Impressionable, Part DCXIII

So, we can’t drink the water in Austin. The recent rains have more than filled our water supply. The Highland Lakes are filled and before the rains ended there were 4 floodgates open, with threats of opening four more. I believe that they did open at least 2 more, and I didn’t hear anything more about it. All of this led to silt in our water supply, which could, in turn, lead to bacteria, so on Monday they issued a boil water warning. I’ve not seen Austin go through anything like that.

It really makes you realize how extraordinarily spoiled we are. We use clean water and take it for granted in unimaginable ways. My friend that runs the cafeteria where I work struggled that first day. I mean, she’s still struggling, but she’s gotten her footing a little. She had to turn off the ice dispenser, couldn’t make coffee (horrors!) or ice tea. She couldn’t even wash the vegetables, so she couldn’t serve hamburgers because there was no lettuce or tomatoes. Plus, could you wash the dishes? Probably not. She began boiling water to get through the rest of the week.

Restaurants of all sorts had to adjust. For the most part they would not serve fountain drinks because there is no clean ice. Coffee shops couldn’t serve coffee, except the pre-bottled kind. They even warned us to use hand sanitizer after we washed our hands.

But, not being able to sit in a coffee shop and chill after work has been the biggest loss for me. I understand that there are millions of people who live on Earth who don’t have access to clean water, and I understand that I might be whining just a tiny bit. It’s just eye-opening, more than anything. And, I’ve become accustomed to stopping at a local coffee shop, opening my journal or my laptop and writing. It’s a way to transition from work to home. It’s some beautiful alone time in a crowded space, a way for me to relax. It’s a very precise way to relax and one little slip-up like not having clean water can really turn it on its side.

Today (Friday) it occurred to me after work that Round Rock has a Barnes & Noble, and that Round Rock has it's own water system. A quick call to them confirmed, by a rather puzzled clerk, that their cafe does, indeed, sell coffee. I told him that I was calling from Austin where coffee shops could not make coffee. God has forsaken this city – probably not for the first time. Damned liberal commies.

Also, I suddenly need a dictionary. I listen to FiatLex, a podcast by Kory Stamper and Steve Kleinedler, who are lexicographers and have begun sharing the joys of their trade with the world via books and this lovely podcast. I’m also reading (or listening to) Kory’s book, Word by Word, and plan to read Steve’s soon. So, after all this dictionary business, all it took was a gentle nudge from Steve on the podcast and I suddenly needed to buy a dictionary. I asked them which I should buy, if they had a recommendation. The FiatLex Twitter account responded (in all caps) that I should buy Steve’s new dictionary, The American Heritage Dictionary of the English language, Fifth Edition: Fiftieth Anniversary Printing. (ISBN 9781328841698 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.)

In B&N I looked at the tweet again, found the ISBN and made my way to the customer service desk. Because of the internet, I was aware that they did not have this book in stock. I was also aware that none of the B&N’s in the Austin area had it in stock. But, I let them do their work, look it up and then offer to order it for me. As they did I thanked them for having coffee, which, again, invoked a puzzled look until I, again, mentioned that I work in Austin. Nods all around and murmurs of amazement. (Honestly, during the rains a bridge over the Llano river was washed away. I know that sounds prosaic, but to see on video a large bridge that people regularly drive across being up to its asphalt in water, and then to watch it break apart and crumble was unbelievable. Huge chunks of broken bridge were rolling around in the current of the river.)

I also commented to the lovely people at the customer service desk that I was shocked that there wasn’t a line of people beating a path to the bookstore to order this dictionary. It was just released this month and it’s the fruit of years of work by dedicated, intelligent and highly quirky people. It was all rather tongue-in-cheek, except for the emotion I felt as they ordered the dictionary for me. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t walk out with it today. Okay, I was a lot disappointed. But, I felt so grown-up. I just bought furniture for the first time in my life, and now I’m going to buy my first dictionary. I’m becoming an adult, in spite of myself.

Well Documented – Eventually

Facebook continues to be a brain sucker. I try to sit in a coffee shop and I literally cannot remember what I was going to write here, even though it was so important to me this morning that I brought my journal and computer to work and then stopped at a coffee shop afterward with every intention of writing it. Now, media in all its glorious forms have robbed me of the memory of what was, until very recently, an urgent and pressing thought to capture.

What have I been doing with myself? I have acquired several documents for my genealogical research. Some I downloaded from county websites, others I had to purchase. Siblings’ marriage licenses I downloaded. My father’s land purchase I paid a nominal fee for and downloaded. My mother’s marriage license to her first husband I purchased from Gonzales County – and I received a certified copy. (This is so exciting!) I’ve begun to log these items. At work I abstract documents like these, and I feel an irresistible urge to do it at home as well. So, I’ve used genealogy as a pretext to begin collecting documents, so that I, too, can have fun with them.

I went through a similar phase at a very young age. I worked at HEB and I desperately wanted to work in bookkeeping. And, I don’t use the word “Desperately” lightly here. So many things at that time of my life were so very important. I was so very in love with Michael. (Being gay in the 80’s was an exercise in self-torture.) And, I wanted so very badly to work in bookkeeping and make all of those numbers line up and balance. I even dreamed, while sleeping, about using an adding machine. There is little in this world quite as satisfying as an 11 X 17 sheet of tiny numbers that balances to zero. I felt so good. Accomplished.

Accounting never called to me that way; very little did. My entire existence was a large vacuum of need for approval. I wanted so badly for my bosses to be proud o me. I longed for it with tears in my eyes. I don’t know why I never sought this approval at college. I did attend for a while, but I didn’t finish. I didn’t have the same drive, sadly. A logical person would have put their energy into something that would offer better returns later in life, though I do have to admit that the skills I developed in the bookkeeping office at HEB all led, in one way or another, to almost every job I’ve had since.

I’m reading a book called Word by Word by Kory Stamper. She was an editor at Merriam Webster Dictionary and I first fell in love with her when she made her infamous “Plural of Octopus” video for their Ask the Editor series. Reading her book reminded me of this passion I’ve been talking about, as she described discovering Medieval Icelandic family sagas and Medieval Studies in general. And as she described her love for the English Language. She writes about seeing an Old English word and noticing that it had a similarity to modern English, but that others did not, about chasing down these words across languages and continents – learning from whence they came how they developed to the spelling and pronunciation used currently. She writes about the restless need that drove her to learn these things. The way she describes her studies, her interview to work at Merriam Webster – I can so relate. The difference being that she has a successful career to show for it.

I look back at that time of my life – late teens and 20’s. My quest to learn Spanish was no less intense than the bookkeeping deal. I must have irritated friends to death by demanding that they tell me what was being said in every Spanish song I heard. Songs are a good way to learn Spanish. Repetition, baby.

Come to think of it, I got on a lot of people’s nerves. For a lot of things. Being passionate leaves you vulnerable, especially if you don’t develop a level of narcissism to allow you to block out others’ feelings, a character trait that I never managed to develop. A passionate person is considered a genius or an idiot, depending on the viewer.

Nowadays I pursue interests, but I don’t have that passion as much, which is almost just as well. It’s exhausting. Until, that is, something like historic documents comes along and I dream of a climate/humidity-controlled room in which to collect documents and ephemera – and to catalog them. Marriage licenses help establish parentage (typically). Birth and Death Certificates offer information about people, assuming that the information could be had at the time of the event. Property sale documents help establish where people were and give a good idea how serious they were about being in a certain area. There was a migration from Europe through the Carolinas and Alabama that left my family here in Texas as the wave carried people all the way west to California. I’m finding paperwork that can tie my family to this migration, and I can see how we moved from North Carolina to Alabama to Northern Texas. Some other things I’m finding – particularly about a specific relative from Mexico – are fascinating, but I need more documentation. The name is the same as my mother’s grandfather, but I need something that ties the Braulio Hernandez from the Chihuahua area during the Mexican Revolution in the early 20th Century (Pancho Villa apparently loathed my great-grandfather) to the man who fathered my grandmother. Some of the stories don’t seem to line up perfectly and I really need proof that this historic figure is the same man as the one in my family tree.

I also love pamphlets from art fairs, business cards, magazines, personal letters, post cards… the only requirement is that it have a traceable connection to me. I have a journal where I keep business cards of my friends, and I write a little bit about how I know them and why I feel they are important enough for me to keep their cards. Some of the ephemera can serve to remind me of a life well-lived. And, as I said, genealogy offers an excellent reason to pursue this fascinating, albeit pointless hobby.

I need to learn to direct my heart to logical, useful things.

A Place to Sit

I took this picture about two years ago. I was sitting, as I am now, on the back steps. There are just four cement steps leading to the back door - not a full-on porch. But, it was a place to sit while I rested after returning from a long trip, and I could look at the back yard.

At one point I decided to get an outdoor table and chairs. I love looking at my back yard. It's green, it has trees, there's a field behind it. Plants here and there. Cats. I thought it was a shame not to take more time sitting and enjoying it, appreciating it.

I had a small ice cream parlor table when I moved in. It’s been sitting on the patio, but it's very hot there. The afternoon and evening sun bakes that space and anybody who is sitting in it. We have another patio table on the side of the house. That one is bigger, and with four comfortable chairs. There's a cover over that area, so the sun doesn't beat down on you. From disuse, this table has become full of things, as unused tables are wont to do.

And here I sit, on the cement steps leading to the back door. It feels like sitting here is what a small child would do; a real adult has patio furniture to sit on. But, this is my favorite view of the yard and my favorite place to be. It feels natural to come outside and sit here. I would have to make an effort to remember to go sit in the grown-up furniture. I can think better here than I can in the patio furniture, because I feel more at home here. I can drink coffee on these steps, the cats like to come up and sit with me. I'm happier here, so I’ve just decided to go with it.

Art Festival and Rain near Piney Woods in Texas

Edom Texas is a lovely village in East Texas near Tyler. The sign on the road indicates that it has a population of 375. There is a gas station and a post office, and a few houses scattered here and there.

Driving there is breathtaking, and a little spooky if you drive at night, because the tall, tall trees on either side of the road block almost everything. I’m used to seeing fields and cityscapes and miles and miles of Texas when I drive. In East Texas, the trees tend to limit this sort of landscape. You get to see a tunnel in front and behind you with sky overhead. At night, it’s a very dark tunnel with shadowy trunks and branches, teeming with ghouls and ghosts. The locals in Edom assure me that there are more people buried in the cemetery than living in the town. Comforting, that.

Our reason for driving there this weekend was to participate in the Edom Art Festival, 2018. The one street in town that I know of has artists and galleries in almost every building. It is a perfect place to have a festival, particularly one that is put on by the artists, for the artists. Edom has hosted artists and artisans at festivals since 1972. There were a few years when it moved to a different town, and then became dormant. But, now it’s back and building strength. Listening to Barry talk with his friends all of these years, Edom seemed like an artists’ Mecca. “Did you ever do Edom?” “Do you know the painter, Martha? I used to see her at Edom, back when it was huge.” While it was gone, people talked about the grand days of art, friendships and serious art collectors driving great distances to visit them and buy their wares. Relationships were built between artists and patrons. And, between the artists themselves.

This year Barry and I drove in the night before the show began, and managed to set up the tent that evening. On Saturday when the festival began we had only to set out the jewelry and we were ready. (Being this early is not classic behavior for Barry, even showing up in the dark the night before and setting up the tent with a flashlight.) It was a beautiful morning. The weather was warm, but not hot. I had had my coffee and was pretty much walking on air in this peaceful town. Soon, people began wandering around the booths, and I could tell that it was going to be a good day and a great show.

New Barry Earrings for the Edom Art Festival, 2018

This didn’t last, unfortunately. Our friend drove in from Dallas and she called to say that it was raining so hard she could barely see. She was afraid that the rain was going the same direction she was. It was a nice morning, so we told her to take care and we’d be here when she arrived. She did arrive, and we had lunch. Barry made avocado/alfalfa sprout sandwiches for us and for friends. Then, around 2 it began to sprinkle and the customers collected under the booths of the artists and artisans. The music continued and people were still milling about. Gradually, the rain began to come down harder. And harder. And harder… People left, darting through puddles trying to get to their cars. We were safe under a strong tent, but water began to collect in the grass at our feet. Because of the grass, it took a while for me to realize how deep that water was becoming. We were on a slope (as you can tell from the angle of the earrings in the picture above) so I thought that the water would flow through. Instead it just gradually became deeper and deeper. Sheets of rain blocked our view; we could no longer see the huge trees in the background. It was loud, and we could barely hear what she was saying when the coordinator came by in a golf cart screaming, “Pack up!”, trying to be heard over the roar of rain pounding on the ground and on tents.

We gathered up the jewelry and hung out for a while under a friend’s tent, pondering what to do for the rest of the evening. Some people who were trying to leave found themselves stuck in the mud. The rest of us wondered how we would get out. (Luckily, the fire department helped out those who were stuck.) Our hotel was in Tyler, and the idea of going to the hotel, and then back to the artists’ dinner didn’t seem likely. The dinner is held on the grounds of Woodhaven Cabins. It is a beautiful place, but it’s more remote than Edom and the road is smaller, there’s a dam over a creek… it didn’t seem like an intelligent decision, frankly. We left our options open, but the drive back to Tyler was eventful enough that we decided to stay in town and make our way back to the show on Sunday, rested and refreshed.

By the time we got to Edom on Sunday, though, the decision had been made to call the show off for good and let artists pack up and get their vehicles out. The radar indicated that another, larger, storm was heading toward us that afternoon and they didn’t want to take a chance that the artists would be stuck there overnight or for a few days. We all agreed that this was probably the best decision to make considering the circumstances.

It was a bit of a shock to everyone. We walked around and people were slowly, methodically breaking down tents, packing ceramic art and jewelry. Our friends were legitimately sad. We didn’t get the Sunday morning camaraderie. So much visiting and looking at new products didn’t get to happen. The weather looked clear and we all felt the loss, thinking about how busy and happy customers and visitors had been just 24 hours previous. Barry, in particular, felt he missed out. Sunday mornings is when he visits friends and people he’s known for decades. There is a close relationship built between people who, for years and decades, worked that circuit of art festivals across the US. They would run into each other at different venues in almost every state in the country. They’d discuss the art scene, other artists, their lives and the quality of the different shows. Show after show, month after month, year after year, watching children grow up and people buy homes, have grandkids, get sick, get well, take care of each other and send love to each other through this vine of interconnected artists. Over the last 10 years this art scene has changed so completely that they don’t even recognize it any more. Smallish festivals like the one in Edom are some of the few times they have the opportunity to get together like they always did. They will grumble that they are too busy during the show to have decent conversations, but truth be told, it’s the kind of conversations and relationships that they have known all their lives. It’s how they know each other. It’s what they lean on when they do come together like this.

Sadly, this year I didn’t get the opportunity to walk around and take pictures of people’s artwork. I did walk around, but I thought there was plenty of time for pictures. Barry and I packed up, visited with artist friends and made a date with a group to see a movie together in November. We met up with some other friends in Tyler for lunch. Then, we got on the road for the long drive home. We took our time, stopping for lottery tickets and visiting the Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana. It was still light outside when we arrived at 621. The cats were happy to see us. This is the life of a traveling artist, a life that is slowly fading away.

But, we’ll always have Edom.

Passing Time

While at a street festival in Waco Texas I got to explore the booth next door to ours. I asked permission to take pictures… well after I had already taken most of these. I have loved Barbara’s ceramic art since I first met her years ago. I love the patterns and textures she incorporates. I had the chance to see her studio and the various things she uses to the patterns. I almost moved in. Anyway, this is how I pass my time when I’m at art festivals.

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Making new friends

Links:

Barbara Francis Pottery

Barry Perez Jewelry