Wednesday, September 26, 2012

The Future, The Past

Today I had a little time to kill at the end of my lunch hour, so I drove over to see how the condo construction is coming. The house wasn't open, but I could peer inside the windows and it was exciting to see what's going on in there. I think it's ready for the paint and flooring. I stepped back to the sidewalk and just tried to take it in, tried to imagine going home there every day. A guy walked by at one point and said, with a smile, "Is that your house?" (We talk to strangers in Portland.) "Yeah." He said, "Congratulations!" I'm supposed to close around 11/9, although I still have a long way to go before that's certain. I hate wishing time away, but I kind of hope it gets here fast.

Every night I come home from work, strip down to my underwear, put on a tank top, and sew all night to episode after episode of This American Life. I don't know exactly what the first part of the ritual is about. I think that when I started, the weather was still quite warm so my apartment was around 1,000 degrees when I would get home from work. So anyway, I get home, put on my uniform, start the podcasts, and sew, sew, sew. I sew all night and then pack things up when it's time to go to bed. The next evening, I come home and do it again.

I've been trying new (simple) patterns every few days to help me learn and remember the basics. I've been filling up my Etsy shop . . . Is it possible I don't truly have the heart of an entrepreneur if I hope no one buys anything because I like to see all those little pouches in the pictures there? I actually started to close the shop late this summer; I decided I much prefer making things for friends vs. making things for strangers. But then about a month ago someone e-mailed me and asked if I would make twenty bags for a party they're having. Twenty! I decided it would be a good challenge, so I'm about to start that. I'll make them in my underwear and a tank top, no doubt.

Ready to gasp? Huntington Beach called me last week. I know. I almost dropped my teeth. We spent about 2 1/2 hours on the phone catching up, and I'll tell you what you already know: I loved it. It's truly hard to believe it's been a year and a half since he and I were in regular contact. And during that time, whenever I've started to see someone who is nice and cute but not quite doing it for me, I'll say to a friend, "He's no Huntington Beach." Eesh. However. the reality is that neither of our situations have changed, and he only got in touch to say hi and catch up. We've texted a few times since, but honestly, I don't see it going anywhere. I sure liked him, and it was incredibly nice to hear from him. He's a good, good guy.

I'm beat. Thanks for listening, Internet.


  1. Jeez, LSL, you sure know how to calm us down with talk of sewing and then drop a grenade in at the end with the HB thing. I'm glad it turned out to be a good conversation.

    I couldn't help but relate it to my own life and I'm not sure I could handle the emotional turbulence that would come of running into my own Huntington Beach. Perhaps it's a question of nomenclature. You name your guy after a beach. Mine I call "meteor strike".

  2. Oh, my... I can't get past the confluence of you donning a "wife-beater" and reconnecting with "Huntington Beach," a guy who offers no future and whose presence in your life seems to bring sadness... None of my business, I know...

  3. Totally agreed. I thought "wife beater" painted the picture better, but I think it's more jarring. Imma change it.

    And don't you know - it's always your business! It's OUR business. Collectively :) I thought about linking to a happier post about HB. I didn't write a lot about him, but he brought me a huge amount of pure joy.

    (Here's one that counts:

    But ultimately, you both are right commenting on the turbulence and sadness. Jeez. I'll try to remember that collective decision making tends to work better on these types of things.

    Thanks, gentlemen :)

  4. You make amazing, beautiful things.