Into September

Working alone can sometimes feel like you are hurtling through space, ricocheting from idea to idea, eyes forward. When you get a moment to pause and look behind you the trajectory has already faded from sight and you are just there, wherever you are. After some months of traveling life in that manner I am starting to slow a bit and put down markers. As someone who has spent a lifetime bucking structure, the need to instill it for myself doesn't exactly come naturally, but it has revealed itself as a need nonetheless. Monthly essays will be one small step towards making a habit of reflection. A handhold, a record, a repetitive motion. A monthly newsletter as well. One looking forward, one looking back. 


September is my birth month and so a new years of sorts. I go into each September with resolutions and a deep, deep, LL Bean catalogue, back to school craving for plaid. Writing here is one of my September resolutions. 

Some weeks ago a friend asked for insight on balancing a work life and a creative life. It was a timely question- I had just started working very part time again and was wondering how everything would shake out. My initial reaction was to say to her "I don't know you just do it!!" which is honest and really... not helpful. 

Creative work (and, I think it's okay to call it work, because work does not mean anything bad) has been a part of my days for as long as I can remember. When I was very little I would stumble out of bed and plop down at my art table next to the kitchen door and get to work. These days I've more or less returned to that habit. I roll out of bed and wander to the living room/studio where I try to remember and write down all of the good ideas I had as I was falling asleep. I knit before breakfast, I pull out fabrics and I get busy in my head. Then I wake Tavi up and she makes me coffee. When I was younger I worked full time away from home, sometimes at two or three jobs. For those years I crammed my creative work into every other waking hour: I knit before I walked to work, I kept a sketchbook and drew constantly, I focused on portable handcrafts. I wasn't terribly social and I didn't do much else besides work and work. I was industrious and I was younger and I had something to prove and I was mad a lot. Maybe the best advice I could give is "get mad", but that will rot your stomach eventually so it's not a lasting solution. The best thing I did for myself in those years was save money for the future. I didn't have a plan, but 8 years later I had that money to live off of when my source of income dried up and I am thankful to that mad kid who cashiered at the co-op 7 days a week for minimum wage. 

Maybe the trick is recognizing that your life won't look like anyone else's. I've never had a lot of qualms about that (although, funny enough, I find myself pausing now and then as I watch my peers have children and buy houses and I can clearly see where my life's trajectory splintered away from that tract). You might work jobs that aren't your career, while your career looms un-named in a basket next to the couch (and your parents panic as loudly or quietly as they are inclined to). You might learn to cook instead of eating out with your 9-to-5 buddies. You might eat a lot of rice. You might wake up at 5AM to work before work, you might work while your friends are going out or while your lover is sleeping. You might work on the weekends, you might always and forever be the only one with Tuesdays free and zero other spare time so you just work on Tuesdays too. You might be investing in expensive new materials while your peers make down-payments on houses. You might live in an unconventional space and you might live there a lot longer than you anticipated. You might not make any money for a whole month, and then you might make double what you need and blow it all on Lithuanian linen and wind up just as broke (ahem). It's okay. The trick is knowing that you can quit anytime, become a dental hygienist or work in a bank, but the trick is also realizing that you can't really do that, that you won't survive this life if you do, and no one knows if you'll get another one. 

Fashion Revolution No. 5 // The Karate Jacket

 Photos from  here  and  here .

Photos from here and here.

A few weeks ago I spotted the Rudy Jude Karate Jacket in my stories and it stuck with me. Sometimes that happens with an article of clothing- you see it and it calls to you (I remember you, burnt orange wool skirt on Etsy from 7 years ago that sold before I could scrape together $40). Often it's out of reach. At $295 the Rudy Jude jacket certainly is for me. A lot of companies I admire are cost prohibitive for me and many others and that is part of what is tricky about ethical fashion. Anyway- the jacket. After a few days with it hovering in the back of my mind I found a child-size, well worn, cross front martial arts jacket at the thrift for $4. Now- it's not the same thing. It's a poly-cotton blend rather than organic cotton. But the tag says "Made in the USA" and a little digging has revealed that it was actually made in Chicago. And it's black!

Thrift success! A $291 savings!

I've been wearing the jacket almost everyday. It replaced my old black canvas jacket from high school which has finally bitten the dust. It fits over a sweater. It fits over a dress. It nips in at the waist. When I wear it with a long black linen dress and my black sandals I feel like Georgia O'Keeffe heading out to paint in the desert. But if I am honest, I have been waiting for someone to call me out on it, and yesterday a friend did and now I have to reckon with the other half of this jacket, which is its cultural significance. (Yes, I should have done this before I even bought it, but the path to virtuous consumption is fraught and sometimes tempting to ignore, especially when you are broke and just need a damn jacket).

Step one is always a quick google. A visit to the manufacturers didn't offer up much information. I found a chat room where I learned that traditional Karate Gi are white, not black, but in these mixed up times it depends on the school where you practice and on your instructor and also on whether you prefer to bleach out dirt stains or have them not show up in the first place. I also learned that Karate came to Japan from China a long long time ago, and became popular in the US after US soldiers were stationed on a base in Japan after WWII. Karate practice in the US differs as much as yoga- ranging from a full on lifestyle to a straight up workout. 

When I think about cultural appropriation I always think about these leggings I've seen at Target that are printed with traditional Navajo blanket patterns. Now- those patterns have incredible cultural significance and they were not created to encase white-girl-buns. The fact that they now do is incredibly offensive and rude. That's a cut and dry example, but where does the issue lie here?

Is it me, a white, American woman of European descent, wearing a bastardized American version of a Japanese garment that was manufactured for American children practicing Japanese martial arts? 

Is it the garment makers, who altered the traditional Gi by adding poly to the fiber blend? And manufacturing/selling it in the United States?

Is it the American kids practicing a traditional Japanese form of combat as an after school activity?

Is it Rudy Jude, for creating a fashion-only version of Gi and selling it? (note: they don't call it a Gi, they call it a Karate jacket, which to me seems like a nod to their inspiration without claiming to be making the same thing)

And while Georgia O'Keeffe is on my mind- what about the tradition of women artists adopting clothing from other cultures? O'Keeffe and her kimonos are not alone. Frida Kahlo donned many traditional costumes that were not of her tradition, and Ray Eames lived day in and out in a dirndl inspired getup. The ability to admire and be inspired by many many cultures is important, if not formative in making art. 

My biggest question is how to live in the gray space between America's tradition of bulldozing other cultures and emblazoning them on our sneakers and the scathing judgement that hisses "that was not made for you"?



On June 26, 2015 I was working on the farm all day, out of radio reach. I came in from the field to 40 messages on my phone and NPR blaring in the greenhouse about Gay Marriage. I hadn't been the biggest proponent of Gay Marriage- feeling as I did (and do) that there were other, larger, survival issues at stake (for example, this is something that still exists). But in that moment I felt waves and waves of emotion that I have never felt before. I remember dumping dirt into seed trays and crying. I remember driving home and crying. I remember calling Tavi and crying. At that point my sweetheart was living 250 miles away, so I went to the one gay bar in town alone and got overwhelmed. I ended up in the upstairs bar across the courtyard, where the bartender gave me a free cocktail and a nod, and I watched couples, old and young, get married downstairs under a makeshift chuppah. That evening my friends and I celebrated and hugged and toasted and cried together. I felt a kind of teary elation that I didn't feel again until I got married this year. 

The next day I visited my parents. As I pulled up I noticed that the yard flamingoes had been rearranged so they were kissing and I thought wow, everything really is different now! Tears welled up again and I went inside ready to be congratulated on my new rights. I said to my mom "I saw the flamingoes!" and she said "Oh yes! Did you hear? The man who invented them died! He and his wife wore matching clothes!" 

Dry those tears, life goes on.

June is a funny month for me. I'm proud to be gay every day of the year. I identify as a lesbian, I'm married to a woman, these are things I love. It's also hard. And that makes June weird. It makes Pride (as in, the parades) weird. Because as proud as I am, I feel uncomfortable being surrounded by straight drunk people waving our  flag and yelling "kiss! kiss!" (true story). Maybe the acceptance and co-opting of Pride is a sign of progress. Progress sometimes takes big missteps. Still- try to remember that this month is a celebration of survival for us, that being alive in our community is no small thing. 

Here are some things to immerse yourself (straight friends and allies) in before you don your pride outfit and get sloshed on frozen margaritas on the sidewalk (and then maybe don't, and spend that liquor money on an LGBQT organization instead- my biased favorite is Howard Brown):

Making Gay History Podcast

When We Rise


How To Survive a Plague and And The Band Played On because we still need to be talking about AIDS

Paris is Burning (this one is harder to find, but just do it, especially if you enjoy Madonna or RuPaul's Drag Race)

I'll leave you with this poem, which I feel. I feel. I feel. But feel the tiniest bit less since June 26, 2015.