PUBLIC ACCESS

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If it didn’t weigh hundreds of pounds, we’d have dragged this rope home. It has been in water a long time, is several inches across and perhaps ten or more meters in length, heavy with water, and loaded with tiny gooseneck barnacles.

Today is the 25th of June and I am struggling to keep track of time, especially because July Fourth is coming up fast. For most of my life payday was the 25th because I worked for a local public school district from 1979 to 2019 . . . or was that 2018? Everything, especially time, is becoming fluid and muddled. I seek markers for passage of time. Today is a Thursday and alternate Thursdays we have garbage pick-up. Today is Trash Day.

As a Thursday, today is also a Going-Out day where we head out for groceries in the nearest grocery store. Once a month we go further afield to Costco and Natural Grocers and Fred Meyer. We mask except on our beach walks where we try to keep fifty feet from others. Not all locals or businesses respect recommendations about distancing and masking, but we do. We planned to go to another food store today, but they do not mask their counter-help.  Continue reading

GENTLE RAIN

 

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The rain has come and gone and come again—sending torrents, sprinkles, showers, mists, and what my grandmother called “pitchforks and hammer handles.”

My feet are still up instead of walking for a couple more days, Jeanie Tomalek’s painting has been lost by the UPS since 19 May, the Russian doll and the CD from Estonia are still somewhere between there and here even though the Atlantic is not so big as the Pacific Ocean, Butterfly Fontanelle has been submitted for the third time (did I already mention that?), the left side of my jaw remains tender (I may never chew on that side or anything crunchy ever again), my son helped me download software that removed the (thirty-eight!) malware things on my computer, I have been revising work for a collection of slightly-to-seriously non-realist stories in order to submit (to someplace), and I am laying out yarn for a “Strawberry” warp. I might not have all the colors I want for the weaving, but I tell myself that sometimes forging ahead with what I have works out best. In between writing paragraphs, I move skeins around. Continue reading

WHAT NOW?

IMG_20200520_163802There are the things we are not doing just now, but more interesting are the things we may never do again, the things we might do less often, and what we might do instead. But first, confession.

Yes, it’s true I ordered yarn. The colors at left are close to how they will look when they arrive tomorrow, except the color at the bottom is not gray (as it might appear); it’s a pale smokey violet, one of my favorite colors that I use often in warps of all colors. And the terrible thing is that none of these colors works into either of the warps I am considering next. “Strawberry” wants reds and pinks and a particular soft sage green. “Carnival” wants variegated super-bright primaries plus spectrum green all in the same yarn.

We have not attended a party or traveled more than we absolutely must to get food and mail and for my root canal. We venture out in masks and sanitize before touching anything. We strip down and wash all our clothing when we get home again. We have not seen any family members except online, and not often enough even there. We have, once each, been handed things on the beach—a shell, a scrap of paper—by people we know and who have been self-isolating. We held our breath while that exchange occurred. We washed carefully after. We did not touch our face.

I think we never need to enter Safeway again. When we were in college in Seattle, the local Safeway was a terrible place, Pike Place Market was perfect, but there were no local farmers markets as there are in Seattle now. Safeway was always being sued for unfair and illegal employment practices, losing those suits, and then going right on doing underpaying women employees or violating other laws. Gary went to the local Safeway the other day for the first time in over two months. As a former grocer he was genuinely distressed by both the running of the store and the carelessness of customers. Costco and Natural Foods and even Freddie’s have offered better shopping experiences. I miss the Portland Farmers Market very much, and we might go again someday. Someday soon, I hope. A day trip the way we used to two times a month to buy vegetables. The Market is set up with fewer, spaced-out stalls and with limits on the number of shoppers allowed in order to maintain distancing.

We do not need paper napkins ever again, and we’ve been using the same roll of paper towels for three months. It is only half gone and I think should last us through the summer. Gary uses a paper towel to wipe out my cast iron pans. I use a piece of a paper towel to wipe up egg white from cracking eggs on the counter. The sponges and cloths and napkins go into the washing machine.

Gary has not bought a lottery ticket since January, but he probably will again when it’s safe to touch a keypad. We rarely ate out—not at all now—but probably even more rarely in future. Hotels? Will we visit the Kennedy School and The Sylvia Beach Hotel? Drive to Victoria to stay at Elaine’s? Perhaps we will. Movies in theaters on the other hand? Good riddance. I have always thought that films people insist “must be seen on a big screen” must also be weak if that is the only way they are impressive. I can sit closer to the my TV in a dark room, turn the sound up too loud, and mimic the movie theater experience without people talking behind me or a man coughing on my neck. Live theater on the other hand will revive, at least I hope so. There is a critical connection between performers and audience, an experience impossible to replicate at home.

“A huge majority of respondents in The Post’s early May poll — 82 percent — said they opposed the reopening of movie theaters more than any other category of business (with gyms not far behind). Another mid-May survey found that even if the cost was the same, only 13 percent of respondents would prefer to watch a first-run movie in a theater as opposed to their living rooms.”—The Washington Post

We obviously have internet, though no cable or other regular television. That decision was made last summer. We paid to stream a movie the other day, the first time we’d done that. Though we watched at midday and the room with our television is bright with windows and two skylights, the experience was good. We will likely do that again. We also have Netflix and Acorn and BritBox at the moment, which collectively cost considerably less than our old cable bill. Amazon is a concern. We have Prime, but are trying to use only the videos and MarketPlace for Gary’s used CD orders. Eventually, despite a future without Mrs. Maisel, we will cut Prime. Putting entertainment where our voice says?

Going forward, I have been running. Saturday I managed eight minutes in two minute intervals. This morning I will pull out new shoes and try for ten minutes [I managed eleven and am now running every other day with very gradual increases in time]. I have running tights and my Ghost 12 shoes and will fake the rest. Though I kept gear, I discovered that I have no sport bras, not a single one saved. So I went online to Title Nine the other day and ordered a bra. It will be June before I have it. In the past, I always felt I had to earn the right to purchase gear, and I did myself harm by not starting out with the right shoes, bras, and running tights. Not this time. I will do better.


Today is Memorial Day, the day we are supposed to honor those who fought (and died) for the safety of our nation. Among my immediate relatives are my father who fought in the Army as far as Germany, and my aunt who was a Marine in San Francisco. My mother-in-law and father-in-law also served during WW2.

For all the flag-waving and whining about “freedom” I think the people protesting the lockdown mean for others to die for them, while they refuse to rise to this challenge. I know some people who are barely inconvenienced at all while others work in hospitals and grocery stores and delivery, dangerous occupations. I know people working from home and families with no income at all. I know people who ignore the rules about travel and distancing and also those with preexisting conditions that make them particularly vulnerable and cautious.

One hundred years ago communities struggled to cope with a disease that had no vaccine or reliable treatment. The communities and entire cities that practiced rigorous social distancing, isolated the sick, and those that took these unpopular precautions longest, faired best. Fewer people died and local economies bounced back faster where the isolation lasted longest. We have, in fact, a great deal of evidence to support a conservative approach to reopening. It isn’t merely computers modeling what the future is likely to bring, it is the lived experiences of great and great great grandparents.

Human beings have always existed in groups. We are not solo individuals but communal. We agree to rules in order to better support one another. One of our rules should be that we do what is best for everyone over just what is good for ourself, that the old and sick and frail should not suffer due to the heedlessness of the young and strong and selfish among us.

We should follow the rules established for everyone, even when we think we know better because most often we do not know any better.

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I was afraid to take a photo of the entire halo for fear of damaging my camera. But that half circle at the top of the image? That was a circle around the sun. “RIngs around the sun are caused by cirrus clouds — high altitude clouds that form above 30,000 feet. Cirrus clouds form when water droplets condense around tiny mineral particles in the air, then freeze. The clouds appear to form a ring around the sun — or the moon — when light reflects off the ice crystals and refracts by passing through them.”

FOR DEAR LIFE

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My neighbor always used to blame me whenever she caught a cold or flu—”You gave me this”—and now I know she should have washed her hands before touching her face. I do not think she will be able to blame me for this. “Worser and worser” was the ungrammatical line from my childhood. A new Brevity post about how to write during this pandemic is meant to be a list of humorous writing prompts. The author suggests subtly informing your younger self to learn to cut your own hair. I have cut my hair since I was fifteen. Continue reading

TRYING FOR NORMAL

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This rock is larger than it might look, about a mile and a half from my home. The sand has been coming onshore earlier than usual, but it is still about twenty feet high. I used to walk here with my boys when they were little. They climbed the rock and often wanted to be carried home. They took turns. I could not carry them both together very far, but I recall when I was young enough to try.

I wake most often in the middle of the night these days. I know before I look at my watch what time it is, usually within a few minutes. I wish it were near dawn, but it’s not. It’s not even 4:30am, when I would not mind so much being awake. I turn and look for a more comfortable position in bed. I know it’s 2:15am or 1:30. Get up and go to the bathroom? Sometimes. Sometimes I will read a few pages and that settles me. Usually I lie looking up into darkness, then close my eyes and go back to sleep. It doesn’t always happen that way. I’ve noticed after our weekly trip to pick up our mail and groceries, I might lie awake until dawn. “Going out” is stressful.

Continue reading

ART STUDENT

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The Brahma Teapot with the lid off and tipped back to show the bull. I made an entire teaset (the goldsmith who commissioned it did not want anything representational) and dozens of mugs in this style back in the day. The clay looks like porcelain, but is only a low-fire white clay. The patterns are underglaze and protected by clear fired glaze.

Back when I was an art student, I thought I might earn money, if not actually a living, from my art. I envisioned a dramatic difference in my life compared to how I was raised.

I was first a Ceramic Art major at the University of Washington. In the clay side of the Fire Arts Building, we were divided into throwers and handbuilders. I was a handbuilder and our work was primarily sculptural art. It was gallery stuff and I did eventually exhibit in galleries and museums (Bellevue Art Museum and Tacoma Art Museum), but selling was what throwers did because they were in to “production.” That is, they made many of a single shape and sold bowls and mugs and so forth. The year of the first University Street Fair in 1970, I had still been in high school, but I sold handbuilt work. I did that again after I had studio space in the Fire Arts Building, in 1972 perhaps. I took over firing the Skutt kilns with everyone’s work, and completed dozens of handbuilt mugs for sale. A year or so later I juried in to the Bellevue Art Fair. I handbuilt entirely different mugs, dozens of mugs in the style above, and I was disappointment when a friend came along with her ceramic-handled flatware and sold more than I did. I mean: crushed with envy, destroyed. Of course, she is still making a living with her art, so she had the better instincts even then.

Long story short? Selling my work became a painful experience. I gave work away. I traded a teaset for a stunning 8″ gold stickpin. I completed two other pieces on commission and was shafted one of those times. I should focus on success, but I wanted then (and still today) to be the best or not at all. Selling, despite my day job in retail, remained a frustrating and unsuccessful experience, a reflection of failure, inadequacy, foolish hope.

But here I am, weaving shawls for sale. A stack of three quilts, unpriced but intended for sale. And my stories too.

I was still almost young when I began writing seriously. I had a fantasy of selling my first novel and making enough money to create that coveted dramatic change in my fortunes. I would quit teaching and write full time. I would pay off my mortgage. I had the same fantasy about the second (also unpublished) novel.

The first time I made actual money from a story was just a couple of years ago with “If It Were True Owls Dream” which was a fantasy story. My first fantasy and first cents-per-word payment. It made me laugh. I did not need the money as I felt I had and no longer had delusions about fame and fortune. By then I was beginning to wonder about how to construct a story where (nearly?) all sources of conflict were absent. And I thought that perhaps I could make some money selling SF/fantasy. Maybe. Or not. Did it matter?

But then Trump and covid19 and rejection from publishers. I send essays off to Dinty Moore and he is kind enough to publish them in the Brevity blog. Mostly recently I wrote an essay about the creativity we will find after much of what we assumed was true about the world, how things work, and ourselves is unraveled. That essay goes live next month. Does anyone think this will be over next month? Convince me.

And then I decided to serialize some of the story that has consumed my writerly imagination for a long time, years. That is why bits of “Butterfly Fontanelle” showed up here. A little at a time goes up as I work through the only draft I could find on this computer. There is a 37k word version someplace, I think. I am working from the fourteen thousand word version. It’s growing a bit. Each day I work on it, I am a little bit surprised at what is happening. I am trusting that by the time I put up the 15th or 18th installment, it will end properly, that it will have gone someplace. I honestly cannot recall how this one ends. Not for sure. Maybe. We’ll all find out together.

And I have retired from teaching. The mortgage is paid. And here is a dramatic change to my life.

PEACEFUL DAY

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We each have our favorite colors of sea glass. Gary almost never finds the dark orange “brown” glass. Cobalt blue (the piece above is more than 50mm across and 6mm thick) is cause for celebration.

Today I will bake rolls and roast green beans. My mother would have made lamb, but we are vegetarian and I have a casserole of mac&cheese already made and ready to go in the oven. I found fresh blueberries on our weekly grocery run, so there will be a pie. No ice cream, but blueberry pie. We will sit at table and remind ourselves of our good fortune. Continue reading

CARNIVAL

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My third day working on the “Carnival” warp with just ten inches woven. (I discovered that the acid green I’d hoped to use was from a very old first dyelot of the color and the yarn itself thicker than the others. I finished off a very old blue skein like that in the recent blue warp.) Twenty or more inches today, I hope, and I will bake bread. We had salad last night for dinner! Such a relief after no fresh greens for a week. Salads for the next couple of weeks, and I have leeks to make leek soup, potatoes to go into the soup or for oven fries, cheese!, green beans I will roast tomorrow. Potato chips are a treat.  Continue reading

TEACHERS & other essentials

Nurses, doctors, firefighters, the EMTs who answer calls, ambulance drivers, therapists, technicians, and pharmacists.

A local hospital administrator must leave her infant son to ensure medical care is available for the rest of us.

Like other essential services, children need education and local teachers are still at work, striving to accomplish what they can without actually having students in front of them. It is a challenge. One teacher, working from home in her basement, commented, “As you can imagine, it is not best practices just to put your assignments online and think they will be able to do them.” She has always done so very much more than that. And every day.

A local trucker friend who delivers fuel is also working, often with people who do not think any of this is a big deal. He worries about his mother, in her 90s.

The nearest grocery is five miles from us and having trouble keeping supplies in stock. Their employees are gloved and masked, but they are still open.

Our favorite bakery in Tolovana delivers bread at their door.

No one wants to take cash, but we are not spending much either. We stay close to home and do not sleep well the night before we must go out. But there are invisible people still plugging way and keeping things moving, people who still go to work each day, people who log on to their computers and do the job, people who are old themselves but still taking care of older relatives, people who fill my yarn and book and CD orders, people who gather to sing virtually.

Thank you. Thank you every one.

HOW LONG? 2 charts

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“How long the coronavirus can survive on surfaces

“The researchers behind the new study tested the virus’ life span in a 71-degree-Fahrenheit room at 65% relative humidity. After three hours, the virus had disappeared from printing and tissue paper. It took two days for it to leave wood and cloth fabric. After four days, it was no longer detectable on glass or paper money. It lasted the longest, seven days, on stainless steel and plastic.*

“Strikingly, the authors wrote, the coronavirus was still present on the outward-facing side of a surgical mask on day seven of the investigation. That’s the longest duration of all the materials they tested.”

NOTE: It lasts longer on cooler rather than warm surfaces. Some research has also suggested that increases in relative humidity reduce how readily the virus can spread between people. Your mail is most likely safe on delivery according the the article.


Gary wiped down a wine bottle with alcohol wipes, but we’re mostly avoiding bleach. Mostly, we allow things to sit for days. We wish freezing or refrigeration made a difference (no). We wish vinegar killed it (acidic—wouldn’t that be nice? but no). We wish we didn’t have to think about this at all.


from Business Insider. https://www.businessinsider.com/coronavirus-lifespan-on-surfaces-graphic-2020-3?utm_source=DI20B8U3&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=20_feb_corona&utm_term=04_06