Thanksgiving brings back one particular memory for me; a recurring memory, an annual tradition in my family that has been celebrated since I was a little snowbird. In my childhood, Thanksgiving Eve was a time of preparation, not only for the feast to come, but also for the inevitable transformation of my father. Days before Dad starts getting punchy. It's like he can hardly wait.

As dawn approaches on Thanksgiving morning, the house is still. My sisters and I are tucked away in our beds, dreaming of sugar plums...er, parades and pies. Dad, an early riser, begins stirring downstairs with great stealth. In my slumber I barely hear him mumble in the distance.

"Gobble gobble."

Still in a dream state, I roll over and drift back to sleep. It's much too early to open my eyes. It is so warm and dark and comfy in my footie pajamas, rolled up in my rainbow sleeping bag with my bear and my rabbit.

"Gobble gobble."

Oh no. Not yet. I'm so tired!

"Gobble gobble."

The high pitched call is getting louder. He's closer. Closer still. Coming up the stairs. In my grogginess I try hard not to giggle.

"Gobble gobble."

Oh, no he's here. Though my eyes are closed I can picture him standing over my bed. I pretend I'm still asleep and hold my breath. I know my fate; I am the oldest child, so I am First.

"Gobble gobble."

Silence.

"TURKEY GRAM!!!
Turkey gram for: KATIEEEEE!!!"

Dad tickles me as he exclaims his anthem in the loudest, highest pitched voice he can muster. For a few short moments I giggle hysterically and try to protect myself from tickle torture. Then, as suddenly as he pounced, Dad withdraws and is off to his next victim in the bed beside mine.

"Gobble gobble."

The cycle continues until he has startled every child in the house. And although we all protest his antics, we look forward to it every year.

Dad still follows his routine, although my Turkey Gram doesn't get delivered until I arrive for dinner at my parent's house.

But I do not let my husband get out of bed without a Turkey Gram.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Who can attain speeds up to 60 miles per hour in flight?
Who can run, walk, hop, leap, fly and swim?
Who frequently engages in copulation attempts with dried cow dung?

That's right, it's Mr. Wild Turkey!

"This week, let us give thanks for the Wild Turkey–not as the centerpiece of our holiday feasts, but as a wild, living bird, an anatomically distinctive and peculiarly beautiful creature with intriguingly complex social behavior." Find out more about Cornell Lab of Ornithology's Bird of the Week.

Don't worry, Mr. Turkey! We love you!

"Gobble gobble."

How could anyone admit to paying their freelance designers $8 to $9 an hour without feeling a tinge of guilt? Can you not get a better hourly rate at McDonald's? Or any retail job? Plus an employee discount and benefits? Does an art degree mean anything at all?

Which is why I responded somewhat dramatically:

"My goodness, that's CRIMINAL!"

Well, we'll see if Potential Client follows up after that.

Perhaps he was trying to put me in a position where I would say, "Oh, you poor thing, well I'll just charge you $7 an hour because you obviously need a break."

Sometimes I feel I have a secret mission, to improve artists' and designers' opinion of themselves, in that they DESERVE to be paid. That making art is not in and of itself a sacrifice, it is a gift, and if someone is going to take some of your gift, they ought to pay you for what it's worth. Now, I know it is tricky, especially when first starting out, to put a price on making art. It has for so long been a labor of love. "My gosh, they're going to pay me for it?" And it is many artists' nature to be on the timid, sensitive, trusting side. Sometimes it takes a real good screw-over to knock you out of this mindset. Just ask any intellectual property lawyer. It also helps to read books such as the Graphic Artists Guild Handbook, to instill a feeling of worth and of importance as a professional craftsperson. The fact of the matter is: No one is going to pay you what you want unless you ask for it. Ask for it, as uncomfortable as it is. I've learned both the hard way and the better way. And it doesn't get any easier.

The choice may be sometimes to accept the client's terms or forfeit the assignment. This is the hardest decision to make, because there is a lot at stake. Not just the job itself, but the message of your worth to the client. "I know I am worth more, and I deserve it," or, "you're right, maybe I'm not worth so much," are two completely different messages to convey with just one decision. And that decision will determine the way the client views your worth for any other potential job they may have for you down the line. It is hard to get your value back once you give it up. Show them that you have boundaries in the beginning.

Still, I always cringe inside when I'm asked, "So what is your hourly rate? What kind of salary are you looking for?" I'm afraid of the reaction I'll get as I stumble over my answer. Pricing myself just feels weird. The numbers seem so outrageous coming from my mouth, but they're really not. I try to think about what kind of money my art will be making THEM. What they have to gain. How little of that I'll see. A project has the potential to make a client a lot of money for many years to come, and my experience and talent will contribute to that success. I have one chance to be paid fairly. The project, of course, could also be a flop. But that risk-taking is up to the client, and all I can do is my best. And my best is pretty damn good.

I'm no pro at negotiations yet, I'm working on it. I'm actually gaining up the gusto to demand a promised increase from Crazymaker CEO. An increase that he verbally agreed to 7 months ago, but I failed to ask for it in writing, despite my friends' advice, because I felt "guilty" putting anyone through the trouble. I didn't want to seem callous or difficult. But I would not have been callous, I would have been smart. CEO gets everything in writing when he wheels and deals, that's business. Now I need to work a little harder to get what I'm entitled to, and I'm not looking forward to it. I've already put it off a month. I'm kind of waiting for him to be in a good mood, for good timing, like right after I create something great. Unfortunately CEO is a very, very very moody one.

But what I am looking forward to, is the WEEKEND.

Note: It's 11am and no one else has shown up for work yet, for no reason whatsoever. Typical. Not that I'm complaining about being alone, but... come on people! At least spend as much time looking for viable excuses as I do!

Well I have an interview today, and I'm going to have to fit into my lunch break, which will probably end up extending 2 hours, but CEO is going to be out this afternoon so I hope I go unnoticed. It is so sticky complicated getting a few hours off for interviews. I feel like the dodgiest person alive. I've already had 5 doctor's appointments in the past 30 days so how many times can I really use that excuse to get out? I feel so guilty lying. But what else can I do. If anyone out there has a good believable excuse list please pass it on.

I also have a viewing on Friday, so I can't use the funeral excuse for a while.

I hope that the potential client is a nice, ego-free client. And I'll soon be one step closer towards working from home.

Oh thank God, the Crazymakers have gone for the day.

Let me give you a little career background info.

I started this job in March '03, after being laid off from my favorite job, with a well-known toy retailer in January. I had worked on and off for the toy retailer for a few years, and this was my second layoff. I had been part of a great department. Everyone in the department was a friend. We shared coffee and stories and threw stuffed animals over the cubicles at one another. We took walks periodically throughout the day, and drew funny pictures of each other. I could be myself and make fun art. I designed toys and CDs and more toys. Brainstorming sessions were supportive, open forums, and I could add my own personal flair to the products I designed. I would do hours of trend research at the mall, reading magazines, watching Nickelodeon, and sometimes at the local pub over a beer or two with the team. It hadn't been my orginal plan to design toys. The Plan was to illustrate children's books. But wildly enough, my children's book education hasn't landed me a single contract in publishing; it has, however, landed me positions in marketing, advertising, and product development, in toys and home décor. I never wished to design toys when I was in school, but there I was, and getting paid well and steadily for it. It was, in every way but one, a great job.

Companies are not always as fun, or good-natured, or successful as they seem. Sure, we designers were having a ball. But the men in suits began having frequent secret meetings with investors and bankers and business consultants. And working for a public company, we knew nothing certain of bankruptcy until the day it was filed. Nor did we know about pending layoffs. And when I was laid off, both times, I cried.

And now I am here, working for the Crazymakers. From the first day I started here I knew it had to be a temporary solution. How could I ever expect to last more than a few weeks in this environment? It's family run, "old money" family run, and I am neither old money nor family. I am the One Employee; the one person who has to adhere to office hours, the one person who had better have a good excuse to leave early, I am the one person who does not understand how it is to live the life of old monies. I am designer, artist, product development manager, production manager, go-between, family mediator, coffee-maker, emailer, MIS girl. I am one and I am everything. And, I am lonely, and miserable, and restless.

In theory, this could be a job that rocks. The art itself could be much better, much more fun. It is, in essence, nice home & garden décor. I love home décor! I just bought a home, and I love to decorate it. I love to play in the garden. I love woodland animals. If it weren't for the Crazymaker family, I could be having a great time. I'd hire all my super talented friends to do freelance and pay them good royalties and I myself would make royalties on all the great ideas I have. I wouldn't have EVERY idea shot down by Crazymaker CEO. How can one, by the way, in all seriousness, call themselves "CEO" of a company that consists of one true employee, their mother and their wife? It must be an old money thang.

So now it's been 7 months and I have not ceased looking for ways out. I have an interview or two in the near future. So far I haven't had much luck. But as I said before, I am determined to get on the right path. I have hope. If I lose hope I will fall into the Crazymakers' codependent destructive dance.

So when I complain about making bad art, it is not the toys or illustrations you see on my site. The art is not shown. It is not me, not mine, not anyone's. It is meaningless, trend-following, ego-based drudgery.

I really need to make some new good art. I had an idea last night...

I've terribly messed up my blog template and have to start over. Please be patient, it will look nice again soon.

©2003 Kate Hamilton

Well I've had just a plethora of visitors here in the past few days, thanks to Vikki and friends, who are apparently a very bighearted bunch. Thank you for your yummy comments and encouragement; I have a secret unquenchable thirst for positive reinforcement. Thank you, thank you...!

In the meantime, big things going on...

Our next door neighbors moved out on Friday, and no sooner did they leave than the new neighbors moved in. We didn't even get to say goodbye. These former neighbors were our "cool" neighbors; you know, the type you can borrow sugar from, chit chat in the driveway, share gardening and home improvement tips, but they had their lives and we had ours. They were good eggs. Sadly they filed for divorce and moved to separate houses. And very sadly their 2 children, who happen to be the same ages as my youngest brother and sister, are in separate houses now too. Andrew and I are particularly going to miss Grant, 13, who not only kicks a** at lawnmowing and snowblowing, but has a warm heart and a cool sense of humor for his age. It was kinda like having my youngest brother, Ryan, next door.

So as the new peeps were moving in, we carefully peeked out the windows to catch a glimpse. A young couple, our age or younger, with 3 cats and a Saturn. Hmm, I wondered. I wonder if they're cool. I wonder if they're nice? I wonder if we're gaining some new friends? Maybe they'll be fun to party with. And I can show her all the cool places to shop, and Andrew can play playstation with him, and we can BBQ in the summer. And one day, they'll get pregnant, and then we'll get pregnant, and we'll have little kiddies the same age who are best friends forever. And then, and then, and then...

Enter, Downer Kate, stage right: Ok Kate, stop your daydreaming, don't get your hopes up, what if they're a couple of snobs? What if they don't like you? What if you don't like them? Who knows what they're like! They're doctors, aren't they? Doctors are typically high on themselves. So don't get yourself all excited. Remember your track record with making and keeping friends? Remember grade school? High school?

SHUT UP Downer Kate! I continued to look out the window, looking for signs of coolness or weirdness. Hmm, they packed their glassware in a tequila box. Cool, they're party-ers! The girl is very tall. Pretty, even. Potential homewrecker? See, this is what I do, I go from one to ten. 1, she's pretty, to 10, she's going to hit on my husband. And then what?

Meanwhile, I catch Andrew peeking too, looking for signs as well. "Maybe we should give them a little something, like a welcoming gift. Some wine or something." Oh good, I was actually thinking the same thing. But didn't say so, because I was thinking about it too much. What if we appear too eager? etc.

So we buy some extra wine when we get ours for the weekend, and today I put the bottles in a basket with some pretty blue tissue paper, and I printed out my "Nest Feathering" card and put it in a pretty mulberry paper envelope, and made some bows from garden twine. Andrew, who was apparently just as excited/nervous about meeting them as I was, cleaned himself up a bit and so did I. Feeling, oh, just a little contrived, together we knocked on their door and made our introductions. And wouldn't you know it, they were as nice as nice can be, and very happy to receive two bottles of wine, and soon enough suggested that we all go bowling, or out to the pub, or come over for dinner some time.

See, I knew they'd be cool.

She even noticed that the card was my design. Cool, huh?

It's always nice to find old friends that you haven't met yet. Kind of like starting a blog. :)

I was typing this on Thursday when the computer froze up on me. Naughty puter.

"My oh my, what a blustery day!

The sky looks like a Tori Amos song. I was driving in my car during my lunch hour and I was compelled to listen to Scarlet's Walk. Every falling leaf seemed to be dancing. Now at home, I can feel the house shake around me. It is a little scary, but also very invigorating. The wind is blowing hard, real hard, as though it's forcing something out, and bringing in something new. I'm waiting to see Mary Poppins at my door any second.

If nothing else the wind got me out of work an hour early. The power fizzed out and I could only work until they daylight faded. It is a perfect day."


But now it is 12:18am on Sunday and time for bed. Reluctantly. I've got so many comments to respond to and thank...zzzzzzzzzz

Overall I see I've been quite negative in this blog up to this point. Well the truth is that the past 6 months or so have been the type of months that will bring negativity to even a penguin's disposition. And yes, I feel the need to complain a lot. I know I've been complaining a lot to my husband, my friends and my family. Even to my crazymaking co-workers. Sometimes I stop myself when I hear myself being repetitiously mopey. But, despite the sour feeling in my soul I've been staying afloat, and I do have hope. I have hope that I will not be stuck forever. That I will not always have to make bad art to be paid. That there is a true path for me waiting to be tread. I have hope that my hard work will yield positive results. That there is an audience out there waiting for me and my art. I have hope that reading the Artist's Way has had a positive effect on me already. Perhaps reading that book has MADE me miserable, in a way, because instead of being complacent and accepting of a negative situation, I feel frustrated, angry and compelled to claw my way out. I will make sacrifices that leave me tired and grumpy, because I have to do SOMETHING, I have to take baby steps, GIANT baby steps to regain power over my career. Eight long hours of freelance a night for 8 weeks has resulted in a new computer. A flashy, juicy 17" Powerbook. One small drop of power in my glass again. A hole in the wall to gnaw at, a potential way out.

Speaking of gnawing and clawing, I saw Willard for the first time last week. It made me grin. There is something about dark humor that I just adore. It is classified as a horror film but I disagree.

I understand Willard. He reminds me of Dewey. And they remind me of me. I have always wanted to be friends with "wild" animals. I never understood why, if I stood very still and spoke very sweetly to a little squirrel or bird, that they would mistake me for an ill-intentioned predator and scatter away. Even now, I offer them food and water and shelter, and yet I am still scary to them. Only my hummingbird has dared to come face to face with me, and for only a split second.

See, I know there's a book idea in there somewhere, it just hasn't clawed its way out yet.

At last, for the first time in 20 weeks, I have cooked again.

Back in June we started the first phases of our kitchen renovation. The kitchen was once a miniscule, sorry sight. In January 2003 the sewage pipe inside the wall cracked and leaked into one of our two upper cabinets. Insurance claim, demolition, refinancing, followed by 20 weeks of contractor hell. I am amazed that an independent "professional" can get away with doing such a horrible job and then tell ME I'm being too picky. If I treated just one client the way we were treated, it could be the end of my career. But somehow it seems that the world of construction is riddled with half-witted, conscience-less thieves. And I hired one fresh off the internet.

A word to the wise, or gullible new homeowner: Never, ever ever ever hire a contractor without a referral, and if that's impossible then get a list of viable references, a resume, a business license and everything this page suggests. Do not be afraid to ask just because you want to be nice.

Luckily, there ARE gems out there in the rough, true honest craftsmen, artists even, and our friend Trevor is one of them. Unfortunately he was not available when our kitchen project began. He is leaving the carpentry profession to get his teaching degree. But he is making himself available now to straighten out the crookedness, fill in the cracks, cover the blemishes, and add the finishing touches to our kitchen. It may take some extra time to get it right but it will be well worth it.

And today, after 20 weeks of fast food, restaurant take-out, embarrassing bar tabs and hundreds of dollars in tips alone, husband Andrew and I cleaned out the remains left by our failed contractor, went food shopping, and fixed ourselves our first home cooked meals since May. Scrambled eggs for breakfast, and chicken enchiladas for dinner. I even fixed myself a cup of tea this evening. I bought brownie mix and bisquick and heavy cream and fresh asparagus and peanut butter and jelly and much much more but those are my favorites and we brought in a big jar of change that we cashed in for $157, which took care of half or our grocery bill.

Now if I can just find time between the crazymaking day job, the red-eyed freelance, and returning to the gym, I'll read all my cookbooks and make something scrumptious every night. God, I can't wait to BAKE something and decorate it. What's coming up... oooh thanksgiving, yes, and Christmas, yes, oh yes I will bake things that make your mouth water while they're still rising in the oven.

While my mind may be strained and on the verge, my body is completely healthy. So says the doctor in his jolly British accent, "so don't come back 'eer until you break y'leg."

A nice way to start the weekend. Nice clean blood and a new lease on life. Happy happy Friday.

Today for the first time someone told me that I HAVE self-esteem. That my self-esteem is trying to say something, and I have been trying to supress it. Hence, anxiety.

Well, if I have been surpressing it, it is because a DIFFERENT qualified individual told me I had none to begin with.

What IS self-esteem anyway? I mean, really. How do you "work on your self-esteem." How do you aquire it? Do you build it up? How do you lose it? How do you get it back? Does anyone really know? Is it like working on a painting, or fixing a car? Is it like adopting a problem child? Can a book, or a person, or anything external really help you?

So I do a quick search for "self esteem" and I get a self esteem test. I can't resist.

I take the test quickly, and my results say:
"According to this test, you have a reasonably high level of self-esteem. There is, however, still some room for improvement."

Actually, that makes me feel pretty good.

How d'ya like me now. I've got comments fields. Thank you, Vikki. My next destination: blogsnobs, and a counter.

In the meantime, I had blood taken today. A few weeks ago I was at the doctor's for tonsilitis, and I mentioned the night sweats that I've had for the past, oh, 6 months or so. Of course I had just thought my pajama-soaking puddle-making episodes could be attributed to the combined stress of my aforementioned crazymaking day job, the responsibilities of a 77-year old "new" home, and my usual generalized anxiety. I thought maybe seeing a therapist again might help. But the recommendation of the intake therapist was, "Ooh," {concerned pause, and a serious glance} "you might want to see a doctor about that."

Next I made the mistake of searching online for "symptoms, night sweats." I thought I was anxious before... Well all I can really do is wait until Friday for the results. No use getting all worked up over nothing... right?

My crazymaking day job has driven me to a new form of escape. First I learned of blogs at loobylu.com, and followed Claire's links to the pages of other bloggers, and when I asked for help Vikki of cornbreadchronicles.com nudged me in the right direction. So now I am sitting behind this dusty 1999 iMac in the littlest darkest corner of the office, pretending to do Very Important Tasks, as I register and set up this page.

And I would tell you more, but it is time to go home. There will be plenty of time for distractions tomorrow.