I've Been Meaning To Tell You A Story About Why I Chose Design

SUPER MEGA DISCLAIMER: I am fully aware of how privileged I am to have health insurance and to be able to talk about it in the ways I am about to talk about it, okay? I'm not an unaware privilege-monster, promise.

My mom raised me with a healthy fear of not having health insurance and of going into debt. I think one informed the other, no? We cut corners in a lot of other ways, but not having health insurance was not one of them. When I became an adult and had Zane I went on welfare and got MassHealth coverage for a couple years, so it really wasn't until my mid-20's that I had to worry about how I was going to pay for health insurance for us.

Owning a cafe didn't help my insurance situation (or my bank account) and I went without for a while. Not one to miss my annual check-up, I made an appointment at my local health clinic (they do amazing work in our community) and I arrived grateful for their existence.

Their offices are in an old house, which is the case with a lot of the local nonprofit-type social services in my area, and here is what I remember about the appointment: the rooms were small and oddly laid out, some were covered in bad 70's faux-wood paneling, a small air conditioner rattled in the small window in the small waiting room, barely keeping up with the unrelenting sun shining in on an already hot day, an office that was cobbled together with random furniture, having my blood drawn in what used to be a kitchen, the cracked floor tiles and beat up counter tops, the smallness of the exam room, it's wood paneling and oddly colored trim, a general awareness of the housey-ness of what was supposed to feel like medical officey-ness.

More importantly, I remember my diminished sense of dignity and self-worth, a lack of confidence in my care, feeling hyper-vulnerable, a concern for the burn-out rate of the employees there, and a strong desire to provide an interior makeover. I left daydreaming about putting together a team of volunteers and robbing a bank so that we could make the offices functional and beautiful in the hopes of creating a space that clients felt good about coming to and that employees felt proud to work in. I went so far as to come up with a business plan for a nonprofit that would perform this function throughout my community, soliciting donations from major construction stores like Home Depot and using volunteer forces to transform public spaces that serve low-income people. Sadly, I have worked in too many nonprofits to still be under the impression that I would ever want to start or run one.

That was my first foray into understanding how design impacts people and their work in deep and meaningful ways. Since then I've become a sponge for examples of how design hinders and how it helps, and they are everywhere I look (and everywhere you look, even if you don't notice them). When the New Yorker talks about better care for dementia patients here, they are really talking about design success. When buildings trap workers in them and fall or burn, as we have witnessed too many times lately, we are seeing design (and yes, employer policies and practices) fail. When maternity wards offer tubs and music and homey decor we see an attempt at comfort (whether or not it's successful lies in the eyes of the beholder). When schools resemble prisons it shouldn't surprise us that students in them feel like prisoners. I could go on and on and on and on.

All of this makes me very very excited. Not the people-being-trapped-in-buildings-part, but the potential for design to make so many things better for human beings world-wide. So when I said out loud for the first time, "I think I want to be an interior designer" two years ago what I really meant was, "I want to be an interior designer who works on projects that have a deep and meaningful social impact." So that's what I'm gonna do. Client work, while fun and more fun, is just not going to feed my inner-militant-feminist-activist heart the way I need something to if I'm going to make a career out of it. Happily for me the field of public interest design is emerging in force - I can't wait to contribute!

PS - I have no idea if Tapestry's offices still look like that, and want to reiterate how awesome I think they are. As is the case with most nonprofits, budgets for interior design are hard to come by and I don't blame them in the least.

Heading Back To New Hampshire

You guys! I just finished my first year of grad school! Wha? 

It feels supremely weird to be on a school schedule at the age of 37, but I am not complaining. I am taking full advantage of it and heading back to New England: to my dear friends, to my family, my son, and the A-Frame. I will meet one of my best friend's yet-to-be-born baby (his timing is perfect), jump out of an airplane with Zane and some friends, be with my grandmother as she turns 96, eat lots and lots of soft serve ice cream, and watch lots and lots of Red Sox baseball. Matthew is joining me for a month and we've got plans for the Cape, Maine, New York, and tons of New Hampshire, where I will turn 38.

I am insanely excited to get back to the A-Frame. If you know me you know that I will stay up all night painting, carry couches up stairs alone, and teach myself minor carpentry in the middle of the night in order to finish an interior project. When I get going it's incredibly hard for me to stop. The A-Frame doesn't allow for that kind of obsessive work; our rhythm with it is fits and starts, seasonal, and severely financially restrained. Having to wait all winter to begin work is a kind of bizarrely pleasureable form of torture for a person like me. I am as excited to work on the A-Frame as I am to see my friends - does that make me a terrible person?

This summer's big project is the kitchen. I've got to raise the sink somehow, paint it, and hook up the gravity fed bucket of water in the loft to the faucets. Then we'll tackle the space by the stove. I'm wondering if I should just get some Ikea cabinets or if I should get all crafty with my dad and put something together made out of what's around. I'll let you know either way!

Noticing

I'm in finals this month and am pulling 8-14 hour days, drawing, drafting, writing, designing, and photoshopping. I sit in my office to do all this; my world feels very small right now. KQED on the radio, oatmeal for breakfast, slippers on my feet, colored pencils cover every surface. Every day is predictable and interchangeable with the next. I kind of love this.

The only time I get out of the office is on my daily walk to my local grocery store to get my lunch. I intentionally leave our refrigerator empty in order to get myself out into the perpetually shining sun (when I think a guilty New England-style "I really should get out, it's so beautiful" thought it is immediately followed by a California-style shrug and, "There will be another one, probably tomorrow.").

On this brief walk of 5 minutes and 6 seconds (yes, I have timed it) I try to notice something new every day. Luckily, my neighborhood makes it easy. My hill is covered in mid century apartment buildings whose facades are objectively stunning, but made more stunning by my New England-trained aesthetic comfort zone, all clapboards and shutters, beautiful in an under-stated, slightly Puritanical way.

The trees and bushes and flowers (and herbs! Rosemary and lavendar are basically weeds here) have all been planted in layers that create depth and height to every yard, even the smallest ones. If I wanted to, I could steal my daily intake of citrus and fruit, gather bouquets of gorgeous flowers, and harvest clippings for a variety of house plants all from my neighbor's yards. 

So here is a little bit of my daily walk:

This is my favorite by far. I mean, hello.Dr. Seuss tree

ApricotsNice of these flowers to coordinate so well

Texture texture textureOh what the?Giant palm frond Animal

Our apartment buildingWhy be a square when you can be a hexagon?

My Son Is 19 Today

Remember when Zane turned 18? That was awesome. Today he turns 19.

There are a lot of firsts in a parents life and every parent notices different ones. When your baby is young they come every day, like a barrage of cheap and common tricks, every one of them new and exciting to you and boring to others; every baby rolls eventually.

When your baby reaches pre-adolescence the firsts become more nuanced and fraught with potential pain - the first time she won't hold your hand in public or tell you she loves you in front of her friends; where you were once cool you are now a dork. I remember the first time I refused to skip down the street with my mom, newly self-conscious and beginning the hard act of distinguishing myself from her. She took it in stride, but I remember knowing I had hurt her.

When your pre-adolescent becomes a teenager their firsts as people become indistinguishable from your firsts as a parent - the first time they drive on their own is the first time you let them drive on their own. And when your teenager becomes an adult most of their firsts are unknown to you, mysterious and probably cringe-worthy - you are happy to let them be that way.

So.
My baby. The first time I cut food for him. When his L's became actual L's; "yud" became "love." His first deep cut, above his left eyebrow. The stitches. The first day he did not nurse. The first time he saw the ocean.

My child. His first subway ride. Baseball game. Sleepover. Crush. 

My teenager. Hair. Oh the hair! When "Can you come over and play?" became "Wanna hang out?" He is taller than me. Driving. 

My young adult. Complex relationships. Hitting 6' 3". Work. More work. Living in a house other than mine. Filing his taxes. And this:

His first birthday without his mom waking him up to wish him Happy Birthday. His first birthday in which he will not see his mom at all. Which is to say, dear reader, my first birthday without being able to wake him up and wish him Happy Birthday. My first birthday not seeing him at all.

This is, of course, a first that every parent will go through, and so in some ways it is cheap and common and not exciting to anyone, least of all me. But it is also a first that feels overwhelmingly significant. 

When I turned 19, Zane was at my birthday party. He was 3 months and 1 day old. We have been sharing birthdays for half my life now. To not share this one with him means that, really and truly and kind of forever, our relationship has moved on from the intimate and immediate one we've had for the last 18 years and into a distant and distinctly adult one. From now on, the injuries he sustains will be handled by doctors, he is well acquainted with a fork and knife, he can buy his own ballgame tickets, and he has driven across the country. Twice.

My role is no longer an observer and cheerleader of firsts. To be honest, I don't really know what it is, for the first time.

The first time he lived in a tent in the woods of CA.The first time he saw the Badlands.

The first time he was so handsome.

So, if you see him today, tell him his mother wishes him a Happy Birthday, okay? 

Sleeping!

As you know, I am a very lazy and tired person. Sleeping is my number one hobby and my best friend and gosh I just love it, so you can imagine that where I sleep is really important to me.  

Like almost everything in our apartment, I didn't really plan for our bedroom to come together like this, but I'm happy that it did. It's covered in gifts from friends and sentimental bits and pieces from my past, and feels lived in yet warmly spare. Is that a thing? Warmly spare? Let's make it a thing. 

Unlike other rooms in my life, where I love layers and layers of objects and controlled craziness and personality, I need my bedroom to strike a balance between cozy and minimal. Avoiding high contrast colors, shiny things, and big statement pieces focuses the room on its function: sleeping. Also, when you have a partner who has hypnogogic hallucinations, believe me, less is more.

So here is our room thus far. Can I take a nap now?