fireweed -the most non-whiney flower around

fireweed -the most non-whiney flower around
no pansies allowed

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Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Try It Again Jo's, Part One











 
Things sometimes don't go according to our expectations. 
 
I have dreamed of owning a thriftstore for a long, long time. A thriftstore that would give my life purpose and direction...that would financially support me while also having a reciprocal relationship with the community. A for-profit thriftstore, but one that also served social service agancies, and benefitted my neighbors by giving them a place to find things they need affordably, benefitted local artisans by giving them a place to play or display their works, benefitted the planet by reducing landfill use.
 
I researched and wrote a 75 page business plan that captured exactly how I could do this.
 
Through being an addicted, negative, and heartbroken person, I had lost everything in my life that mattered to me. This store was supposed to build a bridge back to my parents, my daughter, my independence, my pride. ..
 
I decided to turn my life around, and go for it.
 
Armed with this business idea, I started looking for things people were going to throw away. Having stupidly sold my truck years before, I was on bicycle when I started. I, of course, checked dumpsters, asked people who had things set out in their yards gathering rust, made the 4am circuit ahead of the trashtrucks looking for items people had set curbside for disposal, bothered people who had yardsale leftovers.
 
It is amazing what people will throw away. Especially in a town with one of the highest socio-economic gaps in the entire nation.
 
 
 
When I found things, I had to get them to the various places I was stashing them...on bike. I did this for six months. I annoyed every friend I had with repeated requests for rides. I walked things like dressers and couches for miles by handtruck...once I roped a large television into a wheelchair I had pushed a half mile just to get to the neighborhood where it had been placed out with a "free" sign on it. To say that people passing me did double takes as I made my way back to where I was staying would be an understatement. (The television worked perfectly, in case you were wondering...)
 

 
I crashed my bicycle over and over trying to carry vacuums, and bags of discarded clothing, and rolls of carpet. One time I found a dumpster full of discarded kid's bikes, so I crashed my bike carrying....other bikes. Wheels and legs and pedals and handlebars everywhere. I was a sight to see, I'm sure.
 
The police came to know me, and had both laughed AT, and WITH me on various occassions-when my feet were hanging over the side of an apartment complex dumpster. Eventually they would just shake their heads at me and wave as they passed by, as they figured out I was perhaps a bit eccentric, but not burglarizing anyone. Or stuck. I cleaned up my messes, and took care not to alarm residents in the middle of the night...which was the best time to treasure (inventory) hunt without being harrassed or repeatedly questioned.
 
I did this for six months, in every kind of weather. One time,  I had seen that a store was discarding some display racks. I rode my bike- in the dark and rain across the Brookings/Harbor bridge in 75 mph gusts of wind. I was repeatedly blown against the railings. But, I got those racks.
 
People who cared about and supported me starting giving me donations. I had things stashed with every friend I had...garages, backyards, sheds, under eaves and tarps, car trunks...some friends started running when they saw me, fearful I would make their homes look like an episode of Sanford and Son's.
 




 
After renting a small storage and having stuffed it so full it became dangerous to even open the door, my friend told me I needed to stop the cycle and just get a commercial building...and get the store in motion.
 
This made a lot of sense, because was starting to run out of patient friends with garages....but I didn't have start-up money. And I was still scraping every dime to try to pay my friend and former co-worker for the room I rented...and I had been doing this largely through recycling. Again, on bicycle.
 
 
 
 
 
The reason I am telling this story is because first, I am posting a bunch of pictures from my store because I am still living in uncertainty in temporary situations....and I have gradually lost photos, computers, cameras, photo albums...and what I still have, I want to archive.
 
And secondly I AM going to open and operate a successful thriftstore....again...having learned this time from my mistakes. I'm not sure yet exactly how I will get there from where I sit now. But, I will. I thought I had a plan, and it has come apart-in the most painful way I can imagine.
 
 
 
And thirdly, because even though things are turning in very different ways than I had expected, there are amazing and wonderful unexpected things at work. Even if they seem awful in the moment. And this may be the lesson I was meant to learn...I NEED to tell my story. Because there are a lot of assumptions. There is a lot of misinformation.
 
I NEED to have added my voice, even if no one ever hears it. Because somehow and somewhere...there is going to be another try at Play It Again Jo's.
 
 
 
 
 
 




Monday, February 18, 2013

Herby and the Hoodie


It's weird what we hang onto when feeling scared and broken. Some people might have a favorite blanket. Others might have a comfortable pair of slippers, or a one eyed teddy bear (who is lacking depth perception) from childhood that they cling to.

I bonded with a mouse. A real mouse. I named him Herby.

I came to Springfield with the intention of re-opening my thriftstore, helping my ex and her son restore the beautiful 100 year old homes she had purchased, and generally just to start again. I was to have the "rental" home to stay in while we fixed up the commercial building she had also purchased. When she called to have the gas turned on in the house, they discovered that the furnace was not in working condition. So, there was no heat during a time when it was getting to be twenty degrees and under at night. I was sleeping on a twin mattress set placed directly on the floor, and would crawl in at night wearing three shirts, a hooded jacket and a down parka....with lots of fuzzy blankets heaped on top...

One night I awoke in the dark to the sensation of something brushing against my face. Thinking either "SPIDER!" or "RANDOM CHARACTER FROM A STEPHEN KING NOVEL!" I jolted awake. I started slapping my head and neck. In a few seconds I realized what was going on, because the thing that frightened me so badly was trapped  in my sweatshirt hood.

It was a panicked mouse.

As I slowly came to and calmed a bit, Herby had made his way from my seatshirt hood to my jacket hood, and was running around my head trying to find the exit. He was actually squeaking, probably additionally frightened by my hair...(anyone who knows me understands this fear).

He finally got free and ran lightening speed along the wall, disappearing under my door.

We had scared the shit out of each other (in his case, literally...I found the evidence in my hood)...and you would think he would have just been thankful for his second chance, and stayed in his little mouse hole with his little swiss cheese wedge. (cartoons....too many...I know)

But, no.

I left the light on this time as I went back to sleep...and it wasn't long before his little mouse nose poked back under the door, and he had made his way back into the room.

He did this repeatedly for several nights. He was a brave little sucker. He would come right up to the edge of the bed and look at me. Of course, when I even flinched he would squeak and run for it.

I think he was freezing, and that first night had simply found a warm spot...probably thought he had hit the jackpot...I mean,  it was so cold you could literally see your breath. There I was wrapped in blankets like a big warm burrito...

My ex had offered to put a few traps around, but I declined. Somehow, I found Herby to be comforting in an otherwise stressful and humorless situation.

Herby had found other places to explore when it warmed up, and I didn't see him anymore.

But, thank you Herby...wherever you are.  

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Existential Angst and Other Venereal Diseases



Ok....existential angst isn't a venereal disease. I made that up.

This post isn't even about existential angst, which is a good name for a rock band...if you ad the suffix "er" after it.

Anyhoo...

This post is about kids who scream for toys in Walmart.

Sort of.

It's a post about the nature and fragility of trust...and a basic psychological principle.

"Mom told me 99 times if I screamed for a toy and threw a tantrum, we were going out to the car. 99 times I screamed , and 99 times she took me directly to the car. I didn't get the toy. I got in trouble. But last week mom gave in. It worked....so I'm prepping for my hissy fit in aisle five. GI Joe with the Kung Fu grip, here I come."

The kid will only remember the ONE time it worked. Not the ninety nine times you consistently showed you meant business, and the consequence was for sure. The goal would be to end the tantrums, of course. But, even ONE variation from the plan...even ONE "Crisis Shelter Barbie with matching bathrobe and shopping cart" won through an embarrassing display that made you wish you had remembered to bring the duct tape...that is ALL the kiddo will remember.

Trust is like that. Especially for those who have been damaged by placing trust in someone who hurt them You can be consistent and loving for years.. It only takes a moment to lose it.

Broken trust can be repaired, but it is a long and hard fought road. Break it again and again...that person is long gone.

Remember that the next time you yell to your friend or family member across the store, "HEY JANE SMITH! I FOUND THE PAINFUL RECTAL ITCH CREAM  YOU WANTED ON AISLE TWO!"

Some things just can't be unsaid. Know what I'm saying?





Handwriting in the Squall

This is a silk fireweed stalk given to me long ago in Alaska by my friend Tara. I've managed to hang onto it for years, as I've gradually lost nearly everything else sentimental and material in my life. I post it now because I had recently unpacked it...after managing to carry it with me across seven states waiting for the time I would have a home again.

When I pulled it out of the bag it was in, it was smashed.....flowers matted against the bent stalk, leaves twisted and poking out in odd directions. It took me about a half hour to gently unfold and fluff it. I placed it in a caraffe where I had also placed black and white rocks from my favorite beach in Brookings, below where I used to live...and the last place I had dared to upack my symbolic flower. The last place I had felt home. The last place I had felt safe in love, and sure in my direction.

It is back in the bag where I had taken it from...and through a series of painful events...for which I hold nothing but heart hurt and sadness for everyone impacted...I am staying at a domestic violence shelter.

This has actually been a gift in my life, oddly enough...exactly where I am supposed to be...but it will be some time again before I unpack this fireweed stalk. And that is okay. It is safe, and so am I.

I haven't had peaceful internet access in a while. It comes irregularly and with frequent interruptions . But, I have been writing my blog entries, also waiting for time to post them. I'm going to start posting them...not that I am under the impression that the whole world has been eagerly awaiting...but this is how I process my life and my journey...as overly wordy as I may frequently be. "Locquacious Jo" is a good name for my rock band. I can haughtily throw dictionaries at the imaginary audience...instead of guitar picks.

Anyway, here comes the flood. My therapy.