Rica, they were going to move me from a 9'2" to an 8'6" the day before I left, so that makes me think I'm ready. But in CR, they were short boarders teaching us to eventually short board. Here my peeps are lovely, luscious long boarders. When I returned the borrowed 8'6" on Friday, I told the pro working the shop that I liked it but I wasn't sure what to do. He said, "No question. Go with the 9'2"." The other part is that I think some of what makes me hesitant to really go for it out in the green is the mammoth-ocity of my board. The 8'6" just feels like less to get smacked in the head with.


(This just in: That entire paragraph is some crazy-ass shit. Three years ago if you would have told me that in May of 2011 I would be debating what to go with for my second surfboard, well, I would have said, "That's the sickness of the human mind." Just kidding.)

The non-technical part is this: Jules was right. She's still right. I am having a hell of a time right now because I have no interest in just be-ing, in sitting with the details in my life. It's like my life is a dodgy acquaintance I'm constantly trying to lose. I hate to be another 40-year old having another mid-life thing, but: this isn't how I pictured it. I know, I know, but it's not.


I'm working it out. That's all I can say.

My Little Tomato

Probably the hardest thing for me this past year (in a year where many things have been vying for that title) is that I no longer see my two amazing nephews very often. Life got complicated for them quite early, and I don't know what else to say. I think we're all doing the best we can.


Older brother turns 4 in a week. It's hard to believe that's true. I've seen him for a total of about 5 hours since he turned 3. But I do know that he is healthy and strong and growing fast. And I'm grateful for all of those things.


I was at my Mom's over Easter weekend and the boys call her occasionally so I was able to talk with them for a few minutes. Being 1 1/2 and almost 4, they're not very interested in long conversations, but hearing their sweet noises were enough. (And by "enough" I mean, thank you thank you thank you thank you.) At one point, their mom whispered to older nephew, "Tell Mimi you got the picture of her surfing!" (I write them letters and send them pictures, material that may or may not contain various surf propaganda, so they won't forget who I am.) And he mimicked to me, "Mimi, I got the picture of you surfing."

And then I could almost hear the lightbulb go on and he said, "Mimi? Do you surf?" I said, "Yes, I do" and he repeated, even more incredulous, "Mimi, do you SURF?" "Yeah, honey. I surf." He repeated that 3 or 4 more times just to make sure. "You SURF, Mimi? Mimi, you SURF?"


That conversation was short but oh so sweet, and when I could tell he'd had enough, I said (contrary to every fiber in my body), "I'm going to let you go. I love you. Bye, sweetie!" And he said back to me, con mucho gusto, "Bye, sweetie!"


A week or so later I received some pictures in the mail of the boys, which was amazing. Both kiddos are bigger than I remember them. I hate it that they're growing up without me. I just have to believe there will be a time at some point in the future when I will be in their lives again.


For now I look at old pictures over and over and over again, and I have a few little videos I play when I can handle the avalanche of sadness they bring. I also read my blog posts about them and try to remember better times. Not one day goes by that I don't think of their great giggles and little hands and unique, individual personalities.


So happy birthday to my Little Tomato. I've prayed for you a thousand times and I'll pray for you a million more. Healthy, happy, kind, strong, beautiful nephews. I love you both.

A Short Story

I'm not enjoying school. If you know me, you know that's so weird. School has learning and office supplies, and I really like both of those things. And besides being weird, putting this much time and effort into something I'm not enjoying is really counter to my belief system, so now I've got some cognitive dissonance going on up in here. Double dislike.

My cohort is all starting our student teaching in the fall. Fall is a part-time student teaching gig, and spring is a full-time student teaching gig. That means the official recommendation is that we all quit our jobs sometime before Thanksgiving this year. And then we'll just be hoping to find teaching jobs the following school year, and if we do, our next paychecks after this November will come at the end of September 2012.

Please do not get me started on this, but the summary is: that's not going to work for me. (Seriously -- who is this gonna work for? My 12 year-old classmates who still live with their parents? But see, now I'm about to get started, so anyway . . .)

Tonight my professor stayed after our class (that ended at 10:00 PM) and we talked for an hour about a few options I may have. The options aren't great and I struggle with the prof's style and I don't know if this whole thing is going to work out and I can't quite believe I'm the first student in history that needs an income to live.

But I appreciated her time very much, and I know a little more now than I did before, and I guess all I can do is keep trying to figure it all out. It might work out and it might not. I'm just going to keep trying to ask for help when I think I need it, and in the mean time, I guess I'll hang out here in the grey.

The end.

(Great Venn diagram illustration comes from This is Indexed. All the great Venn diagram illustrations come from there.)

Teach Me How To Dougie

"We've waited too long for a First Lady who can pull this off."



From Kottke - who describes the significance of the clip thusly:

It's not just that Michelle Obama is the first black First Lady. It's also that she was born in 1964. She's sixteen-seventeen years younger than Hillary Clinton or Laura Bush. She was in high school when hip-hop broke. Even Barack was already in college. She probably did a few of these dances in a South Shore parking lot when her husband was already thinking about getting into law school. In Joshua Glenn's generational scheme, Barack is part of Original Generation X, while Michelle's firmly in the next cohort, alternately titled Generation PC/the Reconstructionists.

Michelle is the first First Lady of the hip-hop generation. And not only does that explain a few things; it's incredibly awesome.

More where that came from. And a special note: I've never heard of the Dougie, the original Beyonce song, or the Beyonce video they're imitating.

One more: Michelle is gorgeous, isn't she? I love her.

Mini-Break

I had a really nice day today pretending that I didn't have homework or any other care in the world. It went something like this:

I took a back way from my house to get to St. John's and felt like I'd found a secret passageway. Shhhh.


First came the foot soak and scrub.


Then came the massage. It was really heavenly, and I know my way around a massage.


Next up, a surprise run-in with one of my favorite breakfast places. NE has really changed since the last time I lived here.


Then I arrived for my class. Nervous. There were only four of us and the teacher was young and hip, very nurturing, and just a touch sarcastic. Perfect.


You don't scare me. (Well, you do a little.)


There are so many tools involved. Who knew.


A ridiculous amount of folding and ironing went into that beautiful hem.


Again with the tools. This will make the corners turn out properly.


I don't have a full view of it to show, but it looks great! The fabric is facing the right direction and those seams are something to write home about. (The ironing that goes into seams! Mon dieu!)


And finally, the annual trip to my favorite running store to replace my shoes. They were fantastic, as usual. It was a good reminder that I need to refocus on working out regularly.


And then I came home and did homework until 2:00 AM to make up for it. Totally worth it.

Soul Food

I had class for 8 1/2 hours today (you heard me), which was super disappointing because I'd been wanting to go to a craft fair that was in Portland for today only. I've been trying to figure out ways to inspire some creativity in my life and I thought that visiting several of my favorite Etsy peeps in person would help. Unfortunately, last week I found out we had class all day, and when I asked my professor if I could be just a wee bit late coming back from our lunch break, she said no. Hrumph. I've been bummed about it all week. But last night as I was packing my crap up in my bag, getting ready for class today, I realized that I'm an adult and it's a free country. So guess what?


I went to Crafty Wonderland today and had so much fun. I think it was my first craft fair. There was a good amount of, um, stuff I'm not really interested in, but there was a ton of original, beautiful, inspired things, too. I loved it. I zipped through on my lunch hour (and a half, or two) and saw a lot of deliciousness. My favorite things were paintings/drawings, little bags made of cute fabric, ceramics, and fine papers/stationery. It felt great being around so much color and so many pet projects that had a lot of heart.

I don't know if it will help me find my inner creator, but I'm really glad I went.



(Yes, Sizzle, that's Rachel Austin's booth!)

Desperately Seeking Csikszentmihalyi

I had a lesson with Jules last Saturday. It's crazy, isn't it? Back in the water with Jules. You can imagine there was a little bit of catching up to do during the beach talk (it's been since December).

I told Jules about life and Costa Rica and being 40. She caught me up on the basics of what's been going on with her, although, as usual, her story was just my story (and my story, hers) in different packaging. And then we hit the water.

There are two versions of what happened next, and I guess I want to get both down so when I look back I'm not tempted to disregard the depth of my ability to bullshit myself.

One version is that we got in the water and I really struggled to get used to my beautiful board again. I did ok in white water, switched to green and got pounded - never even really got outside - and then tried a smaller board inside and did pretty great. It was a good day in the water.

The other version is a little different. I don't think it's totally going to make sense, but I want to try.

Jules and I spent some time in the white water in an attempt for me to find my groove on my 10'. I told her I'd ridden a 9'2" in CR and that they'd taught me a totally different stance and all that. I took a bunch of rides and I was all jacked up; it felt so weird. I'd ride in and come back out to Jules and we'd kind of look at each other and she'd go, "Ok." She said I was just looking really mechanical and that I didn't have much flow. She's say, "That's ok, try another" and give a few words of encouragement as I hopped on and took off. I'd ride in and then come back out and she'd say, "Ok. I noticed your left hand stayed on longer than your right" or something. And I'd say, "Yeah, ok. Ok." and I'd try it again. It was weird. Definitely no flow.

I started telling Jules more about CR in the downtime in between sets. I've had such a hard time figuring out what I feel about CR -- it was an amazing experience, but the surfing part left me pretty empty. So I started describing it to Jules in between rigid, mechanical rides, and as I was telling her, I was really figuring out what had been going on down in CR for me. Finally. I was really putting it together and thinking of a bunch of stuff I wanted to journal about, and it felt like finally having some clarity after this month-long haze. Relief. My problem down in CR was centered around the instructors and how inflexible they were with this whole 1, 2, 3-step learning process. Plus they'd started the first lesson of the first day telling me I had some bad habits to break, and that just really didn't sit right with me. You can imagine. Add to that absolutely no beach talks whatsoever, and I was starting to be able to verbalize what was so weird about my time in the water there.

Part of what I'd explained to Jules was that my entire goal for CR was to learn to surf on the outside and for whatever reason, I never even got on the outside once down there. Finally at the end of my vacation, the day before I left for home, my instructor told me he thought I was ready to go outside the following day. I thought, "Great, pal. I leave tomorrow." So I was telling Jules how disappointing that was, and how important it is to me now that I'm back home that I don't come to another Oregon winter without being able to surf consistently outside (surfing in the deeper water). I said that I just want to schedule a bunch of lessons and do whatever it takes this summer to get a certain comfort level so I can at least paddle out during the shitty, once-a-month-if-we're-lucky sessions next winter. And I asked Jules what she thought it would take for me to be able to get there.

Why do I ask questions like that?

It's something about turning 40 and trying to make this massive, ridiculous change in my career, and all the family turmoil that's been going on, and the changes my body has gone through this past year, and maybe mostly about me turning 40. It's about acceptance. Acceptance of being me, being 40, being here before I can get there . . . wherever there is. Accepting the shallow water before the deep. Accepting the whitewater before the green. Accepting the empty before the full. I wish I could say my discomfort and lack of connection in CR was the fault of the instructors or anything else, but I know better. I don't know how to be where I'm at right now. I don't know how to stop turning away from myself. I don't want to be where I am and that shows up first in surfing -- the thing I do in life that requires more than anything else that I show up and start from where I'm at.

So I guess green waves will come. But not before I accept the white. It's tough -- I can do the white, but that's not what this is about. It's not about mastering or performing. It's about accepting. Accepting the level I'm at that I don't want to be at anymore. Accepting the things in my life and about my life that I don't appreciate, don't want, wish weren't true, ignore, pretend, and hope will go away. I would guess that it's no mistake that I don't often find myself in a place where I don't know how to do what it is that I want to do. But here I am.

Surfing, this is why I came to you in the first place. Please teach me.

Three to Remember

Same session as the post above, but I don't want to forget these things from my time with Jules:

Early in the day Jules mentioned they'd had a rescue the day before -- someone got caught in the rip and was carried out past the rocks on the outside of the cove. I was dumbfounded -- I've only been on the outside a handful of times, but we use the rip to get out every time, and sure it's tiring, but you paddle out and then rest a minute and you get your strength back. I just wasn't understanding how someone could get caught and carried out to the point of needing a rescue. And THEN we paddled out. The report said 7-8' that day, but it looked about 100' to me. My god. I couldn't even really get out. I kept getting tossed off my board, so I'd get back on and try again, remembering to paddle directly into the wave on my way out, and there was just no way in hell. Twice I caught up to Jules, who was sitting on her board watching the horizon, and we'd realize (she before me) that we weren't far enough out, so we'd see the wave start to crest and we'd lay down and start paddling straight into the wave. She'd make it and I wouldn't -- I'd see her feet go over the massive lip from right underneath before it pounded my head. I did one perfect turtle roll and then gave up even attempting to hold my board. I just held my breath and ducked under water while the wave broke so it wouldn't snap my neck (it probably couldn't have, but damn, I felt stuck), and then I'd come up and find - there I was again, right in the impact zone. I'd have time only to take another big breath and go under to avoid the weight of the water. I felt my leash pulling on my leg and was relieved my board was at least 10' away, but I took about 8 successive waves like that - from under water with only enough time to come up for air in between. Sucks ass. And is scary. I was just starting to wonder if I was going to panic when I felt the ocean floor with my feet -- I'd been carried all the way in without even knowing it. What a mess. And an hour earlier I'd been wondering how in the world some idiot had been in need of a rescue. Jules came inside to see if I wanted to try to get outside again and I was dumbfounded. I told her I couldn't have tried to get outside again if I'd wanted. After that first attempt, if Mr. Great White himself had been two inches from my nose I couldn't have paddled one more time. What a lesson. Jules told me her partner says it's like a bank, and you have to know how many paddles you have in the bank before you go out, and you always save some paddles just in case. What a good lesson for me. I was tired after that one - the effort and the fear took it out of me.

I'm wondering about finding a smaller used board because I just find my big, gorgeous baby so cumbersome to deal with. The awesome shop owner let me take a 9'2" out with me (just let me take it - no charge, no nothing) that day and I spent some time on it after my lesson. It was slick (I didn't wax it and it needed it) and not very wide, and the rails were pretty thin, but it felt frickin great. I got used to it way faster than my own board, and my last ride of the day was just one long, sweet, curvy, juicy, love song to life. No one is more surprised than I am. Maybe it's a fluke - we'll see. I'd like to try an 8'6" next time and see how it feels, and then maybe ask the owner to keep an eye out for me for a good, used board. I feel kind of silly thinking about getting a second board when I'm such a beginner, but I can't deny that 9'2" felt amazing. So I'm just playing around for now.

I want to remember beautiful Jules in the water opposite of me, talking about aging and trying to find a solid place to anchor me to. She said, "You know, forty isn't what it used to be. It really isn't." It is frozen in my mind as a picture of a tiny miracle - this gift of one minute of total awareness: my 41 year-old surf teacher talking to her 40-year old student, both of us in wetsuits in the freezing Oregon ocean, me - willing myself against all reason to learn how to slide on water, and her - opening her chest and baring her beating, bloody heart in the hopes it will teach others they can do the same. You're right, Jules. Forty definitely isn't what it used to be.

You'll Be Fine, Partner

I'd be surprised if this isn't the most effective suicide prevention campaign in my lifetime. Enormously important work Dan's doing. Nice job, Google.

Gone

Not much has been happening in the news lately, so I thought I'd share the latest in my little life. Huntington Beach and I made the split. In essence. It was the most mature, caring, sensible parting of ways I've ever experienced, and I hate it. Detest. I'm miserable, lonely, empty. I've only been mentioning HB here for about the last six months, but he and I met over two years ago the very first week I moved back to Portland. So there wasn't much of the health problems, time off from work, lazy summer, learn to surf, extended job hunt, decision to become a teacher, going back to school, painful work transition, turning forty experience that I didn't share with him. In the end, I think I let heinous family stress do us in. I didn't know how to stop it. It doesn't really matter because it's the right thing, but if he so much as opened the door a crack I'd rush back in and lap up every ill-fated second.