Happy Father's Day, Dad

“wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved”

Today another little piece of my history smoldered and stuttered out. The hardware store I worked at age seventeen closed abruptly. Employees were given notice two days ago. I only found out this evening, a few hours after they shuttered for good.

The hardware store was my second-ever job. But more relevantly I worked there alongside my father, who served there much of my life.

Working with him was such an incredible joy.

My dad loved his job and he was good at his job. His customers esteemed him too. Especially the women, because he was helpful, professional, kind, tall, and courteous. Later I’d found out so many men don’t live up.

So sure I learned about plumbing and electrical stuff and how to make keys and what kinds of creepy chemicals and solvents did what, and how a pressure cooker worked and some basics of automotive care. Yeah. But more than that, I learned something truly valuable. I learned how important it was not to squander my working hours, if at all possible. I learned to place my self-respect over a paycheck if at all possible and I mean if at all possible, and over status and over what other people’s expectations were – or what I guessed they might be.

Being raised female, I’d been told a hundred ways by a thousand people that I needed to make everyone happy before I could even think about my needs. So that was set against me. But I learned something different, in working with my father. I don’t remember a single speech or lecture. I remember his example. It somehow shone through a lot of life’s dross.

That’s how I learned how to love a job – and to respect myself at a job. That’s how I learned to love a good man, and I suppose in part how I ended up finding a good man.

So today it hurt a little to know I couldn’t walk through the aisles one last time, to bring my sons along and just tell them a little about it, before taking them out to coffee. See I know those aisles would smell the same as twenty-five years ago, in the low golden light the place always seemed to hold. Fertilizer and rubber and the little drawers of precious lamp switches and chains, and a bleachy squeak and most the things you need for your home and if you couldn’t find those things, Dave could tell you where else to look.

It hurt a little to know that a bit more of my father is gone, that I too have diminished. Yet again! Another one of life’s grubby little robberies.

But, shit. I don’t connect with self-pity when it goes up in smoke, if it’s stolen, dies out or fades away. That’s life! Like – it’s all going to burn, right? There is no posterity, some day it will all be annihilated, and it has often seemed a great and silly game that so many want to pretend otherwise. Who doesn’t know this? Damn. I find comfort in that absurdity, that groundlessness.

Another thing I learned at my father’s hand: my Buddhist practice.

So I just grieve. It’s simpler. I’ll miss the store – terribly, of course. Like I miss my family home, like I miss my grandparents’ home, like I miss all those things lost to me. Like I miss my father.

But see: I had them. I held these things, I moved through these rooms and that sun fell on my face. I will always be grateful for this golden dust in my veins, shaking it in my tingling fingertips. I can still feel that life. I won’t lose that gratitude. That, I treasure and hold as mine.

And I honor loss. That’s why I write about it here.

But I’m not sure I’d enjoy things as much as I do, if I felt entitled to them staying exactly the way I want them, for exactly as long as I demand.


Happy Father's Day, Dad a

though they be but little, they are fierce

The restaurant is crowded with happy Friday night diners; the delicious headiness of frying onions and peppers, brisk steps of servers walking between tables, jubilant voices bubbling over one another. In the foyer, a woman in a smart apron stands at a portable bar smashing ripe avocado with a large mortar and pestle, right on the spot making guacamole. She scoops small portions of this deliciousness into cups, garnishes each with a fresh tortilla chip, and passes the delightful repast to waiting customers.

We have ordered, our drinks are arriving, and it’s time to wash hands. I stand, and my eldest hovers at my elbow. “You’re fine, you can do it,” I say cheerfully, and put a confident hand on his back. We split up into our separate restrooms and I am in and out quickly; hair standing on the back of my neck, a deep breath. Every journey into a public men’s room is fraught and I relentlessly muster a casual confidence I do not always feel. Every other diner in the place has no clue; they are chattering, lifting frosty drinks to mouths, forks busy. But a simple family dinner out is a little less simple for us, most of the time.

My sons speak the same language these days, back and forth, snickering over phone screens and sharing meme-speak. Nels came out as gay June 1st and it seems to have brought the two of them closer together. Their disagreements have matured, as well; and they argue rarely. A terse word here or there, and the other will usually back off. I can’t say there aren’t resentments here or there simmering beneath the surface, but mostly they get on like a house on fire.

Their temperaments are, as ever, the moon and the sun. Phoenix, the eldest, solicitous, more community-minded within the family. Nels, recently hooked in to a group of five teen boys who are passionately gaming and socializing together every waking hour, well Nels is a little flightier, a little more self-absorbed.

Astonishingly, my scheduled two-week break from work is almost up. Time is flying, of course. In spite of this I have enjoyed more time with the boys, more time reading barely-historical novels and watching creepy television, and more time for family projects – for instance, today, surprising Ralph on his birthday by having car speakers installed and scrubbing the kitchen floor.

I am continually amazed at how quickly those early child-rearing days flew. And it seems I receive so many reminders; as friends, old and new, have their own babies. I drank deeply of those early years, and they passed so quickly regardless. It’s easy to lose my head and rush off to more work and new things, but I know if I’m not very mindful this present reality will fly by, too.

Father's Day Hike

I’m a flower / you’re my bee

Father's Day Hike

It isn’t summer according to the calendar, but the weather has turned. It’s gorgeous outside; sunshine most days, warming the driveway where kitty Pip regally lolls as he surveys the neighborhood. A warm rain other days; the absolute greenery of trees a fresh, indescribably rich scent as we travel inside with our groceries.

The quiet in the evenings, after dinner is done and the teens have settled into their companionable laughter with friends online. I open the windows and put a few drops of essential oils in the diffuser and take a hot shower and pad through the house in bare feet and a soft t-shirt and knickers. My body is tired and spent from yoga and hard work. My bed is made and I await my husband. Family life is a paradise, when it’s not a hell. But it’s a paradise most every day and has been for years.

My work, I have had so much work. I am glad for it, but I have had to focus diligently as to not lose myself. Focus too, to schedule a two-week sabbatical in July. This engineered break has taken every bit of discipline and ingenuity for me to plan. Obviously I am grateful to have the kind of steady clientele I can take a break; too much work is a good problem to have. The kids and I will be swimming and sunning and beach-ing and iced coffee-ing like goodballs.

And meanwhile, in between client work a break to sew myself new chonies. I’ve got a concert in the park coming up with the kids, in Portland, OR and by then it will be hot as balls. Gotta make myself a dress that weighs nothing, and a big ol’ sunhat. These are the preoccupations my mind runs to, when I’m in bed and retiring for the day.

 

Easy Tiger

Newborn Nels

happy birthday, Nels

Nels David Hogaboom

a birth story

Born at home to mom Kelly, dad Ralph, and sibling Phoenix
1:20 AM Wednesday April 7, 2004
8 pounds 7 ounces
21 inches long

April 6th, 9 AM – is it or isn’t it?

A couple hours after I wake up on Tuesday I’m having mild contractions that are only a tiny bit more intense than the Braxton Hicks contractions I’d had throughout the last half of my pregnancy. They are only slightly painful and certainly not too intense. Nevertheless, they are somewhat distracting and never truly subside, coming anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes apart. Ralph senses things are going to go into motion and comes home at noon, starting his two weeks off of work. He calls my mom at about 3 PM and tells her to head up to see us (she leaves about 5 PM). At this point I am hopeful of labor but also feeling somewhat silly at the thought I might be treating everyone to a false alarm. My mom arrives at about 9 PM and she and Ralph start writing down my contractions, calling midwives, and cleaning the house up a bit.

Kelly Hogaboom, Thermal Socks Livestream

“seams legit” sewing lesson: thermal socks!

Update: the streaming class is available here on Facebook. A little of the audio is muted but only here and there; you should be able to follow along just fine.

Happy New Year!

Dear readers, I have been working very hard on developing my streaming sewing channel – with loads of help from you all! I am still working on some of the tech assembly – lights, and additional cameras and furnishings – and to that end your donations help me a great deal. If you have the funds, any amount helps. Thank you for your support!

aromatic cooking

Tonight I carefully slice into a red bell pepper, then a green one, and finally a cheerful purple onion. I cut a quarter wedge from each of these and slice as thinly as my patience will allow. I am exhausted, and I am trying to prepare a new dish. So I move slowly; but I do move. I heat up two types of tortillas (microwave under a damp cloth napkin) and wrap them in heavy foil packets into the warmed oven. Having pickled a jalapeño (while the others roast in oil and salt), I dice it finely and add to the marinade hosting thick tempeh slices. I halve cherry tomatoes into a bowl and gently combine them with a little oil, salt, sugar: set aside. I fry up the seitan chick’n strips – having pre-baked them dry and chewy in the oven – and add the peppers and onions and more pickled jalapeño. The kitchen warms brilliantly with the fragrance of peppers and onions and the family cheers a little. Finally: I slice avocado, bring out the lime cashew cream, and the purple slaw, my husband prepared earlier. We don’t set the table as my work is spilled across it, but join one another convivially on the couch to watch a quaint baking show before we go our separate ways again for the evening.

Living Room

dry goods

Living Room

I have these waves of beyond-exhaustion that come and go. Life is not easy at the moment, but it there is much to be grateful. I am bone-tired but also exhilarated; a nearly bottomless fount of creative energy, and a lot of wonderful support from my community. We have our health. Ralph’s job is going well, and the kids are thriving. We’ve got Christmas handled but that said, it’s always a challenge for me to pace myself during such an intense time of the year.

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

So, a good jean or trouser pocket – especially a wide or deep one – may stretch out over time. This issue is compounded even more if the pocket is cut on a curve (as so many are) and if it’s made from a stretch fabric.

So in that light, for a few years now I generally use a stay to stabilize my front pockets. This is especially important for a work garment or something that may get really rugged use. I learned this technique from Kenneth D. King, although I can’t remember precisely in what class or tutorial.

This technique uses a very cool aspect of a plain weave cotton – the ability to steam-press a curve into a strip tore on the cross-grain. I am using a light black cotton lawn, but any light plain weave will work.

This step takes place immediately after you’ve sewn the pocket bag to the shell fabric (which I’ll call denim), and before you do any trimming, grading, understitching et cetera.

So first, tear a strip that is about 2″ longer than the pocket seam you will be reinforcing. I tear at about 5/8″ wide; anything between 1/2″ and 1″ will do:

tutorial: stayed jean pockets
Next, take this strip to the ironing board along with your jean. Using the curve of the seam, steam press the strip by really yanking and curving and pressing. It works beautifully! You don’t need the curve to be perfect, just close to the pocket curve:

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Now, pin the stay to the garment. It can be confusing at first to figure where this stay goes: but it is pinned to the wrong side of the jean fabric:


tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Next, flip the work and stitch from the pocket bag side, right on top of the previous seam. Don’t worry if you’re not as accurate as I am. It’s better to stitch a bit into the seam allowance, than into the body of the jean. Stitch slowly and remove pins before you get to them.

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Here is the underside of the work. You can see the theory of the stay: the curved stitching line will be stitched over ONE thread in the weft direction! This makes for an incredibly stable curve. Pretty cool, no?

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Now, it’s time to notch or pink that seam allowance, to allow for a smooth curve.

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Flipping to the right-side of the garment, this is where you might typically understitch all layers towards the inside of the garment:

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Instead though, since I will be topstitching that pocket edge from the topside, I steam-press that pocket edge carefully, rolling about 1/16″ of denim to the backside. *chef’s kiss!*

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Finally – topstitch that pocket curve from the public side, with either one or two (or three!) rows:

tutorial: stayed jean pockets

Perfection. You’ve got a pocket that won’t blow out, sag or droop!

tutorial: stayed jean pockets