Tilt-a-whirl

Weaver Creek Fibers is ALIVE

My friend, Holly Haynes, did what seemed like the impossible and took me from zero to sixty in what seemed like a week. She got me all set up and open for business on the new website for Weaver Creek Fibers and I have to tell you, when I first saw the great critter shots on the opening page, I got a little bit giddy and excited. We have all of the information that you need, right at this moment, if you are a fiber artist with either a resale license or a storefront, to get in touch with me about setting up a wholesale account.

I am very happy because my first sale came in and the fiber went out, the very next morning. True, I have been robbing my own stash to get things up and running but the first mill's shipment is due very soon.

This is always the issue...turnaround from the mills, but I am making the investment for myself and others, so that Melissa's Peace of Yarn can live on in Weaver Creek Fibers!

Lots of Progress

I think that taking on the care and feeding of a fiber business is actually really good for my brain: it has been buzzing madly, since last we met. I have gone from being timid about parting with a chunk of my savings, to feeling more confident every day about this being a good move for me and for my colleagues.

A "big fat order" from the mill that creates the really luxurious stuff is working its way through the combing machinery, at said mill, and I am waiting for the email that will tell me that it is time to go to the bank and wire the money, so that the boxes and boxes and boxes of luxury fiber will begin their journey to me. (it is going to be "fun" to see how well I can organize it, once it gets here! Rod is a little worried about space but my own personal fleece stash can make way, into the hands of others)

I got my office organized into a much more efficient space (it is about time, I know) for all of this weighing and shipping that will be happening and the biggest upside is that it is SO much better for getting the dyeworks packages out. DUH! My mother always said to me, when I was a teenager and on into my messy twenties (young motherhood), that "one can always tell the state of someone's mind by the state of their surroundings". Oh. Taking on an extension of my business has forced me to organize my mind AND my surroundings. Ok, I get it. Nice work, Mom.

The other "little something" that comes back to me, from my 30's, is what my co-leader of a Brownie Troop said one day; "if you need something DONE, ask the busiest and most productive of your friends. Even if she is juggling things, asking to put one more ball into her rotation will hardly phase her, because she is already on high alert". Do you believe it? I guess that I do. I see it with my own daughter, who works full-time, cooks beautiful meals and gets her kids here there and everywhere for activites. I wonder how she does it but then I was a stay-at-home mom who crammed a creative career, baking, gardening, couponing and raising small farm animals into the waking hours of every day. We just DO it.

Now, I feel more energized, just thinking, planning and getting more organized. I guess that after the stress of trying to work during Mom's decline made me a little "soft" after she left. I found myself thinking more about being the next in line to leave, instead of all of the things that I wanted to do every day, for all of the rest of my LIFE. Seeing my mother through all of that time of transition really took a toll on me but I have come through it, stronger and more determined to live my life fully, every day.

We had a WONDERFUL and exhausting trip to Stitches West. I kept wondering why I was always SO much more tired, doing that show, and then it hit me; all of the other shows, we arrive the day before load-in, getting a good night's sleep before the muscle pumping schlepping and set-up. Hell, this year, the day before we drove three hours to GET to set-up, we had to dig out of a blanket of snow, so that we could get safely get out of here before dawn. Oh, no wonder I arrived tired. Hah! We also drive home, the same night as load-out (after a day of the sales floor), and I wondered why I was a freaking zombie on Monday! That all worked ok, when we were in Lafayette and the drive to and fro was about an hour but now I think that next year, we will drive down on Tuesday and drive home on Monday. MUCH smarter.

The West Coast Stitches is always an Old Home Week for us, touching base with people who have been friends or customers of mine since the days of juried craft fairs. In those days, people in California could get their hands on me at shows several times in a year, before we began to travel cross-country. Now, we are one-and-done with our home state, in February of each year. I keep wondering how it can be 30 years now but then the days are zooming by in a blur. Perhaps, adding this new level of interesting work will put a little rubber stopper in the spokes of my life wheel and make the days slow down a bit. Is that possible?

What is possible is something that I did not dare to hope for and that is the excitement and renewed interest in the voice of my web-goddess, Holly. She had begun the daunting task of creating a new and more efficient/clean website for the dyeworks (it is happening behind the curtain of the internet) when this new thing popped up. I never thought that she would want to take on such a BIG job again but surprisingly, it has inspired her and the wonderful website for Weaver Creek Fibers is being put together for launch, by the end of the week! (she must be feeling the same excitement and creativity that has touched me!) I am SO excited and grateful for her help and enthusiasm and I joke about her racking up enough hours for me to have to buy her a car!

When something like this is dropped into your lap, one of the hardest things is knowing where to begin, when everything must be done at once, but we have done just that and now I have the task of creating an email list from a business that was only done with phone calls and "snail mail". When I said that I called my friend Melissa a Triceratops, my grandson pipes up from the back seat of the car, "Grammy, did you really call her a Triceratops"? Why yes, I really did, but in a loving way. :-) Now, I am pulling this business into the 21st century, one web connection at a time and it is energizing.

Look out world, the old Lisa is back.

Call Me Crazy

Cashmere, baby camel down, yak, you name it and I have transformed it into beautiful yarn. I just chose fiber that I would want to wear, when deciding what to buy, and when I look back on my 30 years in the fiberarts, one particular person has lovingly been called my "connection" or my "fiber crack dealer". Melissa is a mild mannered, tall drink of water from Wisconsin, with a self-deprecating and easygoing way about life and business. We have become friends over the 10 years that we have known one another and while she kept me in luxury fibers, I was one of her best customers.

I am trying to remember when I got the fateful letter but it must have been at the end of the year. She announced to all of her customers that she was going out of business and for me, a howl went up, just as it did when she stopped carrying yarn. At that earlier time, I begged her to still be my connection to a particular mill and she continued to help me get my very special baby alpaca yarns, which continue to be my best sellers. I can tell you that I contemplated the loss of Melissa's services and realized that we, in the fiber industry, would be down to one major source to choose from, when it came to luxury fiber and that made me a little concerned.

I sent Melissa a mournful email, telling her how sad I was, that she was moving on to something else, while buying what I could of my fiber staples for my spinner/dyer stash. After one of our email exchanges, I got a call. Melissa's slow and distinctive voice came on the phone as I answered and it began...

"Hey, Lisa...somebody suggested that I ask you if you would like to BUY the business", she drawled. "What? Oh, hell no. Yeah, that's what I need at this stage in life; more work", I shot back. "Welllllll, if you change your miiiiiind, let me know. It's just going to Go Away". The longer that I stayed on the phone with her, the more softened I became. I was sure that this would be a ridiculous idea and told her that if she didn't have anyone else who wanted to do this, I would THINK about it. You know, when I tell someone that I will THINK about something, that means that I will try to talk myself out of such a ridiculous notion, because, well, it is...not that crazy.

I mentioned it to Rod and his eyes twinkled just a little, from the increased brain activity. I got more nervous but told Melissa, in a subsequent call, to pitch me a number and I would mull it over. I mulled it over, alright and I REALLY got fidgity as my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, but I told myself that if I talked to Rod, HE would be the one to tell me that it was a ridiculous idea and I would be off the hook to be lazy into my dotage. Yeah, I'll talk to Rod, he poopoos everything. Uhhh, no. He was talking ME into it. He "knew that I could handle it" and well, the rest is history.

This past week, we exchanged signatures and money and I bought the business formerly known as Peace of Yarn, which will go on in my hands as Weaver Creek Fibers , named after one of the creeks running on this land. It seems kind of fitting and I am getting more relaxed about this whole thing. I am going to make sure that the connection to these fiber goes on for my fellow fiber artisans and fiber shops who sell to the spinning world and NOW I am getting excited in a good way, thinking of all of the possibilities ahead of me.

We did the initial work to set up a temporary landing page for the website and we are busily thinking about all of those pesky business details like cards and bank accounts and spending a pile of money for the initial purchases, while, of course, we are getting ready to pack up the trailer for Stitches West with all of the work that we have done in the Dyeworks since Rhinebeck! It is crazy and exciting, all at the same time.

Hell, this is the stage of life when MOST people begin to think about retirement, but when I think about how all of the things that I have done in my life, it is not surprising that I would never want to quit working at something. Rod retired from Prophane Industries 5 1/2 years ago and has been working harder now than he probably did, as a corporate drone. He may have retired early from that life but keeps busy ALL DAY LONG, so much so that he wonders where the day went, on most occasions. I keep thinking of "crazy" things and as always, my life partner helps to make those crazy ideas a reality.

Thanks to my web-goddess, Holly, for working so tirelessly to get the Weaver Creek Fibers website live, all while taking on the enormous task of helping me to recreate the Dyeworks website, which has been going on, behind the scenes. There will be a whole new look which will be cleaner and easier to navigate, because we are jetisoning my past as a finished goods designer and concentrating on the Here And Now.

That's my news and now...I will hit PUBLISH.

Chicken

Those of you who have followed this blog for a long time have seen me go from a suburban earth mother to a rural forest dweller. We joined a lot of other SF Bay Area retirees, here in the foothills of the Sierra, for the lifestyle, turning our backs on the noise, pollution and congestion. We do visit the Bay Area, once in awhile, but find that there is a lot of destressing and deep breaths happening, when we begin the drive "up the hill" as we get past Folsom.

HE is retired from corporate life but I have never worked harder, in my life, and love it. We came here to fulfill a dream of having some room to breathe deeply, with nature all around us and traded that little suburban rancher on a quarter acre lot for a bigger home on 8 acres, building a "granny flat" as they call the little homes for Great Grandma, for my mother. The transition from being those transplants/city kids to rural is finally taking hold, as 5 years into this adventure, I finally feel like a part of the community.

That being said, we are still a bit different from the natives or folks who moved up here decades ago. We are not Tea Party members, for one thing, and we don't have an arsenal of guns. We just have to listen to what I call Redneck Fireworks; shots fired up in the woods.

Being rural does not mean that you don't have neighbors and this place is the newest in this neck of the woods, meaning that our neighbors used to use this land as they wished, before it was reshaped for a house. They remember the thick forest and gouge scars left from the history of placer mining, before the scars were filled in and the trees thinned. We are the Newcomers, who have to prove that we belong here.

Our Down The Hill neighbors are a young family, in the main house, and the extended family in the other two dwellings. Their dog, a sweet but unruly German Shepherd, has had no training and spent way too much time up here, chasing Trixie and being chased by Tank, as well as sneaking up on me to hump my leg. Annoying, to say the least.

Our Up The Hill neighbors are in their late 70s and feisty. Bill likes to tell us how he used to pan for gold in our creek and how he is building a gattling gun. Oh yes, and he likes to do target practice up there. He and his family use the road, that comes much too close to our house, to walk down to Weber Creek and while it is surprising to see someone walk by, we wave and go on our business. They know who we are and where we live and what we have done around the place. They have a grove of trees between our place and theirs and we have never seen where they live because you just don't go visiting, if you catch my drift.

A couple of months ago, Bill called to say that Trixie, had gotten loose and was up at his place, running the fences...disturbing his chickens. Chickens. We had no idea that they had chickens and this worried me. He told Rod that he has a rifle and would use it on her. Yeah, rural life. Guns.

Both Rod and I were stricken, knowing that we could no longer let her run around loose, in the yard, like our "annoying neighbors" down the hill. WE were THOSE PEOPLE and had to do something to remedy the problem. Living in the suburbs, you fenced your property, so that your dogs could race around in a confined space but up here, on 8 hilly and wooded acres divided by creeks, it seemed impossible. We were gutted. The following morning, I awoke with a plan and a place. I told Rod that we could fence in a portion of the land between the two houses, making a BIG dog run, that is probably bigger than what our fenced area in Lafayette. I told him that we needed to get someone to build it, because his days of building huge long fences, anchored in rocky clay were over.

It has been done and it works. It keeps our dogs in and big run area for their exercise and business and we can get them running before they settle in with me, when we "go to work" in the studio. No, I don't shove them in there and leave them out but I think that they will love it in the summer and I will be able to have them outside while I have the studio doors open wide. I won't have to attach them to long leads, to keep them from wandering. Safety.

So...chickens. We had chickens in Lafayette and I miss having their noises and company but everytime that I lust after chicks at the big feed store, I remind myself that there are foxes and all other manner of wild animals out there in the woods, at night, and I get over it, preferring to buy eggs from people at the Farmer's Market. Chickens...

Here comes the Chicken part of the story. I worked in the studio yesterday and by lunch time, Rod and I decided to head "down the hill" to Folsom, to Costco. We got ourselves cleaned up and bundled up and as I was outside, waiting for him to get his car keys, I heard it. It was the familiar sound that a chicken makes when fluttering up to or jumping down from something. Bagockabugga. I saw a flash of auburn feathers and told Rod to find Bill's number and tell him that one of his chickens was down here. I didn't see which way it went (wasn't sure if it was a rooster) and kept craning my neck to see if it headed down the driveway. No chicken. No worries because Rod could not find the number. Oh...I saw HER, heading over to the Little House and onto the porch. I just kept making chicken noises (when you have had hens, you just do this) and sure enough, this beautiful Rhode Island Red was just strolling around on the porch, over there. She did not seem the least bit afraid of me and jumped up onto the window sill, peering into the windows at the colorful yarn, acting like she had been inside a house and wanted in, now.

When Rod came out, to tell me that he could not locate Bill's number, I decided to scoop up the hen under my arm, as I did quite often with mine, and began the forced march up the hill to Bill's house. Rod followed and we both made the lung searing walk up the hill at double time, trying to get the hen up there and to alert Bill that she was on the loose. We had never ventured onto his property and had never seen his place. No real chicken coop but a fenced area, where the gate was open and another Rhodie standing on top of a truck. Interesting. We called out, not wanting to get SHOT but no one was home. (Rod peeked through the front door windows and pointed out the rifle by the door...sweet.) I decided to let the hen go, there on the porch, and we noisily left Bill and Betty's compound, walking down the hill to get into the car and on our way.

As we were heading down the highway, I noticed a blood spot on my hand. I knew that I had not scratched it and she was a perfectly docile hen, in her tucked-under-my-arm position, as I was petting her beautiful and shiny feathers. Weird. I got a tissue and wiped off the blood spot and then I saw another and more and noticed that my red winter jacket had droplets of water beading up on the right side. I thought nothing of it, because we had been walking through the forest and had a few snowflakes fall on us. Nope, not water...blood. Here and there, droplets of blood, all on the side where I had carried her, tucked under my right arm. She had come down here because something had injured her! She is Bill's issue now but all that I could think of was how his chickens were running loose and very vulnerable in this environment, but NOT, thankfully, in danger from my dog and since we told our other neighbors that Bill threatened to shoot OURS, Sawyer is now under much more control, down there. Rural Life, guns and chickens...

I really do miss having hens but after yesterday, I know that it would be something to worry about, instead of something pastoral, and so the fantasy of bringing my suburban lifestyle to the woods is over. I hope that my new friend will heal and be ok but I am not venturing up to Bill's house to find out...

Community

We saw it on our televisions, as people came together with candles, sorrow and solidarity. I saw it in an email invitation, to join such a group, in Diamond Springs but I chose to find community by getting out in it with my loved ones, each day, this weekend.

Placerville is a pretty cool place to live, during the holiday season. While SF Bay Area denizens curse the three stop lights in our portion of Highway 50, I get my yearly lift from the decorated and lit Christmas trees (and Hannukah candles) that line this section through town. Each tree is donated by one of the myriad tree farms in our county and lovingly decorated by groups of people (this year, in a rainstorm!) with ornaments representing their cause or business. It is funky and I LOVE it.

Rod and I went to town on both days, running errands and making purchases with our local downtown merchants. We were NOT alone and that cheered me, as well. Doc Weiser and his friends were there, between the Bell Tower and the coffee shop loading parents and children into the stage coach, for a ride through town. If you live here, you get used to the idea of a group of people dressed in Gold Rush period clothing, giving free rides to anyone who lines up for the privilege but these people are deep in the heart of this place and a special treasure. The horses were sporting red felt reindeer antlers and Doc had his coach decorated with the ever-present Christmas tree tied to the top, mimiced over and over by the cars and trucks heading down the highway with huge trees strapped to the tops of their vehicles. (Many stop in town for a bite or for shopping, after cutting their trees)

We went to the beatiful toy store and spent a lot of time hanging out with the framer at Pop Art. We don't live in the City or a Suburban Neighborhood anymore and so, as in the historic days of this region, we Go To Town, for Community.

No one spoke of Connecticut but everybody knew. We Went To Town.

Processing

There were no words. There were no words for a full day and then there were no words until last evening, when I reached for and put on one of my special treasures; a gift from my daughter. It is a silver pendant of a mother wrapping her arms around the child she stands behind. I wore it constantly for years and then, as I was dealing with taking care of my mother, I needed other "mojo" in the form of prayer charged turquoise and other semi-precious stones, to help me to protect myself from so much scary Energy.

It feels as though I have been through mine fields, these past 7 years and now I am in a safe-zone on this life's journey.

I kept seeing the word Newtown pop up on Twitter or Facebook, that morning, but did not let in any more than that it was the name of my road. We hooked the dogs up for their walk out to go "Play", in their new huge dog run (ironically built to protect my race-like-the-wind adopted English Shepherd, Trixie, from being shot by my uphill, chicken-owning-neighbor, Bill.) and then heading "To Work" in the little house, across the driveway. We were all going about our routine chores, when a call came in from Erik, who lives in Stratford, Connecticut, asking if we had heard about what happened in Newtown. I heard Rod tell him that we heard something about a shooting but that was about it. After he dropped the bombshell that there were 27 killed, we went into shock mode and turned on Rod's little TV by the skein winding machine.

We heard the early news and were just shaking our heads until we heard the toll of little lives. I had to shut it out, at that point, to keep moving. It was not Real and to keep from listening to the news, I turned up the music above the dye surface and kept mixing samples and attending to orders.

Nothing hit home until 3 pm, when I locked up the workshop door and headed over to the house, to sit in this chair and turn on CNN. I finally let it in and when I did, I had to open a bottle of wine, as I did on Election Night. The delicious Sangiovese helped to soften the knife sharp words that I was hearing; had to hear. It was the unthinkable and the unspeakable and I listened to every word, taking them in like a bitter herb. 20 little children and 6 women. The 20 year old Boy.

We left Connecticut the week before Sandy hit and in the memory on my phone is a photo that I took of a sign for Newtown Road, as we were driving toward Rhinebeck. I got a laugh and posted it on Facebook, because this was just like Home,  Newtown Road, on the other side of the Country. On our way back from New York, we took a " scenic route" back toward Erik & Vicki's house on the Stratford/Trumbull line, winding our way through beautiful little tree studded villages, getting a feel for the peacefulness and charm of the places where Manhattan Commuters built their lives with their beautiful families; places where children could Go Play Outside In The Woods. I could see why people settled in these places, whether as newcomers or as folk with centuries of ancestors in the graveyard. (I have ancestors in these graveyards.)

Yesterday, as I was spinning in my Woman Cave, I saw the vigil being held for the heroic young teacher, Vicki Soto, and realized another connection; this vigil was being held at the Stratford High School, not far from where our kids live. Connection after connection in waves of solidarity, much stronger than just imagining the loss of children the age of my precious grandson.

We made a date to take Lauren, Brian and Syd (Jakey was with his Dad) "up the hill", to a very family friendly sushi restaurant that sits between a big statue of Paul Bunyun and a palm reader shop, in the outskirts of Camino. I searched for my mother and child necklace as a talisman, before piling on layers of clothing against the cold night air. We needed to go somewhere, together, where we could laugh and touch base with people from our community, letting Syd charm everyone with her sweet ways. It was cathartic and we finally spoke about what happened. It was not easy but we needed to acknowledge that the children killed were The Schnickle's age. We had to say it out loud and tell each other how we grieved for those children and our shared sorrow for the parents and children of the Lost, realizing that this could happen anywhere, these days.

As my Brian, my wonderful son-in-law said, (he grew up hunting) we need to ban these assault rifles. We do. They are not made for hunting game, they are made for hunting human beings and this cannot stand.

Every time that this happens, we cry out to the politicians, to do something to stop the madness and once in awhile, as with the massacre in a San Francisco high rise or after the wounding of President Reagan, we pass certain gun restrictions, hoping that this will slow the ability of troubled people from having access to the weaponry that can wipe out so many lives. We applaud the bravery of the lawmakers and then the army of the gun lobby lawyers swoop in, threaten or cajole the lawmakers and then the safeguards seem to disappear.

Connecticut, like California, has strict gun laws, when it comes to purchasing. This boy's mother had a small arsenal in her home and obviously, when we come to understand the extent to which this Boy was troubled, she failed herself and him and all of her community (and the world) by not safeguarding that weaponry. She lost her life and she bears the heavy weight of responsibility for having this arsenal in a home, where a troubled young man had access to the tools of this massacre. My son-in-law grew up with guns and he agrees with me.

I had a family member who was going through a psychotic break, a number of years ago, and I got a call from a police officer, telling me that he had taken out, what he called, "an arsenal", from this person's apartment. This family member was a perceived danger to himself and others, at that moment and I thanked the officer for removing the weapons from the scene. We never spoke of it again.

I touch the little sculpted pendant and think of the children. I touch it and think of our country and what it has become. Do we really believe that we should "arm the teachers"? Is this what we have become, going back to the days as our ancestors robbed their way across this continent? I am, once again, shocked and embarrassed for our country, for in the eyes of friends that I have in the rest of the world, we are living in a barbaric society. My friend from New Zealand wrote to me, proclaiming that he would never want to live in a country where he would fear going to a mall or movie or to send children to school. There is something deeply flawed, in our society. Don't get me wrong, I am a deeply patriotic American, but I hate guns, which make it too easy for someone to escalate anger to murder.

I touch the pendant and send up a prayer for the families.

When Minds Go Blank

Our grandson, Jacob, better known as Grandsonfetus/The Schnickle, (or Beebee, to Syd) made his stage debut last night, as one of the "chorus boys" in The Princess and The Pea. He decided, about two months ago, that he really wanted to join the after-school drama group and just showed up there one day, unbeknownst to his Mama.  (He normally attends an After-Care session each day.) The teacher called to let Lauren know that he had just wandered in and wanted to participate and so the tuition check left my daughter's hands in a New York minute. This was the first time that HE had initiated something that interested HIM, other than his love of sports, and we were all excited to see him participate in this enrichment class.

I think that it all started, when he was about 4. Lauren had heard about a local children's theatre troupe and thought that it might be fun for us to take the little guy to see The Wizard of Oz, to see if he would be interested. We had no idea what his attention span would be for this but decided to give it a try, taking him to the Folsom High School's theatre for the show. He was spell-bound to see the kids, from the ages of about 6 to their early twenties singing and dancing in this very professional production and we vowed to go again, when another play came around. He took his beautiful program (The El Dorado Musical Theatre troupe has  BIG sponsors) home and pored over it, looking at all of the ads with pictures of the kids and wanting to know which one was the witch or lion or scarecrow and at each subsequent production, he wanted to know if this person or that person was the one that played a particular part earlier, which they had. Yes, it made a deep impression and it was ALL KIDS.

You see, The Schnickle is a very interesting little boy and one that I would call an Old Soul. He is a natural athlete and a math whiz,  easily doing figures in his head, but the most interesting thing is the way that he can look at pictures of a baseball or football park and imagine games, going through kind of a play-by-play, as he concentrates on pictures from his Sports Illustrated magazines or Sports Page. He is not really interested in playing with toys, per-se, and prefers to use his imagination as he jumps around with excitement, muttering under his breath.

I was thrilled, when he called one day and said, "Grammy, will you come to my play"? "Of COURSE I will, when is it going to be"? "Mama, when is it, again? Oh yeah, December 12", he said proudly. "Well now, that will be so very easy for me to remember, because it is Grampy & Grammy's Anniversary and we will be there, for certain"! I thought that it was just going to be a little one act play,  presented after school, but no, it was a full-on production, running for two consecutive evenings and culminating with a performance (his favorite part) for his school, on Friday.

We arrived early to the multi-purpose room and found seats in the back of the packed audience, not realizing what a big hooptidoo this really was. Lauren told me that she was amazed, when she saw the script and how much there was for these youngsters to memorize. Singing, dancing and dialogue? Ok, Bring It On.

The director came out to make the introduction and with a couple of "technical difficulties" sorted out, we squirmed in our seats to see what was happening. Little kids of all range of talent and abilities tried to calm their butterflies and began the introductory dancing, on the stage, introducing the main characters with pirouettes and giggles, and then we saw him, with the MOST serious look on his face, making that O with his mouth. He followed his fellow thespians in a chorus line, first up one aisle (the little chorus girls were in the opposite one) and then up our aisle. He was scanning, scanning, scanning and then he saw us and I recognized a look of pride and nervousness wash over him. Yes, on one aisle was his dad and on the other, his mom and grandparents. We were all there.

I grinned and giggled with every gaff and triumph and especially loved the little king with the booming voice, who often would be caught without a line and then say "oh yeah" and continue with his speech. His wife, the queen, towered over him, as 5th grade girls often do. There was much eye rolling and hamming and dead air, when kids got that Deer In The Headlights look but we always looked forward to the dances and singing of the chorus kids in their pea green tee-shirts. Jakey was in a play and loving it.

I have a feeling that he is may stick with this stuff, because it is buried deeply into his genetic make-up, on his Grammy's Side. My parents, when they were still together, were in a couple of productions in a small theatre company in San Francisco and I remember sitting in the little lighting and sound booth at the back of the "house" as a LITTLE girl. I also would accompany my mother to piano recitals, sitting through them, like a little mouse with my stuffed animal. (no, not a peep) When my mother won a spot in the SF Opera Chorus, I got to come along many times, back stage as a little girl and then sometimes, when I was older, I got to sit by myself in one of the beautiful red velvet chairs in the orchestra seats, if one was available. I got to sit in the prompter's box with one of the directors, for one act (!) and last night, I got to sit on a hard folding chair in a multi-purpose room, grinning ear to ear with delight at the flawed and sweet production of Princess and the Pea, as my almost 7 year old grandson was so serious about hitting his marks for his dance number and singing off stage as the extra kids swelled the sound of the onstage chorus. It was a pretty sweet way to spend an evening with my grinning daughter, who was so very excited to see her son in his first play.

It's wonderful to be a grandma.

Happy Anniversary on 12-12-12

It seems to be a very auspicious, once in a lifetime kind of date, don't you think? The last of its kind, to be sure. While a lot of people will ascribe something magical to it, I mark it as the 43rd anniversary of my wedding to my high school sweetheart.

My mother was in MISERY on that day, giving us $200 as a gift and then shutting the door to the idea of her 19 year old daughter marrying That Boy. Rod's mother was in misery on that day, too, and it was not because we were getting married (she could not control that) but because we were not getting married in a church or with a crowd or anything; we were going to be married by a judge in Monterey and then go out to lunch in Carmel. No Parents Allowed. 

If it had not been for Mary, there would have been no wedding cake. Yes, I do thank her for that; having a little cake for us to cut, when we drove back from Monterey with our friends/witnesses. It was a very generous surprise, as always. We had just enough time to have a toast with a glass of sparkling wine and a bite of cake, before heading to the airport for our honeymoon flight to Disneyland. A perfect place for totally naive kids, beginning our lives together.

When I look back, as a grandma, I think about all that has transpired in these 43 years. We picked the right people to commit to, Rod and I. Dumb luck? Not if "My Friend Who Knows Everything" has anything to say about it. I was told that he and I knew each other as souls and made a pact to come in together, to come together as help-mates. It makes sense, simply because we are at our best when we have to work together, so I guess that we were destined to be The Only Children of Our Mothers and see those people through to The Other Side before we could finally relax.

We came home from that honeymoon, ready to play house and assume the roles that we would play, as married people. I was the artist/sales girl/wife and he was the student/gas pump jockey/husband. We struggled and he worried but we had a lot of fun in our little third floor apartment.

Our first Christmas tree was about two feet tall and was covered with ornaments that we made for it (those were the days of foam shapes, pins, beads and sequins). We lovingly made gifts for our families; some who appreciated Art and others who did not, unfortunately. We had NO idea of what we were doing but we were doing it together, as young kids. Rod + Lisa forever became Rod and Lisa Souza.

It is like watching Fever Dream Movies, these days, when I think about all that has transpired in our lives. We have had specific parts to play, as each year progressed. Rod was always the Provider, with his stick-to-it mentality and loyalty. He would put on his put on his various uniforms, through the years, which included that of a blue and white Standard Oil service station attendee, an olive drab California Army National Guard soldier, a Suit & Tie Prophane Industries worker bee and finally of a Casual-Friday-I-No-Longer-Give-A-Crap drone. (now he has no uniform, thank you.)

He became a father and I became a stay-at-home Earth Mother/artist. He worked at a desk and I became a singer/songwriter. He worked at a desk and I became a fiber artist. Every step of the way, That Boy gave me permission to be who I needed to be, at that moment. Now that he is a retired grandpa and I am still running a successful small artistic business, he now has permission to do whatever he wants, even though he spends a lot of that time helping ME.

It has been a good life, so far. We have raised wonderful children to adulthood, taken care of our ailing mothers, and now we are going into the time when we don't mind being old enough for a Senior Discount. We have a lot of living to do and thanks to his hard work and my mother's generosity, we no longer have to struggle and count our pennies as we head into this autumnal phase, together.

At each step of our lives, Rod has been my rock and I have been his and that is what a long-term marriage looks like. We used to stare into each others eyes as moon-struck kids and now we walk side by side and look toward the future and into the eyes of our sweet grandchildren. We were kids together, 43 years ago, and now we are heading into our senior years, wondering how in the world we look so much like our parents and how we got so many grey hairs, all of a sudden.

Happy Anniversary, Grampy, I can't wait to go to France.

A Day To Celebrate A Life

Cookies baked; check. Colorful clothing; check. Fond memories; check. Purse full of Kleenex? I had better get on that.

This morning, we are going to head Down The Hill and through The Valley to our home town of Oakland, to celebrate the life of Robert Jue. He died last month, after a few short months of treatment and preparation to Go. He was one of the most beloved kindergarten teachers that Oakland has ever known and last Sunday, the children, young and not so young, paid tribute to him, at Montclair Elementary, creating tiles for a memorial wall that will be installed to honor him.

Rob loved the outdoors with every fiber of his being and was nut brown from the sun. Even when he was so very sick, his favorite time was spent sitting outside, absorbing as much warmth from the orb, as he could.

The last time that Rod and I saw him was at a gathering of friends, organized by Patty Go, to celebrate Rob's birthday. We were so worried that he might not be up to going out to a restaurant with all of us and when Patty said that he might not make it, I said that Rod and I would still come down to celebrate and take lots of pictures. No need to worry because he was having a Good Day and in his style and grace, arrived to much love and kudos, to sit in a well padded chair (he died from bone cancer), gather strength from our energy and happily wear a silly birthday hat while we sang to him over and over again. (where is that damned Kleenex...)

I knew that the outdoors meant so much to Rob and knowing that he would probably not ever see our "Camp Souza", I brought him a piece of quartz from our land; one that had just a smattering of gold in it. (he later told me that he still could not see it and I told him to keep looking.)

When he left that tiny, frail body, I "told" him that I expected a fly-by, before he headed to The Other Side. I much expect him to have been lurking at the playground of the school last Sunday and I know that we will have him there, today, because with so many people celebrating a life WELL spent, a soul could do well to visit his friends.

He left us all with a beautifully written epitaph, letting us know how much he loved his life and his kids and his "kids", not regreting one bit of his journey. He was a teacher to the end and as one of his older student/friends said; He was a mensch.

I leave you with Rob's own words (and me reaching for another tissue). Love you, Rob.

Dear Friends,
My heart is filled with appreciation and gratitude. I have lived a rich and vibrant life, filled with family, friends, and the laughter of children. Every joy that life has to offer has been mine, and I have loved every moment. I have watched the sunset over the crystal bl

ue waters of Hawaii, and I have watched it rise over the high peaks of the Sierras filling the crisp mountain air with the glow of a new day. I am thankful for each and every sunrise and sunset.

I have known the countless delights and emotions of fatherhood. The tender joy of cradling a son and then a daughter, in my arms, letting go of their tiny hands as they took their first steps, walking hand-in- hand with them through the years of their youth, comforting them when life disappointed and cheering them on when they rose up and found the strength to follow their passions. Watching them grow into strong, thoughtful and wise adults has been life’s sweetest gift.

The missteps along the way have been few and made me wiser and stronger. There were many victories, adventures and accomplishments that brought joy to my life. My years in the classroom as a teacher are some of my fondest memories. The unfiltered emotion, energy and creativity of the very young kept me engaged and inspired. Each of my students touched me, changed me and taught me something about life.

The joyous laughter of the classroom will be with me always.

I have known the unconditional love of family and have been embraced by a community of friends larger and more generous than I would have thought possible. So many of you have reached out to support me over the years and I have felt the commodore and love of each of you. I chose to spend my last precious moments with those closest to me and found great peace and strength in their presence and in knowing that all of you were also there for me and at my side in spirit.

Life was good. Remember the happy times and think of me when you are enjoying the things I loved in life. Remember me when you stand at the top of a mountain peak gazing over the valley below and a warm breeze touches your face, when you dive into a cool swimming pool or mountain lake and feel the rush of vitality that lifts both body and spirit, when you gaze around a campfire at the people you love, when you walk under the bright light of a harvest moon, or when your child falls asleep in your arms and you gaze up at the night sky to see a small star twinkle, you will know I am there.

I am filled with gratitude for the love that surrounds me, for each and every one of you, and for the wonderful life I had the pleasure of living. All of you have touched me and made my life richer. My wish for all of you is that you greet each day and those you love with appreciation and gratitude. My heart is full.

With love,

Rob Jue

Day One

Ummmm, well, thank you! It began as soon as my feet hit the floor this morning, at 6:30 AM. It hasn't been this busy since Wendyknits discovered me and I am tired and amazed. I got all of my orders answered and printed today and with Lorrie's help we knocked a lot of dyeing, to feed the maw. The first orders are set to go out, tomorrow!

As I look around the disaster area that is my office and workshop, this is what I see. Some Deep Fall awaiting a bath...

I am so ready to turn off the lights and the music. It is time to Go Home and then go out for some celebratory sushi.