Burnt Cream

Our DVD player has a feature on its remote control for the fast forward button. When pressed once, the function will do as the phrase indicates: Go forward fast. If pressed again, it will go even faster. Press it a third time and zoom, the images flash by in a blur.

I think I have just solved the mystery of our current space/time continuum. Somebody in the celestial hemisphere is sitting on the remote control, making time a speed ball in triplicate fast forward. I mean, how can it be time to sit down and write the blog already? This week has flown by. It was just my birthday, and what a birthday it’s been!

To briefly recap, Groom and I get out of Dodge each February, but this year, our jewelry classes kept us staying local. I was feeling a bit miffed, a tad out of sorts, but it’s turned out to be an amazing birthday week, ne month, with all kinds of friends expressing all kinds of wuv. Aaaah.

The first were the Goat People - you know, the Capra Chronicles? They surprised me by showing up in Roseburg, the halfway point between where we live. To justify getting me in the car for an hour and a half on a rainy Sunday morning, a story was concocted that we were going on an adventure to take pictures. “In the rain?” I asked.

“That or antiquing.”

I got in the car. Me loves to antique, thrift, yard sale and flea market. Yes, those are verbs. Oh, hunting for treasures to transform, retrofit, repurpose into funky, semi-precious salvage art jewelry. The thrill!

As I already told you, our friends were the surprise, meeting and treating us to a delicious grilled salmon meal. But the best part of lunch was dessert. “Burnt Cream.” It’s usually called crème brulee, but this was Roseburg and you gotta love a town where “burnt cream” appeals more to the locals than the fancier, frenchier version. I’m kicking myself a little that I did not take a photo of le menu. Drats.

The next day, Nanny BeeBugg drove down from Portland to spend the night. We spent all day Monday and part of Tuesday noshing (oh, Groom is such a good cook), visiting, and playing booth-dress up. Yes Folks, it’s that time already. We need to upgrade the look of our jewelry booth as we upgrade the jewelry itself.

She helped us decide on a new color scheme (ooh, you’ll just have to wait for the unveiling…) and we worked on establishing theme and focus. The idea is to create a booth beautiful enough to draw people in, but not too elaborate so that it competes with the merchandise. A very fine line.

Tuesday we had classes, but Kimmm managed to meet us during our hour break and we had a lovely tea party, which included charming presents.

Then we zipped up to Portland for a day, beginning with a fantastic breakfast spot, La Petite Provence of Division, chosen by God’s Minion. We had a great time visiting and laughing and drinking too much coffee and she also spoiled me with colorful packages. I love birthdays.

We said our goodbyes after a stroll down Hawthorne (so many little shops to peruse), then met with Nanny BeeBugg again to play for the rest of the day. She took us from one end of the Rose City to the other, being a great tour guide, showing us enchanting places to thrift. We revisited a favorite, Flutter, and discovered, much to our dismay, that Unicorns Don’t Believe in Us. How sad.

But to assuage the shock, we happily encountered a mustachioed elk, a crowned hyena, and a chorus of Greek hippos in fashionably appropriate togas.

Too see how much we could cram into a few short days, we also attended the Asian Festival (pssst… it is now the year of the Tiger) where we found one of our favorites, Spam Musubi!!!

Oh yes, and there was the Market of Fleas (I’m guessing that’s what they prefer to call it in Roseburg), where three guys were playing music with a cardboard sign reading “Hope for Haiti.” After the quake, many enterprising people donated time and money for the cause, but I’m not sure selling Haitian people for $5 each is really helping, do you?

(Now remember, you can always click on the photos to enlarge them and then just hit the back arrow to return to the blog).

Speaking of needing help, I’m not sure the Americans are faring much better by the state of Barbie and Ken. Something’s gotten them all in a twist.

After the Asian Festival and Flea Market, we toodled on down to Cottage Grove – or as I’ve been given permission to call it from a local – Cabbage Groove, to meet Kimmm and her husband Dean of the Aprovecho, Prince Charles Ashden Award, and The New Yorker fame. Now we can add meeting with Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton’s people to the list. He just returned from Washington D.C. where he survived Snowmaggedon, the snowpacalypse storm and made more progress on behalf of his non-profit stove organization.

It’s a little humbling to be talking about making jewelry, thrifting and birthdays when people are out saving the world. There, we can fix that by pausing for a moment of silence.

Okey dokey, back to being tourists in our own back yard, we were shown the pride and joy of Cottage Grove by Dean in his top hat. Drum roll please. May I present to you, the “Privy Gallery by C.G. Art Guild!”

And what’s not to love about a shop that sells Marie Antoinette wigs? Let them eat burnt cream.

Well, I’d love to stop there, but it wouldn’t be right not to thank all of you who sent birthday cards, gift enclosures, flowers, emails, texts, phone messages and songs, to those of you who took us out for delicious meals, gave generous gift certificates, fancy bottles of wine, surprise packages of books, jewelry supplies and yes, even license plates. Loveit loveit loveit!

I adored you all before the time and attention, but even on Fast Forward, I’ll continue to do so. Thank you for making my Z0L0 birthday one to remember fondly.

Still at the Market

It’s called The Day After Tomorrow. Doesn’t matter what time of year, the code word for Holiday Market is The Day After Tomorrow. That’s because the time span in between the Saturday Market moving from the Park blocks to inside the fairground feels like it gets shorter every year. In fact, during load-in, the vendors all look around and comment to each other, weren’t we just here? Hence, even in June, the Holiday Market feels like it’s The Day After Tomorrow.

Every year, it all starts very early on a day in November (photo #1). Three hundred and twelve vendors drag in their booth parts and turn the exhibition hall into 37,000 square feet of magic (photo #2).

But before we can construct our mini store fronts in the village, Kimmmm must do the math, dividing 37,000 square feet into 312 eight-feet wide by eight-feet deep spaces and marking each one with a number on masking tape on the floor. I look forward each load-in day to see what sweet little message she leaves on mine (photo #3). Can’t read it? Well, simply double-click on any photo to enlarge and then hit the back button to return to the blog.

And speaking of Kimmm, I snapped photo #4 of her. Turns out the photo she was taking was of me in a mirror and I had no idea in that moment. Haven’t seen it yet, but it would be a perfect fit here.

Kimmm’s husband, Dean Still, is featured this week in The New Yorker magazine dated December 21 and 28, 2009. It starts on page 84 and is titled Hearth Surgery - the quest for a stove that can save the world written by Burkhard Bilger. It’s about the wonderful work the Aprovecho Research Center in Cottage Grove is doing worldwide. I mentioned Aprovecho in an earlier entry this summer when Dean and Kimmmm went to London to receive the Ashden Award from Prince Charles.

Transitioning from Dean and his philanthropic work back to the Market, it may not be the turf war of the Jets and the Sharks, but in our version of Westside Story, we have the Fridas running amok in the main auditorium and the Barbies ruling Holiday Hall (Photos 6-9).

I’m sure you’re getting the impression we’re all flying our freak flags just a little, but the Holiday Market is a fantastic place to people watch (if you’ve been enlarging, you’ll notice that the eyeball is on someone’s coat) and see local color, such as our resident Dr. Seussian character (photo #12). You can read the joy on these faces, whether it’s on a baby reaching for a rainbow, a half-pint Buccaneer giving me a hearty “aaaargh,” or a grown-up elf.

The Holiday Market sells natural hemp products, woven clothing, handmade soaps, candles and chocolates, turned wood, whimsical stamp jewelry and many, many other crafted items under one roof with a delectable food court and local musicians.

While all beliefs are welcome, it looks like we have testifying that He’s got the Whole World in His Hands.

By the end of Christmas Eve, I might be a little tired, but not too exhausted to wish you all a Merry Christmas. Much love.