On my run this morning I thought about how, as a teenager, I used to plan my life. Alone or partnered? With or without children? Horses? Goats? I was still dreaming of five acres and independence in college when I completed a sustainable living plan for a Botany class using a book by that title as a reference. [Five Acres and Independence by Maurice Grenville Kains, 1935]

I was younger than the young woman pictured below, but she must also have dreams of where her life might take her. Life will probably surprise her.

I thought I would be an architect. I thought I would breed horses. I might run a dairy with Nubian goats. I had so many fantasies of where my life might lead, and most of those fantasies rolled over into something better.

Part of my earliest life plan was complete independence, and a concern was always cash flow. How much money would I need? Gas was less than a tenth of what it is today, minimum wage when I was working at 16 and 17 was $1.25/hour. I figured, in the 60s that I would need about 10k/year to get by.

Work was always something I both wanted and feared. Until I was finally hired full time at the local public school in the mid-90s, I had never worked full time. I was working three part time jobs in Seattle before moving back to Oregon: Seattle Rec, Bellevue Art Museum School, and Forest Ridge School. (I had just been offered a job teaching at Bellevue Community College and I didn’t even have an MFA. Now I do, but in an abrupt turn, it was in writing fiction instead of ceramics or metals or textiles. What was I thinking?) Work is interesting. Even ordinary work, the most mundane of jobs, can be interesting. I am always astonished by people who work a job as if it were an interruption in their lives rather than, you know, part of their life! They learn nothing about the product they sell other than what they are required to know and were actively taught.

Gary and I joke about a man in our condo building who is forever insisting on the use of “professionals.” The “Professionals” who painted our building door did nothing to prep the surface and no surprise that they painted metal that should not have been painted at all, they failed to make the simplest repair, and the paint is peeling. I am not a professional painter, but I have worked with genuine professional painters and I know the job better than the hourly help who did that job. I knew more about the requirements for my line of credit application than the manager of the bank. I’d done it before; apparently she hadn’t. This happens all the time. It’s partly because I’ve been around a while, but I also think it’s partly because I pay attention.

---

Across the road and uphill from the Portland roses is another garden. I have been a fan of Japanese art and culture since early childhood. This morning I found a job opening at the Portland Japanese Garden. I immediately wanted that job. I am not qualified to be Curator of Japanese Arts, but I think I could be better at it than some others I have actually worked.

My first job was at Taco Bell and I was good at it. Aside from many years of teaching in schools and museums and community centers, I did direct delivery of junk mail one summer and sold music and quilting supplies, worked mostly the front of a bakery, coached cross country, designed business logos and promotional materials, designed and drew remodels and entire homes, and drew for an architect. Without pay, I worked as onsite construction supervisor, judged dog matches, acted as Field Chairman and judged Canadian and US field trials (sometimes I was reimbursed for travel expenses all over the US), served as a Regional Director (airfare to Board Meetings) and for a year as Scheduling Chair of ASFA and as President of two Afghan Hound clubs. I worked with a more capable person to set up readings with authors in a local gallery and served as President of the CBAA. There are other things I did, other jobs too, which will occur to me later, but this is it for the moment. I have worked in many fields, but I would, if I had the time left, enjoy working for the Japanese Garden. Our Portland condo is walking distance.

This morning a V of geese flew overhead during my run. An eagle was perched on the snag at the top of the cape north of us, a raven called to that eagle, I found two bits of sea glass on the sand. Yesterday, I finished reading Debra Magpie Earling’s extraordinary new novel The Lost Journals of Sacajewea, chanced a viewing of Call Jane, which turned out to be brilliant, and arranged for a visit with friend next month.

Still working on the novel, and I am happy to report that I found a reader for my two worrisome chapters. The former student of my former student Duke Park, Shamima Ahmed found my Muslim chapters “respectful” (a serious concern) and offered significant commentary that pushed my story along. I was particularly moved that she was “very appreciative of both Amani and Nadia being so powerful” and “I really love this image you have portrayed with the singing. I imagine it being almost ethereal in beauty.” Thank you, Shamima, and thank you to Duke for connecting us!

Seven varieties of iris are blooming in our garden from white through lavender and pink to rich royal purple, and with more to come. Gary is weeding, he promises for just a short while. We have stripped all the bedding for a wash. I might manage some sorting of stash yarns this morning, complete a pot of vegan chili, and then sit quietly and knit for much of this afternoon.