last swim of the summer

I was kind of freaking out for two days. It might’ve been hormones, or post-concussion syndrome symptoms or a reasonable response to an overwhelming, fucked up world but I was having a hard time. 

Five weeks ago, before the first day of school, we had a family swim day at the Sandy River. It was late August, the dregs of a too-hot summer that refuses to chill out. Deaths and theft and big changes that we are still sitting in the wake of, slapped by difficult emotions.  We went swimming and ate ice cream and called it a good day. My step kid scoured the sandy shore for rocks to smash while I floated out in the middle of the shallow, not too cold but sandy bottomed river. Most rivers near us wear rocks smooth; a treasure for the eyes but unsteady underfoot. The Sandy River is a great fishing spot in winter, but in late summer, before the rains return, the water is low, the current lazy and you can walk across the river without getting your shorts wet.  There is an old drive in diner that has been revamped with simple soft serve with fancy toppings, making a perfect escape from Portland Day.

Now, my step kid is back in school. Most mornings, I wake him, make lunch while he coos at the dog, then we walk to school together. But this day, I was exhausted. I had a headache for a few days, not a migraine like you'd expect but a special back-of-the-head ache that combines a little nausea, some brain fog and a lack of patience. I felt jumbled and foggy, and unable to enjoy my day off and I can't stop crying.

My head feels like a snowglobe someone shook too hard and now the glitter flakes won't settle.

It was supposed to be 87 despite it being October. I was supposed to go swimming. I am tired and impatient and finally decide to go. Every time I checked, the forecast insisted it would be 87 but at 3 it was 75 . I almost gave up.  I sat in the sun eating my ice cream and contemplated. I don't miss hot weather--it exacerbates my symptoms giving me a foggy, wool in the brain feeling. But I was hoping to swim.

This summer, I realized that floating on my back in cool water calms my headache. There is science for this, about being in cold water when you feel agitated or inflamed .   On hot days, I work at home and take multiple breaks in our kiddie pool.

I could take a cold shower too, and I do though it isn't just the cold water that offers relief. Even in shallow water, or in the little pool in our backyard, I float on my back, reach towards the sides of the pool or the edges of the water and look up. On the river, the horizon becomes almond shaped, bent at the edges of my peripheral vision.  Even with my head back my ears are below the surface of the river and all is quiet.  It is utterly calming.  Today I don't stay long. The water is cold.  I have waded out to a sunny spot but my hands and feet are chilled.  I float a few times, take deep breaths, looking up. 

You rarely know when you're experiencing something for the last time.

We came to the river to celebrate the end of a very difficult summer but the summer kept going. So I tried to say goodbye one more time.

The next morning was gray, chilly, almost drizzling. My step kid declared there are rarely any foggy days in Portland, which is a perfect example of how a 10 year old experiences the world. THere has been no fog for months therefore it is rarely foggy.  The summer is over but it is still swimming weather if you want it to be.

sustainability and a big thank you

new hanky for my workspace from Caroline Kern/Pegacorn Press

I have an artist friend whose work seems to be everywhere. It is beautiful, thoughtful, interesting. I often wonder how she does it, show after show, with markets and events and so much new work always. Her work evolves and grows—it does not seem stagnant or repetitive to me. She recently said something about coming out of something, implying an illness. She remarked that self-employed artists don’t get paid sick time. Which is true. I don’t know the details of her situation but I have been struggling with this as I ease back into the full-time work life:

how do I continue to take care of myself and work in a sustainable way while being self-employed?

I was house sitting a lot this spring and summer. The best jobs were ones that lasted at least a week. It was a way to begin working without straining my body. It gave me a chance to re-establish some healthy habits . As a bonus, I stayed at a friend’s lake house and went swimming off the dock every sunny day.

When I got home, finally, it had been nearly 2 months and I was exhausted. I wanted to bake bread. I wanted to clean out my closet. I wanted to encourage the tomato started I put in the ground haphazardly before a rainfall between housesits. I thought about making housesitting my job. I love being alone, I like animals, I like being in different parts of the city. But it was stressful to always be leaving. So I put it on hold.

I committed to staying home, for now.

I’m still coming back to California when I can. I am definitely a person who makes a million plans when I am feeling good and then realizes I have over-committed. A friend calls it the difference between sunny day plans and rainy day plans. After a few days of a persistent headache, I sometimes come out of it with the sunny day feeling—I want to do EVERYTHING.

One of the things I signed up for, in a whirlwind of an EVERYTHING day was six months of coaching with Bear Hebert, a friend who has always given good advice. I am slowly moving my business towards supporting me full-time, with their patient help. One step:

I raised the price for all new Keep Writing subscriptions.

There is no way to raise prices for existing subscriptions, which is both frustrating and understandable. I decided to tell my subscribers what I did and why. And then I let them choose. They could cancel their subscriptions and re-subscribe at the new rate, or not. And they did. Not everyone. But a few folks did, and a few folks with lifetime subscriptions volunteered to pay a little every month. It was very sweet and validating.

It is true that I don’t get paid sick days. And I don’t know my artist friend’s situation. I have a financial cushion right now. I am not shaming my freind. The problem is not artists who want to work and live on their work. The problem is capitalism. I have a flexible schedule which means I can take time off whenever I like, but the same work awaits me when I return. I have at least 40 hours of work to do every week. I am continuously building in ways to not overwork, to not burn out, to get paid what I need to be a person who sometimes can’t work. It is a privilege to be able to choose this and it is likely I will be looking for part time work this fall. But I keep taking steps to a better work life. Thank you thank you for supporting that.

If you are a subscriber who is willing and able to pay the new subscription rate here is what to do:

if you pay monthly, and are able, consider cancelling your subscription and re-subscribing at the new rate.

if you pay yearly, and are able, consider cancelling your subscription and re-subscribing at the new rate. Please email me and I will refund any difference for the remainder of your old subscription.

If you are a lifetime subscriber, and you are comfortably able and willing, consider a one time tip or pay $3/month as a family friend. email me and I will help you with the next steps. It is clunky but works.

a place to work

from my may 2022 newsletter, originally subtitled “creative spaces on the road”

I made it to California. For a week I slept, walked, ate and generally avoided any kind of to-do list. I collaged on the deck in the morning and folded Keep Writing cards on a clipboard on my lap. Then I discovered a desk in the bookcase in my room. 

I am staying with friends in Oakland who are allowing me to take over their spare/living room.  I brought lots of projects with me but when I arrived I rested.  Until I discovered the desk. I am a person who likes routine. I have a morning routine, ever changing with seasons and need, but generally the same:

Wake. Move. Drink tea. Write. 

Allow time to clear away the night thoughts and welcome the day.

I recently tried writing morning pages. I gave away my copy of the Artist's' Way years ago to someone whose name I've forgotten.  But I've been trying to return to writing regularly and this seemed like a thing writers do. For a month I woke and filled three pages with thoughts. Dreams, tangents, frustrations.  I persisted. But instead of clearing my mind, it stirred up my anxiety,  So I stopped. A month later, I realized that the observation-a-day journal I've been keeping has become a brief bit of poetry.  

Which is to say there are many methods to focus creativity. Different people may need different ways to work at any time. Your creative approach may evolve. Or change all together.

This week I realized I like a desk space.  A place to hold my tools and a dedicated surface to work on.  This fold out desk is perfect, hiding my jumble of mail and collage to-go box.  And I build a little altar on top with crystals I carried with me, a piece of art I recently traded with a friend and a flower and vase borrowed from my host.  

Now my mornings here are still slow, but I sit and write and dream up new classes. I've got one coming for you but not yet. I love this little work desk but also there is this to enjoy.

ps if you like ramblings like this AND want to hear about classes as I offer them, become a member of the First of the Month Club—my monthly email newsletter!