Dreams of Adventure

A friend recently asked, “What happened to your dreams of adventure?” I guess she was referring to my stationary presence here on the Oregon Coast. Yet, some adventure happens within and is less obvious than the ever roaming Westfalia. It easy for me to travel alone. Load up the van with hiking shoes, sleeping bag, camping food and water, and I head out. I know the general area I want to explore, hiking and biking trails I want to check out. I scout around for a good place to boondock at night, a mellow and welcoming coffee shop to connect with wifi, a public shower and I'm set. That's all easy stuff for me. It takes little or no interaction with others. I'm on my own agenda, exploring. On an adventure. Living with my thoughts, ideas, dreams. Just being.
My adventure these days is the adjustment to settling in a new community. It can be quite the ordeal for the introvert to form new friendships, sell my product, even seek employment as an outsider in a small town. My adventure these days is huge.
There are three knitting groups in my area that I know of. I've made it to one, twice. And I know the location of the others, I just haven't made it in the door yet. I pick up local papers announcing new and fun Happenings everywhere up and down the coast. I circle the ones that interest me, make note of the time and location. And then, when the time comes, there's always a reason for me not to go; I'm almost done knitting these gloves and I really need to finish them, it's too snotty outside, I'm not in the right mood to walk into a room full of strangers and introduce myself, or, I just don't want to spend the money.
My 18 year old son recently joined me here on the Coast. His heart crashed in Ketchikan and he really really needs to get out of town. Having been there myself, I totally understand his pain and logic. Plus, I'm his mom. “Of course you can live with me,” I tell him. We fall right into mother and son roles, except this time, I think he's a little surprised with his mother. Back in Ketchikan, I had lots of interaction with many people. That happens when you live in the community you are raised in, you just know people. Everyone. There's always someone to hike with, have dinner with, go to the movies, go out for a glass of wine after work.
After three days Shane asks, “What do you do here?”
“I warned you it was quiet here.”
“Yes, but, what do you do? Just knit all day, every day?”
“Pretty much. I also visit my aunt and uncle, walk Harley on the beach, hike on the local trails, and sometimes swim at the YMCA. I have three friends, one 60 miles north and the other two 60 miles east,” I try to explain my solo lifestyle. I don't think he had any idea I was a loner. I can't say that I really like it. I am lonely and would love to have a few friends a little closer that I could be spontaneous with, but that involves a skill I never had to develop living on an island for 30 something years; I have to learn how to make friends. Talk about adventure.
But, I'm not here for long anyway. I will be returning to Ketchikan to the people I know and a new job I will love. I may even miss this quiet place, so I'm not in a hurry to run out there and build new relationships. Or so I thought.
While here, Shane discovered an interest in Job Corps. It's an excellent program for youth starting out on their own, trying to develop a career and a place in this life. I encourage him to pursue this new focus of his. He makes numerous phone calls and is given quite the run around. We make the one hour drive to Astoria's Job Corps and are turned away at the gate because we don't have an appointment. Back to the unanswered phone calls. We learn where the main office is in Beaverton and make the hour and a half drive there only to be told to return tomorrow at 3:00 for the weekly Job Corps presentation. We do. And we learn there is a several month wait list to get in. And he has to stay in Oregon to qualify for placement in this region. And he has to not make too much money to meet criteria for acceptance.
After several sleepless nights I come to the only conclusion a supportive mother can make; I have to stay. There are good things about staying, very good things, I tell myself. I get excited about the idea. A warm sunny summer on the Coast! Farmer's Markets! Gardening! Kayaking in estuaries! Biking in Portland! Westy road trips!! Trader Joe's!!!
Then I freak out. I'm scared to death to give up what I know. A dear friend I truly love. Seeing my other son. A good job I was really really looking forward to. I tell Shane there has to be another way. He can come home with me and we'll return in October and try again. His face goes blank.
“I'm not going back there, Mom.” We sit and stare at each other. It's quiet around the house all day. I know he's right. The person I want to return to isn't there for me either. I'm creating a reality that doesn't exist. I would want what I couldn't have. I'd be miserable. He'd be miserable.
“I have a job there, Shane.”
“You could have a job here, Mom. I only need a few months and I can be in Job Corps.” We stare at each other again. I've had my eye on the job market all winter, jobs are slim. Full time jobs even slimmer.
“I will look. If I don't have one within two weeks we have to go. The job in Ketchikan I'm suppose to be taking will need time to replace me. That wouldn't be fair to them to wait too close to the season starting and I can't risk not having a job any where.”
I call my friend Dolores in Gearhart and tell her my dilemma. She tells me her co-worker just bought a cafe right here in Rockaway and is needing a waitress. She says she'll pass my need for a job onto her. Two days later I get a phone call inviting me to the cafe to meet. I come highly recommended and that's good enough for them. When can I start?
I freak out again. Is this really happening? I'm here for seven months with nothing. The moment I'm afraid to take a job and give up what I know, a job is thrown at me. The exact job I've been wanting to do. Just like that. We talk business and I ask for one day to consider it.
At home I go over the numbers. It could work. The job in Ketchikan would still be better, much better, but can I really prioritize that over my son? The son who never asks for anything is desperate for this to work. He has job applications in all over, looking for part time employment until he can be accepted into Job Corps. I already left him once, just seven months ago. Now that he really needs me how can I leave him again? I can't.
I accept the job at the cafe. Now I have to call the wonderful lady that trusted my return to run her shop. I have to accept that I no longer have a relationship with the one I love. My son Bo will have to wait. I have no idea what will happen after this summer, but for now, we are setting our roots. A new adventure has already began.

Will Knit For Love

This sabbatical thing has worked for me. I left chaos in search of peace. I roamed, wandered, explored, and relaxed. I reconnected with my need to create. I rediscovered knitting. It excites me. I found that something that keeps me going. I knit. Daily. All day some days. It helps that it's winter and raining out. My goal is to finish a project each day. And I only knit two things; hats and fingerless gloves!
I finally get the eccentric artist thing. Evon and her knives and linoleum, Ray with his pen and fish. Not that I'm comparing my skills to their level of artistry, just their of obsession for their craft. But they at least can make a living from their product. I sit in my home, knitting an average of 8 hours a day and IF I ever sell my products, I may be able to buy a bag of dog food for the boxer pacing in front of the door. Yet, I continue to knit. It's what I do. I've seen my friends whispering amongst themselves. The kind of whispering that stops when I enter the room. I think they're planning an intervention.
I'm into stripes now. Everything I've knit before is brand new again because this time I'm doing it in stripes! Separate bright, bold stripes. Soft stripes that blend together. Colors that fade in and out of each other. Stripes! Bulky knits! Worsted knits! Smooth yarn, bumpy yarn. I slide it in and out of my fingers, in love with the warmth and coosh of the fabric I've just made. I'm giving it life. Personality. Visually appealing and kinetically satisfying.
I get half way through one project and my mind is all ready wandering on to the next piece. I can't even stay committed to my current creation. My gawd! Good thing I only knit small items. There are so many options out there! Same pattern, smaller yarn, deeper stripes, whole different outcome! New images race through my mind at a pace that makes me loose track of what I'm currently knitting. I have to rip out the last two rows because my mind was writing a different pattern.
Harley's whinning at the door. The sun is shining. I put the knitting down and grab his leash. He jumps up, spinning 360's before he lands. He acts like he hasn't been out in days. Oh, maybe he hasn't. As we walk through the neighborhoood, I look at the color combinations of the houses. I make note of those I like and those I don't. I picture a hat sitting there with a yard and carport. " Hmmm. It could work. Love the green on top of the brick." I work out a brick pattern in my head. I give it a peaked top to resemble the chimney poking out the roof. We meet up with a nice lady walking her black and white collie mix. I like the way his patches create a pattern of contrast. I make another note to self. On the beach, the winter surf is rolling in new logs. The sand is littered with them. All variations of blacks, browns and beiges, some green from the newly departed trees, ripped from the shore's tree line, roots exposed, being devoured by the ocean. Layers of the beach, all before me, become the landscape for a hat.
I snap myself out of it. I've only been unemployed for five months but I fear I'll never be happy as a clock puncher again. How can I survive making hats?! I should put an ad in the personals: "Will knit for Love." Sounds pathetic. I just need to figure this out. How do you do what you love and love what you do and make the money follow? That's a lot of hats. Some people measure frivolous spending with lattes. I measure mine with hat sales. "Nice jacket! It only costs four hats!"
Time to get back to work. I pick up my number nines and look over my yarns. A swarm of reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, blacks, and browns flow through my brain like blood in my veins. I cast on 96 stitches and watch as the pattern emerges from my fingers. Another days work.