November 10, 2002

• What I do for a living….

  
  

  Last night was the coldest yet this year.  Doug walked all the way across the ice on the muskeg this morning, before breaking through at the edge on the other side.  That, and the fact that our drains don’t drain, clued me that it was cold.  When I chided the kid about his boot full of icy water, he said, “At least I had sense enough to come right back in once I got wet.”  Yes, there’s that.

  
  

  The weather is only tangentially related to what I do to keep body and soul together, but the kid’s lack of forethought is fairly pertinent.  I provide care and feeding for him, and for his step-father, and sometimes even for Charley, my ex, Doug’s father, who lives nearby.  All three of them occasionally need some guidance or help that I can provide, and in return they take care of some of my needs.

  
  

  This blog was prompted by a question, weeks ago, from OpaulleeO , commenting on my “Happiness” blog that is featured in this week’s ZangaZine.  I had crowed about having no job, boss, contract, schedule, etc., and Paul wanted to know what I do for a living.  The thought intrigued me, and I decided I wanted to answer the question, even though Paul might not ever see this.  He only commented here a couple of times, each time complaining that my blogs were too long.  This is going to be another long one.

  
  

  Since my current activities, healing myself and writing my memoirs, are somewhat in the nature of investments in the future, rather than providing any current support, I decided to blog about a lot of the things I have done to support myself and my extended family since the last time I had a real job, in 1975.

  
  

  I lost my last job for absences due to illness.  Around the same time, the Trans-Alaska Pipeline construction boom came to an end and Charley was out of work, too.  For years before that, I had been dumpster diving for food, clothing, and whatever else I found that I could use.  We started doing more of it and also took things we didn’t need, to sell at flea markets.  In this shot of our booth, the material it is built from, the shelves, the big sign, and much of the merchandise came from dumpsters.  That is Charley in profile on the right, and the back of my head and my bottom are visible behind the counter.

  
  

  Those flea markets were where I first started selling the jewelry I made.  Before that, I either wore it myself or gave it away.  I started stringing beads, the classic long strands of hippie love beads, in the ‘sixties.

  
  

  I still make necklaces much like those I made in the beginning.  We call them “lollies” now:  “little old ladies” because older women really like them.  They slip on over the head, no clasps to fool with.  The materials I use are natural stone and metal, very little glass or ceramic, and virtually no plastic.  I also make bracelets and shorter necklaces with clasps, and a few divination pendulums.

  
  

  

  
  

  Back in the ‘seventies, at flea markets, my most popular items were roach clips.  Charley used silver solder to fashion the clips, and I attached short strings of beads to them for decoration.  My most popular items now are earrings, simple drops of tumbled stones or small crystals.  This winter I plan to make a few hundred pairs for sale to tourists next summer.

  
  

  I did Tarot card readings at the flea markets, too.  That started with the first annual Girdwood Forest Fair, during the post-pipeline economic bust.  They advertized for musicians, jugglers, fortune tellers, etc., and I decided to go for it.  Prior to that, I’d been reading cards for seven years, but never got paid for it.  That business grew, until by the mid-eighties, between my marriages, I was working half a dozen summer festivals.  Then I started doing readings by mail and the psychic work accounted for most of my cash income, supporting Doug and me for a few years.

  
  

  Someone for whom I did a reading at Girdwood invited me to work the Renaissance Faire in Anchorage, and that led to my joining the Society for Creative Anachronism.  The little pavilion at right, and all the garb on Charley and me (Fergus McGowan and Faianna ni Kenneth na Dunlioscairn–with wee Dougal McFergus “in the oven” there) were sewn together by me.

  
  

  That’s another thing I “do” for a living.  I make do, making things instead of buying them.  Charley fashioned the framework for the pavilion from scrap aluminum electrical conduit discarded at a construction site, and I made the cover out of six bedsheets and 2500 yards of thread, during three weeks near the end of my last pregnancy.  Sparkling new in the photo above, now after 21 years, it’s faded but still serviceable.

  
  

  Hunting bargains and buying quality are absolutely essential to my lifestyle.  My old brown buffalo hide purse, so full of wabi (Japanese, an elegant term for the charm that can come only with age.) has been by my side more than a quarter of a century.  I neglect and abuse it.  I fling it in a corner or hang it on a hook.  The shoulder strap wore out, and I patched it with ducktape.  The rainbow-colored Central American sash winds tightly over the duct tape for camouflage when I go to town.

  
  

  Camo is essential in any Alaskan wardrobe.  Get a load of those new soles on my no-longer-holey, almost white yeti feet booties: camo ducktape.  The booties were $2.00 at a thrift store four years ago.  Inside are army surplus felt insoles.  They are warm.  I’m wearing them now, put them right back on as soon as I took that shot.

  
  

  Another bargain was that hundred-year-old Navajo eye-dazzler rug my treasured wabiful possessions rest on (spread hastily over a reclining Doug for this illustration).  At one of those flea markets, I spotted it in someone else’s boxes as she was unloading her truck.  I dropped everything and waited around for her.  The rug had several holes in it, which I’ve mended to prevent further raveling.  I bought it for $5.00.

  
  

  Last Xmas, when I asked my SIL for ideas on what to give Greyfox’s twin nieces, she said they were obsessed with Barbie and she had not been able to find any Barbie bedding.  From two silk blouses picked up for practically nothing at thrift shops, a ragged old towel and a scrap of felt, I made each girl a set of silk sheets, wool blanket and cotton towels for Barbie’s bed and bath.  They were delighted.

  
  

  But to get back to making a living, some of our living is subsistence.  I haven’t been fishing for a long time, but Charley fishes, and other neighbors bring fish or moose or caribou occasionally when they have a surplus.  For a few years between marriages, Doug and I were on the roadkill list.  Low income families… late night phone call… go out and by the light of your headlights, gut, skin, butcher and salvage a roadkilled moose.  Hard work, but worth it.  The fresh liver of a young moose melts on the tongue with a flavor unlike anything else.

  
  

  I forage for wild greens and berries.  I know where to find fresh medicinal herbs in summer, and the ones that retain their usefulness when dried, I dry and store for winter.  Early in the spring, before the garden yields anything, I pick the native fireweed shoots while they are still purple and tender.  They go with the first leaves of the imported chickweed and dandelions.  In the fall, wild greens yield pungent salads after frost has killed the gardens.

  
  

  When I’m well and strong enough, I plant vegies, things like snow peas and red lettuce, things we all like to eat.

  
  

  When enough things are in remission so that I feel energetic enough for a challenge, I grow herbs and vegies for competition.  That cabbage beside me is Elvis, named after the King by Greyfox.  Elvis won a blue ribbon in the Largest Garden Vegetable category at the state fair.  Cash awards go with those ribbons, and each year I have competed, I’ve won dozens.  Three times I’ve won the purple Best of Show rosettes:  croissants, cheese and herb filled dinner rolls, and Hot Hungarian wax peppers from my greenhouse.

  
  

    I do biointensive organic companion plantings in microbeds, deep, but narrow enough that I can reach the center without stepping in the bed.  Besides those things I plant, there are bed after bed and rock gardens filled with perennial food, flowers and medicine plants I planted years ago:  raspberries, mint, chives, hardy green onions, Shasta daisies, valerian, and more.

  
  

  I grow some tender herbs that need to be brought in over the winter.  This pic was taken this morning.  That’s thyme on the left, sage on the right, and marjoram near the bottom between them.

  
  

  When Doug was little and some great people owned a general store near here, I would start more seedlings in the greenhouse than I needed, and sell the plants at the store.  I always spent the money I got for them there at the store.  It worked out great.  On Doug’s sixth birthday, his cake was a twinkie bought with my plant money at Cache Country Store.

  
  

  I’ve sold herbs and vegies to Sheep Creek Lodge for their restaurant.  I’ve done other little things for the lodge, too.  I typed up the new menu a few years ago, and got a few free meals for the family.  I type other things for neighbors, and I edited and did all layout work for Greyfox’s newsletter, The Shaman Papers.  A lot of bartering for goods and services goes on here.  Greyfox has a friend named Sam whose family get books, videos, rocks and whatever from the stand, in exchange for Sam’s help with a lot of mechanical jobs. Sam is also teaching Greyfox how to do some of these things.

  
  

  I must acknowledge that while I’ve been ill these past few years, most of my living, cash-wise, comes from Greyfox’s Last Stand.  I earn it by putting up with the old fart.  And then there’s the Permanent Fund Dividend.  Alaska is the only state that pays its citizens to live there.  Greyfox says it’s the only state that has to pay people to live there.

  
  

  Baking and gardening aren’t my only competitive areas.  This water flower photo won a ribbon at the state fair, and one of my plans for the near future is to have some of my photos made into note cards and a calendar, for the tourist trade.

  
  

  In the SCA, my numerous and frequent first prizes in cooking contests won not only a multitude of material goodies as trophies, but also an unprecedented (for the Kingdom of the West) Award of Arms in less than six months.  A lot of prestige, applause and admiration went along with that, and I’m a hog for attention and applause, as well as for the tangible goodies.  Lots of things mean more than money to me, and make of this existence a real “living”.  For me, money does not equate to survival.  It’s a great way to get extras and meet emergencies, but I can get along without it.

  
  

  I could always get along without it.  I’m living in the Flow.

  Paul Lee, if you got this far, I’m astounded, gratified, and flattered… and aren’t you glad you asked?  I’m certainly glad you asked.

  • 8:12 pm
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