Ruminations on the Old Year
I feel like I'm coming up for air, finally, which seems appropriate at this cusp of the year. Interstitial places like this, where one thing turns into another, are always my favorites. I think what I like is the anticipation and the potential: anything can happen, even the weird and especially the unexpected. You'd think, after the past three years I've had, I'd be ready for a little boring normalcy, but no. Though "careful what you wish for" is something of a mantra for me, I never seem to know when I've got it good. Maybe because normal is so . . . normal. Anyone can do normal. Birth, school, work, taxes, retirement, death. Zzzzzzz.
Oh, I know, I'm tempting fate, and I've still got a fair amount of that "waiting for the next asteroid strike," flinching self-protectiveness, but at least my emotions are thawing out. That's both good and bad, like most things in life. The good part is that I'm regaining some enthusiasm and passion. The bad part is that I suspect this is when I'll really start going through the grieving process. It's been pretty much on hold for the last year, since Dad died. That was the last straw, apparently, and some switch inside me just clicked off. Since then, I've just been going through the motions: working, closing out the estate, sowing a few wild oats in an attempt to make myself feel something again (e.g., the Fat Tuesday Debacle, and the debauched weekend in Chicago).
The job (funny how that's also a capitonym with the afflicted Biblical character Job; could they be synonyms? Hmmm, or just heteronyms?) has absorbed an inordinate amount of time this year, somewhat purposely. Loading myself up with work for other people—largely brainless work, at that—distracted me, but left me with little energy for my own projects. It also wore me out and played havoc with my already-stressed immune system, so much so that by the launch of the new company website in December, for which I edited and wrote text, I was utterly exhausted and completely brain dead. As a consequence, I've had some really weird and annoying (and bloody expensive!) health problems this year. But I also got my cholesterol levels down to "perfect." Heh, heh. The best part of that is I did it without giving up anything: I started cooking with sesame oil, eating more sushi (esp. salmon) and drinking more wine. But I must say, Japanese food is especially good for this. What can be wrong with rice and fish (well, the mercury)? And it's so yummy!
I also didn't seem to be able to say no to anyone or anything this year and I've started to do that again: first with the comic book project I got embroiled in (what was I thinking? That would have absorbed at least two years of my life, to the exclusion of all else but work, probably, and paid badly); most recently by cutting back my work hours. That didn't make my boss very happy, but I'm tired of being told I'm not flexible enough at work when all it takes is an hour of extra work a week to push me into full time without benefits, and that's just stupid on my part. This will reduce my income a bit, but thanks to a fat raise (probably my last), not all that much. I'll certainly have a livable income and more time to get to my projects.
Somehow, in all the wreckage, I've managed to put together a feasible way (I think) to restart the press, on my own terms. This happened almost by accident, though I guess I've had the idea in my head for years. It's kind of a two-tier model, with inexpensive little books in the $10-$50 range that still turn a profit that I can make over and over, and expensive limited edition pieces like Carlos's book (the big one, now called "the body is as solid as the thought that holds it in place") and the broadsheet of "On High" that I've been collecting typeblocks for (though I still haven't found the font I want, at least on E-Bay. Yes, I've become an E-Bayer.).
It started when I made a little windowshade book for Carlos from one of his poems and discovered how easy it was to make (about 45 minutes to actually assemble, once all the layout and printing and cutting were done), and decided to make 25 more to build up some stock for book fairs next year. This will sell for $20, at last reckoning. Then I discovered MOO cards, which are really half a business card printed with pictures from your Flickr account (or some other source). I made up a bunch for Marcia and me with images of Stories From the Ruins and our info on the back. Then I got the bright idea of doing a flag book with the photos I've been taking of the city, so I ordered up enough to do about 10 of those. I'd like them to sell for about $5-$10, but I haven't totted up the cost of all the supplies yet, since I haven't quite figured out what the exterior is going to look like yet. That led to what's going to be my New Year's card (which many of you will receive in the mail later next month), which I may mass produce at a later date, although only if I can find a less labor-intensive way of doing it.
Once I get enough stock, the next step will be to work some of the fairs for the exposure, and then I think I'll probably set up an on-line store of some kind, though I haven't decided where yet. And there should probably be some sort of mailing to dealers. Things for next year.
Making books has been pretty much the extent of my creative work this year. A poem here and there, some fanfic. But nothing on the novel, which would bother me in other circumstances. The thing's waited this long already. Another year won't hurt it. Or it may just shove it into the drawer permanently. The City of God book is percolating in the back of my head now, helped along just a little by the print I bought from Tom Harper.
It's cool to see Paul and Myron going down this path too, in a more casual way than I am. The creative activities they're invested in, pottery and glass blowing, are way more expensive than book binding, or at least the way I do it. They're both making beautiful stuff, though Paul seems to have a greater flair for glassblowing and Myron for potting. And of course there's Mel and her music.
And all three of us musketeers have had nasty family stuff to deal with this year, Paul's Mom having quadruple bypass surgery, and Mel dealing with her mom's Parkinson's and broken hip. Strangely enough, I feel I've had it easiest of all of us. Both Mom and Dad went quickly and fairly easily, though Mom had health problems for a while, and they were both able to take care of themselves, more or less, right up to the end. I hope Paul's parents aren't starting down a hard road too. Jackie seems to have recovered really well from her bypass, and I'm glad.
Not much travel this year, unless you count going back to Michigan again in May to get the house ready to sell. At least I didn't have to go back for the closing in July. Now if I could just get rid of the rest of the contents . . .
Otherwise, I've just spent six days with Rob up in Maine, where he's finally settled after leaving Guam last spring. I hadn't seen him in four years, but we picked up pretty much where we left off, and it was really a lovely time. Rob and I get on together like toast and jam, which is always pleasant. It was also just what I needed; I only wish it'd been longer, though for staying at someone's house, it just teetered on too long. Don't want to overstay my welcome. But I felt like I'd just started to relax and unwind before I had to come back here and pick up the shovel again—and immediately started feeling crappy again. The last three years have finally caught up with me, which was bound to happen.
So I've been kind of hibernating since I got back. Haven't gone out except to collect the mail and pick up some groceries. Haven't answered the phone. Only written a few e-mails. So if you read this and wonder if I've dropped off the face of the earth, the answer is yes. Just until Tuesday, when I will fling myself back into the rushing torrent that is New York. For right now, I need the rest in this little eddy in the Bronx.
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