Carol Larson - textile artist

Thursday, I “ran” down to Long Beach for the debut International Quilt Festival. which was great fun, albeit exhausting. It took me 11 hours door to door to get there as Jet Blue cancelled my flight out of Oakland due to a tornado in New Hampshire!!! I trotted down to Southwest, bought a new ticket for $60 more than the to be refunded JB fare, waited 5 hours till there was a flight with a seat available, which by then was an hour late in leaving, flew to LAX, had to then take a super shuttle back to LGB, stopping at a couple of people’s homes along the way. I arrived at the hotel at 11 pm! Eleven hours…not bad for a 56 minute flight!!!

My goal in attending was to meet some of the folks that I will be working with as curator for the juried Points of View exhibit there next summer. I also planned schmoozing time with some of my SAQA friends,volunteering in the SAQA booth, some shopping time and to view many of the outstanding quilts there on exhibit. Mission accomplished. Lack of sleep, visual over-stimulation, too much small talk with strangers, too many steps on concrete and a diet rich in fruit & nuts but little else, sent me home pretty exhausted.

My work Summer of Love 1967 was juried into the West Coast Wonders exhibit and glory me was I excited to see it was hung smack dab across from the entrance to the mammoth convention center. (You can tell how mammoth this building was by the size of the girders in the background of the image) As you can see it was hung on a blue curtain and with its blue sky, I really did not see it myself, until I went looking for it!

Now I am heading into the studio to see if some of this over-stimulation morphs into some amazing new artwork. That, and to consider driving to Long Beach, next year!

Today I set off to the outlets to buy a pair of turquoise shoelaces for a favorite brown pair of Converse. While there I thought I would just look to see if they had anything that would coordinate with the clothes I am taking to Long Beach, so I would not have to pack extra shoes in my luggage. I am planning to pack light to give myself room for treasure!

Well, did I find shoes?!!! While I passed up at least 4 pairs of awesome prints, I found the perfect patterns and colors in three different pairs! And two would be excellent for this adventure…couldn’t decide, had to have both!!! Went in for shoelaces, come out with 3pairs of sale shoes, not bad.

As I walked to my car with my new shoes, I felt a tinge of buyer’s remorse for indulging in three more pairs of “chucks,” that I really did not need, until I realized I can clearly justify it… because I have given up so much already!
Ah justification, the bane of female existence…

Since I have given up all the food I love….meat, fish, chocolate, desserts, wine, dairy and wheat, I simply deserve this. Despite the fact that I hate to shop, try to not use more than I need nor take up more space than I need, I simply deserve to have 16 pairs of Converse shoes! And undoubtedly, as I continue to rationalize, it has much to do with a life until now, of shoe deprivation. I have always been two sizes ahead of longest length available on any retail market. And yes, I do know about all the places I CAN buy shoes, but no one sells my ruler thin width. The most shoes I have had in my adult lifetime until now, was 3 black pairs at one time. My youngest sister is the American Imelda Marcos and you don’t hear her justifying her shoe habit!!!

It took me a couple of years for my psyche to accept Converse basketball shoes (as we called them in high school) as my shoe of choice. Until my wise adult daughter told me they were my signature! Now, I am with it. I am the old lady in the Converse shop talking trash with the kids over “chucks!” Not really…but see how I am trying to be hip, and I am not talking replacement.

Last night I met an old friend for dinner and I walked in wearing my “bathroom graffiti” chucks. Until last night I referred to them as my Converse, but now I know “chuck” is the word! The waitress, a sweet young early 20-something, went ape for my shoes. She stood at the table and we had a long “chuck” conversation. I told her I had maybe 8 pairs. Today, I counted. I have 16. And proud of it! I am supporting the economy. Is that not what Dubba has asked us to do?

The funny thing to me is each pair comes with a little chain and tag. The tag gives the history of the shoe, invented in 1923 and proudly calls it the American shoe. On the underside of the tongue, it says Made in China.

If I were one to wear fruit on my head, right now I would have an enormous amount to choose from. I could actually, if I was so inclined, go into the Carmen Miranda hat making business!

When we bought this house, 34 years ago, my city slicker husband immediately tore out all the gravel the previous owner had installed and planted fruit trees, lots and lots of fruit trees. He planted two cherry, two persimmon, a peach, two apple and an apricot, with the idea that the duplicates would cross pollinate.

Early on, it was fabulous as each tree produced maybe two dozen pieces of fruit. Now, decades later it has entered the feed the poor zone. Or the only time of the year the neighbors actually see me zone, as I stand again on their porch laden with fruit. Pretty soon, I might put some smaltzy tune on my iPod, open the windows of my car and drive up and down the adjacent streets giving away fruit, like the ice cream man. Can you imagine what that ice cream costs today with the price of gas? That’ll be $5, kid!!

Netting the cherry tree with camouflage bestowed us with at least 20 gallons of cherries this year. The crows scored another 5 gallons, as they noisily informed us. The last of the bunch are here and as you can see looking quite sad. After I initialized my innards with the oh my god, I hate too many cherries bellyache, I was then quite capable of eating 20-30 a day. We gave away at least 12 gallons worth!

The apricots were a blessing as the tree is old and diseased. Most fell to the ground while green and rotted. The two dozen or so we picked rotted, on the table while still green. I ate just one, captured in the exact moment between green and rotten.

Now the peaches and the gravensteins are in. Both make fabulous pies, but of course I am not eating pie anymore. And I am allergic to the peaches, which I learned 15 years ago on a houseboat in the middle of Lake Powell, ten thousand miles from civilization. Thank goodness for Benadryl.

My grandmother used to can fruit. Just about anything tastes better stuffed in a Mason jar with sugar water. I tried canning the first fruitful year and swore it off as I did not go to college to stand in front of a hot steaming kettle, on a hot summer afternoon. My husband, however makes a mean applesauce, and has jars and jars in the basement to prove it.

Last year we made juice and gave away apple juice and peach nectar, in addition to fruit. I have also been known to dehydrate it, carefully place the pieces in a plastic bag, so they don’t stick together, put on the shelf or in the freezer and then throw out six months later because I didn’t eat it! It is a lot less labor intensive to just give it away.

My husband has found a satisfying solution to the peach glut, I believe. He takes a perfectly whole food, chuck full of vitamins and minerals and chops it up into a pint of vanilla Haagen Das and eats it. Sometimes he needs a second peach to get through the whole carton! I may, on the other hand, start mailing fruit. If you find a peach in your mailbox with a stamp on it, you will know where it came from.

There is a “do-gooder” group in town that picks up excess yard produce and takes it to needy people. Still my husband is not yet convinced we have too much fruit! And don’t even get me started on the zucchini!

On another note, I am back in the studio and loving it. Yesterday, I was about to take a break and decided I would rather stay and play. And I so enjoy the shade of those old fruit trees outside my window.

I make it a practice to seldom post about my family or my health issues. I have learned that nearly every women on the planet is a nurturer and every man a fixer which for me spells meddling; whereas I most often have the best wisdom for my own body and my own life. And how often I forget that!!!

That being said, the past 4 months of my life have been loaded with anxiety, chronic inflammation, asthma and what I like to call the guru syndrome. I have been running, with checkbook, in hand from pillar to post trying to find the ultimate answer as to why I feel ill.

Granted I have health insurance, for whatever that is worth…not much in my book. Western medicine is not interested in the root cause of our problems, but rather in slapping a bandage on it, or in most cases, a prescription for some chemical elixir that causes more problems than it cures. Now, I know that statement will bring all the healthcare advocates out of the closet, but it is my opinion based on my life experiences; and the added irony of having worked in the healthcare field for 30 years.

In the past four months, I have spent a small fortune on acupuncture, which works; over the counter herbal lotions and potions, many of which don’t, now a nutritionist, soon a psychic healer. And I kept feeling more anxiety about finding the ONE person with the ONE answer to all of this. And every time I felt that, my spirit responded…you hold the answer! Oh, big help you are…

A few days ago, my very wise friend Helen said, meditate on it and ask why this is happening to you…why are you going from one health crisis to another? And I thought, oh that is easy for you to say, you meditate all the time! So yesterday afternoon, I chose to rest mid-afternoon, as my response to the asthma was pure and simple exhaustion. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was no longer exhausted, so I tried to meditate and access the inner core.

What started out easier than I thought then just stalled. I could not proceed any further. So eventually I gave in to it, and fell asleep for a short time. Several hours later, I was doing some e-mail for my husband who has responsibilities but is quite computer illiterate. After that, I started in on what lately has become my life…computer games.

And right in the middle of a game, came the message. You are killing your passion. Wow, excuse me? I am killing my passion?! What the hell does that mean? Well, of course, I knew immediately what it means.

I have spent the last four months wrapped up with toxic people, toxic relationships, gossip (which I normally disdain), drawing insufficient boundaries, and smothering my passion for art with computer games. A pretty clear message I would say.

So last night when I went to bed, again I tried to meditate. I focused on the concept of smothering, because in essence that is what asthma feels like. And again I got it that because I have not taken good care of my spirit these past months, have not lived up to my own standards of integrity, that my body is getting my attention in essence by smothering me. And that when the chronic inflammation was dealt with, the issues behind it weren’t, so the body upped the ante. Let’s smother her!!!

It all is now so abundantly clear to me. I have an extremely sensitive physiology, which was gifted to me by my late mother, who also struggled. But I eat so healthy, and exercise regularly, and drink lots of water, so I know I should not be struggling so. I know NOW that all of this is a signal from my spirit that it needs attention.

Last week I hung a sign on my studio door. The door is usually closed to keep the dog out, so already it is a bit foreboding. The sign says “why are you avoiding me?” Clearly my spirit might say the same thing!

It is high time to re-charge and refuel those spiritual reserves. Bring on the music the fabric, the colors and the thread. If I can give up chocolate, desserts, sugar, wine, meat, fish, dairy and black tea, I believe, I truly believe I can forego mind numbing computer games.

Or limit myself to 30 mins a day….already I am bargaining with the devil…

This morning we made a run for it. A run from the excessive heat and smoke of the past week and into the forest. In a way we were paying homage to sturdy old trees, being burned alive by so many wildfires over the state. We filled the car with gas for our road trip, and headed up to Armstrong Grove State Park, an ancient grove of redwoods just 29 miles away going the scenic route. I had decided to get my morning exercise there while reclaiming a bit of serenity for the soul.

Usually when we go to the “grove” it’s in winter, when it is damp, drizzly and deserted within the canopy of the forest. The aroma of a damp and drizzily redwood forest is something to behold. I feel and have heard others say, it is a religious experience to visit the redwoods; that is if you can do it in silence. I believe this was my first summertime experience and what a difference!

Aside from many tourists, there were several squalling babies and a camp full of pre-adolescents who do not have forest voices! We hiked into the forest theater only to be met by a crew of about a dozen 14 yr olds who were all talking and shouting at the same time, devising a play for the stage so they could get back to the camp and eat hot dogs! I was all for waiting them out, but my husband wasn’t, so we left them to their hollering in the amphitheater. It is times like those when I wonder how I got to be so cranky so soon!

And as much as I protested the camera obsessed in the museum, I was snapping away in the forest, thinking each was the next great shot. Out of 71 images, 14 were fabulous! That is the joy of digital for me…otherwise that would have been a lot of wasted film.

We walked back to the car, found the parking lot now jammed with cars and headed out. We drove home through the sleepy little river town where my grandfather was doc for 40 years, and through more redwoods. We saw more starter castles custom built right on the highway and far more new vineyards than old cows. We came home renewed from our walk in the woods and change of scenery.

I have spent most of the day, for most of the past week on the computer. Now, really that is not such a good idea as the power grid is stretched with all the hot weather and wildfires. But a tallgirl can conserve only so much. I run the dishwasher and laundry early in the morning. I drive only where I need to go, and back. The lights are off, the iron is off, the sewing machine is off, the tv is off, the oven is off, the stove is off,etc etc etc. And I can read only so many books, magazines, periodicals and mail. So what is left? Meditation and the computer! Obviously you can see what I have chosen.

I don’t particularly want to answer all the e-mail that is lingering in the inbox, because some comes right back at me. Don’t these people have lives? Are they on the computer all day?! So I check out various websites of interest, research my ongoing dietary issues, check out links my daughter sends, and with a great deal of discipline play some online games. And every once in a while, my husband cruises by to see what I am up to. I used to feel guilty, as in oops! caught again, until I realized that he is checking on my location, before he goes off to pursue his own addictions. Oh, the games people play…

While each day I feel sick as to the amount of time I have wasted on such mindless activity, I don’t really condemn myself too much about it, because I have given up every food on the planet that I love. I need to have some sin in my life!!!

And yet last night, when the cooling winds blew through the house, I sewed until 10. I would have sewed longer, but didn’t want to annoy my wonderful neighbors by hammering away on the workhorse machine, stitching postcards.

One of the things I read made reference to Julia Cameron’s The Artists Way (which I did not read because at the time, everyone was reading it and telling me about it!) about creating adventure in our lives. And how one (I) should do something adventurous once a week to stimulate the muse and get out of my head. Obviously this was written before gas was $4.79/gal or she lives in a city with public transit.

But you know, I am going to work on integrating that into my busy schedule, because I am worth it. This week may involve a trip to the beach with the dog and husband, so we all can run our toes in the 55 degree water, and cool down for at least an hour.