What I been doin’ lately — for real — in a jam kitchen that’s been around since the early 1900’s — a magical place on the edge of a wildlife and nature preserve — yeah! I be jammin’ — how good can life get? Oh yeah, try working in a flower shop up the road, too — with a great couple — yeah, that’s how good life can get…jammin’ — oh yeah, I hope ya like jammin’ too…
Been more offline these days than online — my eyes were getting a bit buggy as I was getting too deep in a virtual world again. I crave strong, visceral, real time connection and it is just so damn hard to find these days. I don’t take it personally — I just realize many people are not in the same place I am and aren’t yet ready to make real time connection with people a priority. This is not a criticism either. I haven’t had a steady job for about a year now and when I did it was not pleasant (a synchronistic, supportive boss is huge in the world of work). Work or kids in school or church and so on all provide a social structure in which we can get our people fix. Take away that structure though…and we struggle to find (or create) connection. I haven’t given up on trying to create connection. I’ve been deep in Po Bronson’s book What Should I Do with My Life? and Carol Lloyd’s book Creating a Life Worth Living.
I’ve also gone back to a project I had started before my retreat adventures. It’s a Cape Cod Survival Guide I had started writing — it’s for when the bridge isn’t an option. Many people totally get where I’m coming from with this book as they have experienced the same frustrations living here that I have. Especially, after living in a more open-minded, progressive place (for me Vermont, for someone else Brooklyn, Portland or California, and so on) that can crack the word possibility wide open for those of us who are seekers. I suppose this has nothing to do with the video I’m sharing here today (or perhaps it does, I’m just too lazy to make the connection at the minute). It’s via Laura via Marlene and I love it. As a scribe with an editor’s keen eye, I noticed the typo right away, but I couldn’t let that oversight stop me from sharing the work here.
And besides, isn’t there some sort of philosophy that sports the notion that in every creation there should be one thing slightly wrong or off? So that it’s not perfectly perfect in every way?
Unlike Mary Poppins.
I’ve not had anything in my etsy shop for quite some time but thought I’d give it a go again with my latest idea. I love Persephone books but I’m not about to start a publishing company reprinting some of my favorite OOP (out-of-print in library lingo) books, or just plain favorites from my reading history. But I do love books and I do love tea, both of which I also like to share.
So my etsy shop is now a place where I will sell vintage and thrifted, otherwise homeless books along with some of my favorite teas. The catch is of course, trust. The customer trusting that the book I send they will enjoy because I am covering the books with maps and brochures from my travels. So there will be no conscious choice in this other than that someone decides they need a book and some tea (or perhaps a friend needs it), and I am the book lover to send it, so it is sent. I will also have no idea what book I am sending out to someone.
Why? Sometimes surprises are good. And sometimes what appears to be a surprise at the time may prove to be synchronicity. Like maybe there is a particular book someone is needing to read or reread and through no conscious work on my part or theirs, that is the book that appears in their mailbox. The only choices will be around the tea — and that I’m working on. For now I just have vanilla rooibos. And sometimes I’ll probably include a couple vegan cookies for good measure (I’m having a ball creating recipes for them and sharing the cookies). Just because. It’s kinda fun, you know?
I’d just finished writing a little thank you in my journal this morning — for my shift today. A few minutes later it was canceled. My patient died. Canceled. Needless to say I’m actually more bummed out at his loss than the loss of my shift. I was really hoping he’d rally — he was such a sweetie, an ex-Marine truck driving Korean war vet — the tattoo (smudgy dark green) always gives those vets away — a sign of seeing the South Pacific, let’s say.
So, what I’d planned on doing tomorrow I’m doing today. Haven’t written descriptions for Little Pink Dress in a long time, but if I want to get away from here this Halloween weekend I have to help my man out with his business. Gonna bite the bullet, be a trooper and write about vintage dresses.
Sophie, of the bodacious booty-luscious behind modeled for us Friday. She was great — totally down with it like I’ve never seen her before. For an actress she can be shy, but I think California’s opened her up in a good way. Now if I can ever learn photoshop beyond cropping and adjusting brightness levels, I’d love to use her pic to develop a logo for Brabarella.
Ad I Saw:
Mother’s Helper:Female: Private Living Space in my home with Cable and WiFi. $120.00 per week OR free in exchange for helping with my family (for 12 hours)… Driving, light cooking, babysitting (supervising) my two children ages 11 and 15. Must have car. Can work more hours then agreed upon for hourly wage. I can work my schedule around your “real” job. I am looking for a responsible but fun, family-oriented role model for my kids who are at a very formidable age. Sorry, no partying in my house. Please plan to socialize elsewhere.
I am very interested in your position for a mother’s helper for your 11 and 15 year old. My son is now 25, on his own and a musician. My daughter is almost 20, very responsible and returning to UMass for her junior year in September.
Years ago I was looking for the very same person you are looking for now — another me — I was raising my children on my own and recognized that those in-between ages are much more challenging than the early childhood stages. There were a couple of occasions that we got a taste of what it would be like to be in a household with other loving caregivers — it was a joy. I truly believe that it does take a village to raise a child and it was difficult trying to create the scenario then, but it was something I always dreamed of. I would love to be that person I needed then for someone else now.
Patricia A. Hurley
Attached is my resume. Please let me know if you don’t receive it. Thank you so much.
Wow! Your letter made me cry! It was beautiful! I would love to meet you. I am sorry to say that I am running out the door to pick up my daughter from gymnastics, so I can not respond as I would like to. It appears to me that you are looking for a mother’s helper position and not a place to live… Could you just clarify that? I will give you a call if you would like either tonight after 8 or tomorrow.
Looking forward to talking with you!
P.S. Do I have your phone number?
Some things just make you feel good, you know?
My marriage, on the other hand, was not like Amanda’s. If it was, I’d have 3 children instead of two. I miss that third child every day. As it was, Molly almost wasn’t. Although I was married, I felt like I had no business being pregnant when the marriage was unhappy and volatile.
I loved my little boy fiercely, with all my heart, he was the light of my life, the apple of my eye, in an otherwise soul-killing marriage. I loved being pregnant with him, the childbirth experience, everything about it. I remember his first movement in utero. We were on a hill on Cheese Factory Road in Hinesburg — a country drive like so many we did, that was when we were happiest as a couple, when we were on the road.
I imagined working right up until he was born the way so many women the world over have — working in fields, squatting and having their baby, and then returning to work. I did work right up until he was born — not in a field, but in a convent kitchen. I began labor before my shift that morning, but only told Brian, the main cook and Leitha, the housekeeper and my neighbor. I didn’t want to worry the nuns, because I knew I could handle it. And I knew they’d be all worried and possibly send me home (or to the hospital) if they knew. They were very good to me, the Sisters of Mercy. They are not departed or gone., experience