Back in prehistoric email times…say, oh, 1995 or thereabouts…many of us (well, Steve and I and at least a few others) peppered our emails with an emoticon for “grin”: <g>.
It was extraordinarily useful for avoiding miscommunication and indicating when we were were being facetious or sarcastic. And it didn’t have the cloying cuteness of the colon-parenthesis smiley face that I can’t even bring myself to type here.
Recently, I’ve started introducing <g> to people who’ve never seen it. My friend Jo made a fantastic suggestion to add <f> as a complementary “frown” (or perhaps another f-word), but let’s start simple. I’d like to issue a call for bringing back the <g>. And it even has it’s own facebook page.
Of course, the angle brackets may give web developers fits. But who cares about them anyway <g>.
Folks who follow my blog may have noticed my use of tarot card images, specifically the Rider-Waite deck. I’ve always been fascinated by the language of the symbolism on the deck. I enjoy doing readings for myself, not in an attempt to get a tarot card to tell my future, but to prompt new thinking about a situation or decision. I was intrigued to find that Jung was interested in tarot. That gives my judgemental rational mind something to keep itself occupied with while the rest of me indulges in my interest in tarot.
Which brings me back to the story I want to tell, of an unsolicited tarot reading I received on Tuesday. I was riding my bike back from Santa Rosa, and due to a bike path closure missed a turn. I ended up overshooting Dutton, and ended up a few blocks north of the bike path on Stony Point. No biggie; I just headed south on Stony Point to join up with the path again and backtrack.
On the overpass, just before the bike path meets up at Rt. 12, I noticed something laying on the ground as I passed over it. “The Fool” from the Rider-Waite tarot! I stopped and backed up to pick it up. What an excellent card! A favorite for describing my “early retirement”. I chuckled to myself and packed it carefully away in my pannier and headed off again.
Then I saw another card, face down. I stopped and picked it up also; then another. I decided to keep them oriented the same way I turned them over. In all there were five cards:
The Fool. Three of Wands. Six of Swords, reversed. Three of Swords. Knight of Pentacles, reversed. I don’t really like the way this three of swords keeps coming up.
The magical world seems to be working really hard to get my attention about something.
It’s not until I’m lying near the summit of Mt. Wittenberg, flat on my belly and watching the dragonflies across the clearing, that I realize that I’ve dozed on her flanks other times in the past, and always when I needed solace and solitude. I ended up here on both of my solo camping trips at Point Reyes. And once, still partly drunk after staying up all night before, I drove out here as the sun was rising, and dragged a sleeping bag up to Sky Camp to doze through the morning. I couldn’t explain then why I needed that, but I knew I had done enough drinking and crying and that wasn’t helping anymore.
I’ve ended up here again, without realizing consciously that this is where I needed to come. There aren’t any of the bobcats, Piliated Woodpeckers, or white Fallow Deer I’ve seen up here in the past…it’s much too hot. Everything but the dragonflies has retreated to the shade, like me. But there is peace.
When we’re kids, we make decisions about what we need to do to survive. We’re not conscious of those decisions; to us they seem like The Way It Is. I developed strategies to keep my world together. I knew how to head off an argument, how to avoid a lecture, how to hide my feelings, how to keep the emotions of those around me from exploding. I explored techniques of keeping my desires and inclinations hidden when I didn’t think they’d match the expectations of me. If it worked, I felt like I was on the right track…I was successful. If it didn’t work, I didn’t question the strategy…I just berated myself for not pushing harder. I just needed to work harder; I was being lazy. I wasn’t good enough. There was something wrong with me. I’ll do better, I promise. I’m going to fix all of this. I’ll be good. And I would shove the real me further down inside.
I’m beginning to understand what those strategies were, and also how they fail to serve me now. Over the past week, I realized how little it takes to put me right back into that very small place, even at forty-four! All I have to do is physically return to the place of my childhood. The real me is so far removed from what’s expected of me there…it’s all too easy to push the real self down again, just to get by. It was a revelation to me. There is enormous grief for me in realizing that I will never get to relate as my true self there. I can’t call that “home”. I can’t even call it “where I grew up.”
But here on Mt. Wittenberg, lying in the grass watching the dragonflies, I understand how those old strategies that no longer serve me. It’s in my power to replace the mask they created with my own true self.
Heading down the steep trail from the summit, through luscious ferns and Bay trees, a Great Horned Owl calls. I’m grateful for Steve’s trekking pole, and smile that even out here on my own, he’s supporting me. I wonder what the Miwok called this mountain. Once we came down the side of this mountain and found a huge shedded skin of a gopher snake. I feel like I’ve shedded my old old skins here, more than once.
If you’re looking for a mostly shady hike at Point Reyes, try taking the Bear Valley Trail to Old Pine to Sky to the summit of Mt. Wittenberg. Then take the Mt. Wittenberg trail back to Bear Valley. This online excerpt from Don Marin’s excellent book Point Reyes National Seashore: A Hiking and Nature Guide will help.
In 1987, I was bartending in New York and saved tip money until I had enough to buy this leather motorcycle jacket at a store in Greenwich Village. This jacket and I had many crazy adventures together, but I haven’t worn the jacket regularly in ten years. Eventually I got the notion that I could turn it into a bag.
But not without help! Enter Maker Faire, and Swap-o-rama-rama, an event where you bring a bag of clothing to donate, then get a chance to rummage through the piles to choose and modify what you find. I donated the clothing, but checked first and got the ok to bring my jacket and a cool skull scarf to do this special mod.
Click on the thumbnails below to navigate through this set of photos showing how the transformation took place:
This was great fun. I’m really grateful to Scatha for seeing me through this project! It made me want to learn more about sewing so I could take something like this on myself! And I loved that I could re-use something I loved once…but would no longer wear…by turning it into something brand new!
It’s been a hectic week, with more feelings and emotions than most. It’s draining.
I’d been home a while and would have been happy to stay embedded in the loveseat with Steve and Laika, but our CSA box pickup is on Thursdays, and I didn’t want to let it go until tomorrow. So I headed for Laguna Farm.
On the long one-way section of Main Street, a shape dashed out from the right; in a split second I recognized the shape as cat before I felt the ugly thud of my car hitting it. I saw it continue across the street; even in the rear view window I could see that the tabby’s hind legs weren’t working like they should.
As I stopped and parked, I saw another car behind me stop; the driver got out, a small figure, and ran across the street looking for the cat. I thought he must live in the neighborhood and prayed he wasn’t the cat’s owner.
He wasn’t. He was calling to the residents of the house, but there was no response. Almost as upset as me, he asked, “Are you the person who hit it?” Yes. “He ran into this yard, but it says beware of dog.”
I ran along the side of the house to look into the yard from outside the fence, but couldn’t see anything. There didn’t seem to be a dog anywhere; the man was almost crying at this point; I certainly was. He went through the gate into the yard first, cautiously, and I followed. I didn’t really see the point; the cat was certainly dying. It would hide and we’d never find it.
But the man found the cat, under a porch; much too far to reach. I came around to that side of the porch and the cat looked back at me, panting. The man pleaded with the cat to die quickly. We agreed that even if we could get to it, it would probably try to bite us.
What a shitty thing. The cat sat there and panted. Was I going to walk away? Was the man going to crawl in after it? Were we going to knock on doors to ask for help or find the cat’s owner?
I don’t remember making a decision. I just know that in a split second I found myself belly-crawling under somebody’s porch.
I got to the cat. It hissed at me. Reaching as high over his head as possible, I grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him towards me. Pushed myself backwards across the dirt, grabbed him again and pulled. Three times and I had him out in my arms. I knew it was hopeless. The man put down his sweatshirt and we wrapped the cat in it. I headed for the car and he followed.
He thought the vet near the humane society would be open; if nothing else, we could have the cat put down and end its suffering. I thought about trying to take the cat alone in my car. “Do you want to hold him if we take my car and I drive?” He agreed, and when we reached the parked car, I gave him the bundle. Off we went.
The cat struggled a few times, mostly if we talked, so we stayed silent after exchanging names and a few questions. Phil asked, “Do you have pets?”
“Two cats. Two snakes. A dog. Two chickens. You?”
“Three cats. Two dogs.” We didn’t really need to ask, did we?
The vet wasn’t open. I knew the emergency pet care on Fulton Road would be. The cat was still breathing, and Phil was up for the trip. Off we went again.
The cat made bad noises. As we got closer I could smell that the cat had lost control of its bladder. “Is he still with us?” I asked, glancing down at the motionless paw sticking out of the bundle.
“He’s twitching.”
We pulled into the parking lot; on the way in, Phil said, “He’s not moving; I think he’s gone.”
The receptionist called for a nurse right away and Phil laid the bundle on the counter, took the sweatshirt away from the lifeless cat.
They took the body back into the hospital and said they’d look at it; thanked us for bringing it in. They asked us to leave our names and phone numbers but not fill out any of the actual form. They’d contact the Sebastopol police with the information; if someone called about a lost cat, the description would be in records and at least they could find out what happened.
We left, dejected but not surprised. At least we tried; we did what we’d hope someone else would do for our pets. And this kitty had been in fine shape; obviously someone’s pet.
We didn’t talk much on the way home. I didn’t feel like I was capable of having any kind of normal conversation, likely to start blubbering about leaving my job and how nice people have been to me there and how strange life seems at the moment. I dropped Phil at his car and went to the farm, then home. I glad to be done for the day. I feel wrecked myself.
I told Steve what happened and mentioned that the police might call to get a more specific location than “Main Street”. Steve said that there was a message on the machine; he’d heard it go on but hadn’t answered it in time, just before I got home. I didn’t think the police would call that soon.
The message was from Pet Care. They wanted me to know that when they looked at the cat, they’d found that it was still alive. They were “breathing for it”, and though the prognosis wasn’t good, they were calling the Sebastopol police and see if they would be authorized to do more for it. I can call back before 10 tonight and find out what happens.
In a split second, I felt less futile about the crawling, the drive to Santa Rosa, the smell of cat piss in my car. I don’t expect to hear that the cat makes it, but it was worth the effort anyhow.
When I called back later that night, of course, I learned that the cat had died.
I’ve noticed a shift in my thinking about clutter. The old way was despair…clutter was bad, I hate clutter, this is making me miserable, I’ll really be the person I want to be when I get rid of clutter, I shouldn’t live with clutter, clutter is a manifestation of my own incompetance, definitely I shouldn’t do anything fun until I get this clutter cleaned up.
I won’t say that that’s all gone…but it’s shifting. I’m starting to recognize that clutter isn’t necessarily mess. Life *is* cluttered. If you’re really living, your living area probably doesn’t look like a photo shoot for a home decor magazine. Don’t get me wrong; I like to have a certain level of order around me; I need to be able to walk through a room without stumbling over things and I like to be able to take something off a shelf or out of a cupboard without knocking three other things over. But I’m giving up on the home decor ideal.
A big fear about clutter fear about clutter that is a fear about hoarding. I’ve seen hoarding…it’s frightening and depressing. It is despair over an empty life. But there’s a difference between being surrounded by your tools and projects and being surrounded by piles of stuff you’ve accumulated just because you acquire stuff to fill in the other holes in your life (and that’s what hoarding is). And too much of my own consumerism leans in this direction. The clutter can be a red herring, letting me fool myself that if I can keep it all cleaned up, it’s all ok. If I can make it look like a photo in a magazine article where someone else is telling me what my living space should look like, it’s all good. Right? Wrong.
Though my attitude about clutter has been shifting for some time, I really noticed it when I saw a recent post by Lloyd Khan. The post was about his new camera, but it included a photo of his kitchen. You can see it here. I looked at that photo and thought it looked warm and inviting. It looked like a place where friends would be happy to cook dinner together. It looked like it would be easy to cook here — lots of kitchen tools readily visible and available. Khan’s photos in Home Work and Shelter showed similar interiors…the surroundings of interesting creative people. But you can truly call this counter culture…because our mainstream culture doesn’t appreciate it. Too much media wants to shove a different idea down our throats and sell us a vision of a pristine home where nothing is done.
And then on Sunday he made another post that crystalizes it all:
“Sometimes I wonder if I and my friends, with our preferences for cozy, colorful, creative, rich dwelling spaces aren’t a little like the book lovers in Fahrenheit 451 — in the minority, out of the mainstream.
“Take Dwell magazine as an example of soulless living. No warmth, no richness, no human clutter in the sterile homes depicted. Is this the future of shelter? I hope not.”
If I had my choice, I’d much rather have a living area worthy of one of Khan’s photos than of Dwell Magazine. But I want good human clutter. I want clutter that says I’m doing stuff, living and creating. Too much of my clutter says that I’m buying things as a substitute.
Since I don’t have a magic eight ball, and I’m not feeling up to making my own predictions….a little New Year’s tarot reading anyone?
The card not shown but at the center of the cross, represents the atmosphere surrounding the central issue. Five of Swords (Defeat): A success earned through personal degradation. Separation from friends brought about by an unfeeling and coldly calculated act. Temporary victory tainted by dishonor and providing fuel for eventual defeat.
The card visible at the center of the cross represents the obstacle that stands in your way - it may even be something that sounds good but is not actually to your benefit. The World: Completeness and intricacy of design. A great work. Achievement, reward, and well-earned recognition. A time of success, prosperity, security and joy. May also indicate travel or a change in residence.
The card at the top of the cross represents your goal, or the best you can achieve without a dramatic change of priorities. Three of Swords (Sorrow), when reversed: Unsettling news that helps you to distance yourself from a destructive relationship. Painfully honest communication that needs to take place. Not letting yourself be dragged by your emotions into a negative situation. A trust or confidence betrayed in an attempt to help someone in need. The revelation of a painful truth.
The card at the bottom of the cross represents the foundation on which the situation is based. King of Wands: The essence of fire behaving as air, such as lightning: A great and daring leader who inspires others to rise to challenges alongside him. An artist who can take hold of an idea and make it a reality through bold action. One who is forceful, charismatic, and honest, leading by example, but unafraid to invest authority in others. A dashing and magnetic personality, carrying authority naturally, and striking at the world with swiftness and grace.
The card at the left of the cross represents a passing influence or something to be released. Temperance: Calm and restraint. Self-control, patience and tact in handling situations. The act of applying balanced spiritual and psychic forces to physical life.
The card at the right of the cross represents an approaching influence or something to be embraced. Eight of Pentacles (Prudence), when reversed: Undue attention to small details at the expense of the big picture. Losing yourself in your work, to the detriment of your personal and spiritual life. Making the same mistake repeatedly. Refusing to learn new crafts or skills.
The card at the base of the staff represents your role or attitude. Six of Pentacles (Success): A time of prosperity and profit. Success and generosity in material things. Power and influence turned to noble pursuits. Philanthropy, and the balancing of physical and spiritual life. May suggest gifts or aid to one in need.
The card second from the bottom of the staff represents your environment and the people you are interacting with. Judgement: A swift and conclusive decision. The resolution of a matter long unanswered. A change in point of view, most frequently towards greater enlightenment. Final balancing of karma.
The card second from the top of the staff represents your hopes, fears, or an unexpected element that will come into play. King of Swords: The essence of air, such as a clear blue sky: A mature leader of unwavering ethics and indisputable authority. An incorruptible judge, whose devotion to the law cannot be swayed by emotion or material concerns. Perfect clarity of thought, directness of action, and eloquence of speech. One who, like a great general, inspires not love or devotion, but absolute trust and loyalty.
The card at the top of the staff represents the ultimate outcome should you continue on this course. The Devil, when reversed: Resistance of temptation. Freedom from bondage. The pursuit of higher goals despite the influence of luxury and pleasure. Release from obsession with money and power. Liberation from fear, weakness and indecision through communion with higher powers or the inner voice.
Sadly, I understand the kind of frustration depicted in this video (via Boing Boing in a post titled “Man loses glasses, damages car wash”.
This morning, I felt a lot like that as I tried to deal with piles of mostly xmess-related crap strewn over my desk, my computer table, the kitchen table, the bookshelf, the space next to my desk. Little piles of crap everywhere, all full of tiny to-do’s that I’m not getting done, that I’ll never get done. Look up the cave paintings in France that depict lions! Check out this audio book recommended by Ronnie (which would then go into a virtual pile I’ll never get around to, either).
I’ve either got to learn to relax with clutter in my life or I need to attempt to do drastically less with my life. Otherwise I’m likely to be featured playing bumpercars on Boing Boing.
When I read Neil Gershenfeld’s book FAB: The Coming Revolution on Your Desktop a couple of years ago, I was excited about the future promise of fabrication. It would be a Maker revolution, with people building amazing things in their own homes. We’d have any number of exciting gadgets and objects, each designed by us, for our personal needs and whims. If we needed something around the house, we could sit down at our computer, design it, and have it pop out of a machine. It would be a fantastic tool for creative people.
I’m much less excited by this fantasy now than I was a couple of years ago. But what’s more interesting is how personal fabrication is sneaking into our lives already. We may not have our own in-home fabber (although some do), but it’s becoming increasingly mainstream to be able to get custom objects created for very little expense.
One of my guilty pleasures is Project Runway, and occaisionally one of the challenges the contestants face is to design something for the “everyday woman”…that’s code for “women who are above a size 2, maybe way above”. I’m an everyday woman, and my fabber is the web. Instead of making gadgets, I’ve been making clothing and eyeglasses. And I don’t have to work with some brilliant snotty designer who takes pleasure in making someone like me cry to do it.
One of the early providers of custom fashion is the Timbuk2 Build-your-own bag system. It lets you choose from their spiffy colors and features to create a laptop bag or backpack all your own. I’ve happily built a number of bags here, ulitimately abandoning them because I don’t really need a new bag; it’s just fun to play with. Below, for $100 and $125:
Similarly, Converse lets you design and purchase your custom Chuck Taylors.
I like to think of these as “recliners”. Invisible motorcycle. Rawr!
Finished with the fantasy, I can abandon my shopping cart and save $130 for something more pedestrian.
As you can see, a lot of this is just playing with fashion. The quality of the products is good enough, and the pricing seems fair for something so customized, if that’s important to you. But what about something really useful.
Jeans. A good pair of jeans a wonderful thing; they can last for years. But finding ones that fit well (especially for the “everyday woman”) can be a torturous project. So I was immediately interested when I read about MakeYourOwnJeans.com in Susie Bright’s column in CRAFT 05. Soon I was having serious interactions with a tape measure…
…ordering custom-made jeans online for $63 ($48 + $15 delivery from India).
I tried them on as soon as they arrived, and realized that I screwed up; I measured the length using a pair of existing jeans with a waist that fits lower than the ones I ordered, so the jeans I got were about two inches shorter than I really wanted. BUT, otherwise the fit is fantastic. They feel better than any other jeans I’ve worn. The crotch and the waistband are exactly where they’re supposed to be. I wish I’d done a better job of measuring…next time I’ll ask for help. And there will be a next time. I plan to order two pair on my next order to optimize the shipping costs.
These jeans also played to my emotions in two ways. By ordering them and noting the shipping details, I realized I was ordering for India and had some qualms. Are the workers treated fairly in this company? How about their environmental practices? I rationalized this by noting that the jeans I buy pre-made in stores come from all sorts of places with questionable practices. At least more of the money I was spending is going directly to the manufacturer, which seems like a good thing.
The surprising thing about MakeYourOwnJeans happened after I put them the first day to wear them, and noticed that something was missing. I’d never been aware of it before, but every time I put on jeans is an opportunity for the inner critic to solemnly note the size on the tag and pronounce judgment on myself. These jeans have no size tag; they have no size. They’re made for me, an everyday woman, and with them I’m not subject to the tyranny and vagaries of women’s clothing sizes. Finally, we can get clothing sized by factual information, not by the labeling of an industry with a vested interest in playing to a woman’s inner critic.
My most recent personal fabrication purchase is eyeglasses. Terribly nearsighted from childhood, I’ve always dreaded the trip to the optometrist shop. It’s clear that the markup on eyeglasses has been out of control; to be happy with your purchase, you have to buy into a fantasy that there’s an optician carefully hand-crafting your lenses and frames and carefully fitting them to your face. Well, you don’t have to pay for that a fantasy any longer (some of you may wish to purchase shoes instead).
Ordering glasses online has been around for a while, but I’d never heard of it until Matt Haughey’s 43Folders post, Adventures in $40 eyeglasses:
I used to wear the same glasses for 3-4 years between changes so I’m finding it incredibly liberating to pick from five different sets of glasses each morning. I have a couple fashionable pairs for going out, a couple understated ones for working and I can even take a chance with a wacky retro frame if I’m in the mood. All told, my glasses cost me from a low of $26 to a high of $84 per pair, mostly depending on the options I picked for lenses.
Matt points to the Glassy Eyes weblog, which has links to everything you need to know about ordering glasses online. Since I’d just gotten my eyes checked and had a prescription in had, I quickly called my ophthalmologist, got my pupil distance and asked them to spend my vision insurance allowance (thank you, O’Reilly!) on my contact lenses this year. I decided to order from Zenni Optical in nearby San Rafael.
I got the works…bendable titanium frames, highest high-index lens material, anti-reflective coating…for a total of $71. They arrived yesterday, and I’m wearing them as I write this. They’re great, and the price is a far cry from the $350 (and up) I would have paid at a local optometrist. Had I opted for a basic stainless alloy frame (or plastic) and regular lens material, my total would have been a paltry $17! That means I’ll be getting spares sometime soon. Maybe a little something in a leopard print or rhinestones. Rawr.
Got a favorite personal fabrication service? Share them in the comments!
will help.
a couple of years ago, I was excited about the future promise of fabrication. It would be a 
