Big Girl Pants: Conclusion

I recently wrote about having accepted a position as a relocation consultant.  I'm not going to lie; I had reservations from the beginning.  But it's always flattering to be offered a job, and it did not feel appropriate to decline while my husband was between contracts.  I felt obligated, and also curious, but not particularly confident or excited about how the position would fit into my life.

That was back in late January.  Fast forward to April and now I'm sure that this position is not the way I want to move forward.  I fought urges to quit (which occurred almost immediately and then continuously), but kept at it long enough to realize that while parts of it are quite easy, it still wasn't right.  At the same time I learned some important things about what I do and don't want to be spending time on right now.

Make Clothes, Not Scraps

Since I have been learning to sew, I have accumulated many scraps born from testing fits of patterns, from making mistakes, and from making garments.  I can't bring myself to throw them away.  It feels so weird, and counter-productive, to take pieces of brand-new fabric and throw them in the trash.  As a result, I have a pretty large drawer of scrappy bits.

I recently read a figure that 30% of all textiles get tossed as scraps in garment production.  Given that we currently produce three times the amount of textiles that we did thirty years ago, doesn't that mean that we are currently "scrapping" almost the full amount of textiles produced thirty years ago.  I'm sure that we can do better.

MWF Seeks Tribe

We are suddenly settled.  It's not unexpected, since I did many things to make it happen.  But still, after months of waiting and packing and driving and packing and flying and unpacking and calling and all of the things you do when you have to establish residency, we are here.  Thump.  Everything is in position; I should be feeling really, really good.  The adrenaline is wearing off, and shades of grumpiness and ho-hum snuck in.

I'm out of sorts, but with little jurisdiction.  Houston is fine; it continues to offer an easy, high-quality life.  I've completed most of the annoying moving tasks, down to finding a new doctor and a new dentist.  Even my driver's license came in the mail today.  Except I don't feel good.  I feel a little bit the way you do when you fly somewhere instead of driving; you don't necessarily have jet lag, but you have brain lag...you are surprised to find yourself in warm, sunny ___________ when only a few hours before you were shivering in ____________ .

Things are good on paper, but questions buzz and creep: How is it possible that we suddenly live in Texas?  How long will we be here?  Should we buy our place instead of renting it?  Will I make lady friends here?  Where are they, and how will I find them?  Will we decide to have a baby even though we never thought we would? Will I try to start a company, or is sewing just a hobby?  Would I be happier working for someone else and learning on the job?  Will I ever solve the riddle of trying to be fashionable and still tread lightly on the planet?  Is it really better to try to make and buy local?

In School Forever

I took some heat recently from a family member about taking more classes.  Yes, it's true, I'm taking more classes, at Houston Community College.  I'm taking advanced classes in apparel, to supplement the basic diploma that I received in Minneapolis in 2009.  This semester I'm learning how to grade patterns and how to make fashion illustrations.  I'm also taking a survey course on the history of fashion in the West.  It's not my first choice to be a student again, contrary to what said family member imagines.  I had a small sinking feeling when I sat down in my first class this week, thinking about the young people around me who already knew each other, about having homework again as part of my daily landscape, and about the fact that I still haven't nailed down exactly how I want to conduct life as a grown-up.

Work: Learning It

In the fall of 2009, I had an uncommon opportunity: I was able to return to school, as an adult, in order to learn a new skill.  While I was not able to attend a hand-picked dream school, or even to attend as many classes as I had hoped, I was able to try something completely new about which I had wondered for years.  In the end, this unassuming one-year diploma from the affordable, accessible, no-frills community college turned out to be my favorite academic experience, more practical than my Big Ten undergrad adventure and just as rigorous as my small, private-school Master's of Teaching degree.

I'm Taking a Class! No More School!

Monday, April 18, 2011

This week the universe is sending me mixed signals.

Finally found an interesting fashion class online. wavered, didn’t love the course description, thought it might be expensive, got over it, got annoyed how much time it seems to take to figure out what i should be doing, then...

Patriots for Christ

Editor Note: This entry was written originally in 2006.


Many of you have asked what it is like teaching in the schools down here. I have avoided writing about it because I am amazed, frustrated, mystified, angered, surprised, and then sometimes, pleased, with what occurs here. As a result, I haven’t known how to describe it. I am Alice in Gator-land, stunned when the people sitting in the same rooms with me aren’t also stunned by what is occurring. I hope this topic does not bore, as it is always on my mind while I go about my life here.

Finally, in my fourth year of teaching, I’m learning how to be rebellious. Those of you closest to my daily life know that I squawk a lot. I squawked the entire time that I taught in a high school fantastic school. Now that I teach in a school situated in a community which values formal education hardly at all, I understand why many of my colleagues felt I was overreacting in the past.