Flowers for the Howells

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In June 2021 I happened upon a page-a-day diary from 1923 at a local antique shop. Because I’m both a nosey (curious) bitch and a sucker for the quotidian, I bought it ($28), brought it home, and worked on and off for the next two and a half years to transcribe every entry, making note as I went of the people, places, and events the diarist documented. Earlier this year I finally finished the task of transcribing and began the work of piecing together context clues to figure out the identity of the diarist.

A small, hardcover diary from 1923. The diary is covered in a darker-ish red linen. "Date Book for 1923" is debossed in the center.

While every page of the diary is thoroughly filled (and most days include a brief weather report at the top of the page), it contains no direct information about the identity of who wrote it: the diarist didn’t write their name anywhere in it, nor did they acknowledge their birthday or provide any other direct clues about their identity. They did, however, include plenty of information about their husband’s identity: his name, his profession, his birthday, and their wedding anniversary. She—given the time and the information available to me, I correctly assumed that the diarist was a woman—also named a few relatives who lived nearby and with whom she and her husband spent much time, as well as her husband’s business partner. This was plenty of information for me to easily and quickly figure out who she was. Or, rather, to figure out her name: Marie Howell (née Cline).

The diary lies open on a wood desk. It's open to the pages documenting Thursday, May 10, 1923, and Friday, May 11, 1923. Both pages are completely filled with cursive in ink faded to green.

When I first found the diary, my plan was to transcribe the entire thing before the end of 2022 and then, to mark its centennial, post a page a day on one social media platform or another beginning January 1, 2023. Then life happened and my plan…didn’t.

When I picked this project back up at the start of this year and finally figured out the name of the diarist, I did so by cross-referencing a handful of different records and documents—including the diarist’s and her husband’s death certificates, which list each other as each other’s spouses (shout out to my library card and the extremely free access it provides me to Ancestry Library Edition, HeritageQuest, and Oregon newspaper archives dating back to the 1850s). And that’s how I learned the diarist and her husband—Marie and Dwight Howell—are entombed together at an historic Portland mausoleum not far from my apartment. (Let’s be real. Portland is small. Basically everything is ~not far from my apartment.~)

View of a portion of the exterior of Wilhelm's, looking up toward the very clear and blue sky.

Transcribing Marie’s diary and researching the people, places, and events documented in it has been one of the most enjoyable endeavors I’ve undertaken. It’s sent me on so many side quests and down so many research rabbit holes (two of my favorite activities!). I’ve learned an incredible amount of information about how to research, about what city life was like for a white woman married to a white man with a white-collar job in Portland in the early twentieth century, about urban planning and how land is surveyed and mapped (and why Sandy Boulevard cuts diagonal like that), about what Portland used to look like and how it used to function, and about the early history of the Willamette Valley (as we know it today) as settlers began to arrive and stake claims to land that didn’t belong to them.

Stumbling upon this diary truly turned out to be such an unexpected and special gift—it’s always so exciting and humbling to be reminded of how much I still have to learn—and I wanted to do something for Marie to express my gratitude. So, I brought her (and Dwight) some flowers.

Straight-on view of the tombs/niches of Dwight O. Howell (1877-1946) and Marie C. Howell (1877-1961), with a beautiful bouquet of red dahlias in the affixed vase.

Marie wrote several times in her diary that year about her and Dwight’s dahlias. Twice she mentioned red dahlias specifically.

Sunday, June 17, 1923. “We arose for all day at 8. Cold baths. Eats at 9:15. At 9:30 Clayton phoned that Gladys has a tooth-ache. They came over. In mean time Dwight & I had made the house look pretty good. After they arrived Dwight & Clayton trimmed & weeded the dahlias.”

Tuesday, July 24, 1923. “We were up at 5:30. Mush and started on our way at 7. Some sun-of-a-gun picked our fancy dahlias that were only half bloomed yesterday.”

Tuesday, Sept. 4, 1923. “Breakfast at 7. Then cut the most wonderful bunch of red dahlias.”

Thursday, Sept. 6, 1923. “Up at 6:30. Left home at 8:15. Picked dahlias before leaving.”

Friday, Sept. 7, 1923. “We arose at 6. Cold baths & breakfast. Had sprinkler going until we started to city. Dwight cut a few dahlias, did up our dishes, left home at 7:45.”

Thursday, Oct. 18, 1923. “We were up at 6. Eats 7:15. Office at 8. Took a nice bunch of red dahlias.”

Friday, Oct. 19, 1923. “We were about ready to start but went into yard & tied up 3 bunches of dahlias the wind had blow over.”

Monday, Oct. 22, 1923. “Up at 6. The paper came while I was lighting up, so we read for a short time while rooms were getting warm. Dwight picked a large bunch of dahlias for the office.”

Tuesday, Oct. 30, 1923. “We were up at 6:30. Eats 7:30. Left home 7:45. I gathered a few dahlias to take along.”

Sunday, Nov. 18, 1923. “After breakfast we did up our work & cleaned some [illegible] into yard and took up our dahlias. Put them in basement. Raked up leaves.”

* * *

I don’t know if dahlias in general or red ones in particular were as beloved by Marie as my brain has convinced me they were. It seems like a reasonable assumption that they were: Aside from a single mention of gladiolas, it’s the only flower she writes about, and she does so repeatedly. So, I decided to bring her a bouquet of red dahlias—a custom and stunning arrangement very graciously made by a fellow athlete at the gym where I train who is a very talented flower farmer and florist.

Close-up view of a beautiful bouquet of red dahlias.

Before brining the bouquet to Marie, I took an embarrassing number of photos and videos of it to try to capture its beauty. None of them did it any justice. This thing was STUNNING.

Close-up view of a beautiful bouquet of red dahlias.
Close-up view of a beautiful bouquet of red dahlias.
Close-up view of a beautiful bouquet of red dahlias.

I really tried my best, okay! Please excuse my dusty-ass car, okay! And yes! That’s a plastic protein shaker bottle being used as a temporary vase, leave me alone about it!

An angled view of the Howells' marble tombs/niches and the bouquet of red dahlias in the affixed vase.

Anyway. I hope Marie, who died 63 years ago today, would’ve appreciated this bouquet of red dahlias as much as I appreciate the gift she unwittingly gave me.

* * *

Shout out to the entire staff of Wilhelm’s Portland Memorial, all of whom who were so helpful, hospitable, and gracious with their time (that’s autistic for “they let me autistic monologue (infodump) their ears off”) when I stopped in earlier this week.

I DIYed a candle and it only cost me $336.76

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As noted in my previous post a mere eight months ago, I’ve wanted to DIY my own candle using the leftover wax of a bunch of candles (of the same scent) that I’ve burned to the bone over the last couple years for months and months and months now and guess what bitch I finally did it. Behold.

My disembodied hand holds against a wood table with a vase full of flowers on it a small candle that I made using the leftover wax from eight candles (of the same scent) and a decorative glass gifted to me by my former roommate.

Here’s how I did it, and you can too:

Step 1: Head down to your local Rejuvenation and fork over $39* for a candle because it’s the best-smelling candle you’ve ever smelled in your entire life (it’s also the only thing in the store you can afford).

A bright red brick wall of the exterior of a building reads "REJUVENTATION" in white paint against a clear, very blue sky.

Step 2: Burn it for about an hour almost every evening before bed until it’ll no longer light.

A candle on a nightstand burns in a dark bedroom.

Step 3: Move the burned-out candle to the back of one of your kitchen cabinets for safekeeping because you can’t bear to throw it out—it smells too good, the packaging is too pretty, it cost too much money.

Step 4: Repeat Steps 1 through 3 seven more times over the next 18-ish months.

Seven candles of the same scent, burned all the way to the bottom, stashed in the back of one of my kitchen cabinets, waiting for me to get my shit together and make a candle using the melted-down leftover wax in these eight candles.

Step 5: Quit the highest paying job you’ve ever had that provided you with the expendable income to regularly buy and burn a $39 candle.

Step 6: Intermittently grab one of the burned-out candles from your kitchen cabinet and huff it, sad to your core that you can no longer afford to regularly buy and burn a fresh replacement.

Step 7: Spend several months wondering if you have enough leftover wax from the eight burned-out candles in the back of one of your kitchen cabinets to make a candle because you can no longer afford to regularly buy and burn a fresh replacement.

Step 8: Spend several more months researching candle wicks, overwhelmed by the options and unable to make a decision about which to buy.

Step 9: Unexpectedly receive a package in the mail from your former roommate that contains the cutest little Old Fashioned glass that would make the perfect candle holder.

My disembodied hand holds a small decorative glass unexpectedly gifted to me by my former roommate. Shiny gold wrapping paper is in the background.

Step 10: Say “fuck it” and spend $24.76 (including standard shipping) on a sample pack of wicks of varying lengths, and a pack of little metal bars that holds the wick in place, so you can DIY your own candle using $312 of melted-down leftover wax from eight $39 candles and the cute little glass your former roommate sent you as a surprise gift.

An overhead view of eight candles of the same scent burned down to the bottom. The candles are on a wooden cutting board waiting for me to place them one or two at a time into a pot of boiling water to melt down the wax so I can pour it into the decorative glass gifted to me by my former roommate to make a candle.

*Due to inflation, this candle now costs $42 and the entire project will now cost you $360.76 (or $368.71 if you have to buy your own Old Fashioned glass) 🙁

Okay now that the fun part of the post is over I need to be so for real with you.

I consider myself a creative person. I absolutely do not consider myself an artistic or crafty person. My brain is good at coming up with ideas and much less good at bringing those ideas to life, especially when doing so requires using my hands in a traditionally artistic or crafty way. Drawing, painting, ceramics, knitting, sewing, needlepoint, cross-stitch, etc. I love the idea of doing those things in theory. I absolutely do not enjoy actually doing any of those things in practice. And I’ve tried! I’ve tried on my own, and I’ve tried taking classes. Hands-on making just isn’t my thing.

And yet, I still felt compelled to make this candle. It seemed like an unfuckupable project. And it was. It’s very hard to fuck up melting down wax in one container and pouring it into another.

I thought/hoped that doing a relatively simple and unfuckupable, hands-on crafty project might change how I feel about doing hands-on crafty stuff because I really do love the idea of being artsy and crafty. Unfortunately, a project being unfuckupable does not guarantee it will be fun or enjoyable. I didn’t fuck up this project, and I also didn’t have fun or enjoy doing it. I was mostly just stressed out and annoyed the entire time over how much time and space in my extremely tiny kitchen that has almost no counter space it took to melt down all the wax in eight different containers. They joy was not, as they say, in the journey; it was in the destination.

Will I do this type of project again? Maybe. If I end up with a bunch of burned-out candles of the same scent, sure. What I won’t be doing is picking up candle-making as a regular hobby, and it certainly won’t be something I try to make money from. Sorry folks, no Candles by Kelsey™ forthcoming.

Also, can I just say that I’m very happy that I didn’t pay to take a local candle-making class because I’m almost certain that I would’ve felt like that money was wasted and that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the group setting and social dynamics of the class, or the overall sensory experience of the space, because: autism.

(I know it sounds ridiculous to say I would’ve felt like taking a candle-making class was wasted money when I spent almost $350 doing this project on my own BUT I spent most of that $350-ish on the same candle with a scent I LOVE and got to enjoy for months and months and months as I burned through those eight candles. There’s no guarantee that I would like any of the available scents at an in-person candle-making class, and it’s more likely than not that my autistic brain would be overwhelmed by the assortment of available scents. And honestly, the at-home version is incredibly straightforward: melt wax (that’s already scented with a scent you love), pour into container, let sit to harden.)

Along with reinforcing my conviction that hands-on arts and crafts are not for me, this project also reinforced my appreciation and admiration for people who are good at and passionate and knowledgable about making things with their hands. I’d much rather spend my money (when I can afford to) on quality crafted goods than try to make them on my own. I want to spend my time doing things I enjoy, and I simply—and, sadly—don’t enjoy hands-on making/crafting.

Three creative projects I want to work on this year

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For the last few years I’ve had the same three creative projects on my to-do list. I’d like to make some progress on them this year. One is pretty straightforward and has a very clear “finished” end state. The other two projects are less straightforward because I don’t yet know how I want to “do” them so I don’t yet know what either will look like when they’re “finished.”

Make a candle from a bunch of old candles of the same scent

This is the most straightforward project on my list. It’s also the least expensive and requires way less time, thought, effort, and energy than the other two. And it’s exactly what it sounds like: I want to make a candle using the leftover wax from a bunch of old candles of the same scent that I have stashed away in one of my kitchen cabinets. And I want to pour the candle in a new-to-me container that I thrift.

Seven burned-out candles of the same scent stacked in two rows in one of my kitchen cabinets. The candles are LINNEA brand and "vintage" scent.

1923 daily diary transcription

A few years ago I found a “page-a-day” type diary at a local antique mall. It’s from 1923 and there’s an entry for every single day. I want to finish transcribing it and then…I don’t know. There’s at least one fun project in there. I’m just not sure what it is yet.

A page-a-day diary from 1923 opened to the entry for Saturday, January 20, 1923. The entry is written in cursive and in pen that's faded to a green-ish color.

Vintage photos

Around the same time I found the 1923 diary, I began buying vintage photos from antique malls and thrift stores. I know what I want to do with them. I don’t yet know what media format I want to use. We’ll all just have to wait and see.

A basket of vintage photos, mostly black-and-white.

Quit job, start blog

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On October 9, 2023, I wrote a list in my phone titled “Things I would do if I had the confidence, patience, time, spoons, in-person community to help/support me from day to day, etc.” There are 14 items on that list. The first two? “Quit my job” and “Start blogging again.”

Screenshot of a note in my phone titled "Things I would do if I had the confidence, patience, time, spoons, in-person community to help/support me from day to day, etc." It's time- and date-stamped October 9, 2023 at 12:58 pm. It includes the following 14 items in the following order: 1. Quit my job 2. Start blogging again 3. Learn to skateboard 4. Write the memoir I've spent the last decade wanting to write (or at least, writer a personal narrative essay collection) 5. Start doing "real" photography again 6. Learn to figure skate 7. Take pole dancing classes 8. Go rock climbing and bouldering 9. Archery 10. Publish a zine of photos I take of street art 11. Writer that essay about the Virgin Mary and the color blue that I've been outlining in my head for almost 4 years 12. Start memorykeeping again 13. Publish that essay I wrote about why blue is the color of cops 14. Finish the essay I started on Glassman, CrossFit, Conservatism, and evangelical Christianity

A month after beginning this list, on November 9, I quit my job. And now, a month after that, on December 9, at way-too-early-o’clock on a Saturday morning because of course the one day a week I don’t have to wake up to an alarm my brain decides I should be up hours before sunrise, I’m starting this blog.

Yes, I caught it: 9-9-9. No, I didn’t plan it. I also didn’t plan for the first two items on my list to be the first two that I crossed off it—and in the order they’re listed, no less.

I’ve no idea where this blog will go or how frequently I’ll post or how long it’ll last. I do know that this blog will be a personal blog (a long-lost and much-missed relic of the [g]olden days of the internet), hence the title and tagline, and that I’d like to keep this thing going for as long as it feels good and fun.

That last bit is especially important. I don’t want this blog to feel like a job, and I don’t want to feel like anything/everything that I share here has to be “perfectly” crafted. I won’t be following any sort of must-do blogging formula or format. I won’t be optimizing my posts for SEO. I won’t be plastering this thing with pop-ups or sponsored content or other ads. And I doubt I’ll be finding or creating a niche or sticking to one topic.

As was customary in pre-social media personal blogging, I imagine this blog will be a combination digital diary/scrapbook/file cabinet/to-do list/notebook, and will include all sorts of things (hence the “etc.” part of its title): photo dumps, link round-ups, book reviews, personal/creative projects I’m working on, thoughts on parenthood, my experiences as an autistic and chronically mentally ill person, people and things that inspire me, people and things that enrage me, trauma and therapy, activism and advocacy and organizing, COVID (which is still a real big, real bad thing), a record at my attempts to complete various items on my “Things I’d do…” list, etc.

What I’m saying is: I’m going to let this thing become whatever it’s meant to be. And I hope that what it’ll be is place for me to organize and quiet my chaotic brain, which, by the way, feels like this:

Screenshot of a tweet from @pappapeppapig dated December 6, 2023, and featuring an image of tons and tons of open browser tabs squished together on multiple lines and a caption that reads, "brain feels like this." This image is truly the most accurate representation of my autistic brain I've ever seen.
Truly, the most accurate representation of my autistic brain that I’ve ever seen.

I also hope this blog will help me find community (I am very lonely), and that it’ll help other people feel less alone in their thoughts and experiences, too. And as long as you’re not a fascist or bigot or other variety of asshole, I’m happy to have you along for the ride. Hello, welcome, thank you for being here, etc.