Doin' the Time Warp

Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so. – Douglas Adams

I’ve always been suspicious, similar to the animated Toy Story movie trilogy where the toys come to life when the humans aren’t looking, that clocks either move forward or backwards when we’re not watching them.

For example, at work, the clock can stand perfectly still, imitating a statue, but when people are having fun or nod off to sleep the clock speeds up because we all know we didn’t get eight full hours when that darned alarm goes off.

On Christmas Day, just before our dinner, we were all discussing how quickly time flies. A heartbeat later, I hear Groom exclaim as he pointed to the clock. We all looked up in shock as the hands, behaving as usual a moment before, started spinning rapidly around its face, hour after hour passing before our eyes in an instant.

None of us could believe it, but there it was - time flying - and we caught it in the act. I grabbed my phone and Groom used the video feature to capture half a day going by. “Experts,” whoever they are, have warned that in 2011 and 2012, time will speed up even more. After what I seen, I’m a believer.

Which is probably why Benjamin Franklin said, you may delay, but time will not. Or why Albert Einstein suggested that the only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.

As most of you know, I just love a good quote, so I’ll leave you with a few more.

We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they’re called memories. Some take us forward, they’re called dreams. – Jeremy Irons

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday. – Proverb

Time is more valuable than money. You can get more money, but you cannot get more time. –Jim Rohn

And my favorite of this batch…There is only one you for all time. Fearlessly be yourself. – Anthony Rapp

Solstice of the Eclipse

The future Sun King of France, Louis XIV, was born in 1638. Charles the First was King of England and Delaware became a colony. On June 25th of that same year, a lunar eclipse was the first astronomical event recorded in the U.S.

Shakespeare missed it, having already been dead for 22 years, but Galileo might have seen it from his little house in Italy, had he not gone totally blind the year before.

For the first time in almost four centuries, a total lunar eclipse coincides on the Winter Solstice for a cosmic occurrence: Today the sun, the earth and the moon are all aligned.

While it might be the shortest day of the year, it is a mighty one, filled with all kinds of cosmic and human activity. With less than 100 hours remaining until Christmas, I’ll wish you a Merry One.

While visions of sugar plum fairies dance in our heads, we’re also dreaming of a white Christmas… white beaches in Sunny Mexico, but that’s another story.

Goat Romance

I told this story to a vendor at the Eugene Holiday Market last Sunday and she started tearing up, saying there was hope yet for good relationships out there. Her response made me consider sharing it with you, although tears are optional because it made me laugh as well.

For those of you just tuning in, friends in Southern Oregon have a couple of kids. Nothing unusual about that, except the “kids” are goats. And by goats I mean hairy beasts with pointy horns and cloven hooves. So what? Lotsa people have goats.

Yes, but in their homes? Goats that lounge by the fire chewing cud or sit on the couch watching television and cuddling with their human “parents?” How many goats you know that have their own Santa stockings hanging from the mantle or wear leopard print customized diapers? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Because 150-lb goaties that dwell indoors take a lot of work, Goat Papa decided to take Goat Mama on a romantic holiday come Christmas. Last August, after he discovered that her favorite musician, Italian tenor Andrea Bocelli, would be in Las Vegas for a one-night only concert, he knew his challenge, should he accept it, would be to get her to that concert without her knowing. In other words, a surprise.

But a very important piece of information is that Goat Mama, while human, is more like a dog with a bone. If she even whiffs of a hint of a plot, she’ll dig and dig AND dig until she unearths it. Goat Papa knew who he was up against and decided to take her on.

Formulating his plan, the first step was to throw her off the scent. Concocting a story about winning free tickets to a Barry Manilow concert in Vegas, he managed to invent an email to himself from the “radio station” that she would stumble upon. Because he kept the free concert fable under wraps, Goat Mama thought she discovered something she wasn’t supposed to and when confronting Goat Papa with it, he acted all disappointed that his “surprise” was ruined. She was cackling, pleased to have discovered his secret.

But did she? Mwa ha ha.

Of course, Groom and I were in on it from the beginning, so we managed the appropriate combination of glee, horror and happiness for a convincing response when they told us about their plans of flying to Sin City to become “Fanilows” for an evening.

His mother was also in on the plot. She purchased the spendy Andrea Bocelli tickets using her own credit card so there would be no paper trail for her blood hound of a daughter-in-law to chance upon.

And then there was the inevitable moment when Goat Mama learned that her beloved Bocelli was appearing in Las Vegas, for one night only on the very same evening as the “stupid Manilow concert.” Oh the lamenting. Of course, she had to check into ticket pricing and was even more disappointed to discover that at this late date only the very expensive seating remained (uh, gulp, like $2,000 a piece).

Up to the final minute, when the limousine picked them up from their Luxor Hotel around 7pm this past Saturday evening, December 11, 2010, she still had no clue. As their swanky ride headed toward The MGM Grand Garden Arena, Goat Papa played the offensive and commented how few signs there were advertising the Manilow concert. A little sulkily, she mumbled that it was because he was no big deal anymore. Ouch!

Cuddling in the back seat of the stretch, he handed her a card in which he professed his ever-present love and finally, after months of plotting, planning, close calls and hand wringing, gifted her with the real concert tickets. What, no Barry Alan Pincus Manilow after all? In an instant, her desire became manifest… great seats to hear the blind, enigmatic opera singer, Andrea Bocelli. Oh gracious, the water works. I hope they got flood insurance for the limo.

Of course, we heard about this blow-by-blow as texting is an easy and convenient way to convey quick messages such as “in the limo now.” But we also received a phone call right away, as soon as she had those hot tickets in hand. Phew! So glad the cat’s out of the bag.

Although Andrea has a gorgeous voice, personally, it also would have been fun to hear, “Her name was Lola, she was a show girl with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there…” on the strip from the man himself.

Whatever your tastes, you can’t argue with love.

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.

Decem-brrrr!

If you’re a fan of the Roman calendar, then December is considered the tenth month. Decem in Latin means ten and I’m quite confident the suffix –ber stands for the chill of winter. Decembrrrrrrr. However, if you’re more familiar with the Gregorian method, then December is the 12th and concluding month of the year.

December’s flower is - can you guess – Holly! Deck the Halls and all that mess. When I was a wee lass, a bully in school was named Molly. It soothed me to sing, “Deck the halls with bits of Molly, fa la la la la, la la la la.” However, my mother did not approve of my lyrical changes and pointed out the possibility she was bullied at home to be an aggressor on the playground. Mother firmly suggested I give her a Christmas card and show compassion.

Begrudgingly I obeyed and looked through the card selection spread out on the kitchen table and grinned like the Grinch when I found the perfect one. Inside the message read, “May you have the Christmas you deserve.” Fa la and HA!

Yes, I know, I’m just full of the Christmas spirit.

Would now be a good time to insert my weekly rant about clicking on the photos to enlarge them and then clicking the back button to return to the text, or should that be placed elsewhere?

Back to December, the theme of this week’s blog. In addition to a flower, the crowning month also boasts beautiful birthstones. Yes, plural, as in zircon, turquoise, lapis lazuli, and topaz. They seem to range in color between icy and blue, appropriate shades for the darkest month.

When I think of December, I conjure up winter wonderlands, Hanukkah, Solstice, Christmas, nutcrackers, yulelogs, tinsel, fudge, presents, cards, hats and mittens, cocoa, warm fires, roasting chestnuts, gay apparel and men comprised of snow.

If you did enlarge, you’ll have already noticed that the snowman’s eyes are two aluminum cans (can you say “al-yu-min-ium?) and his mouth is constructed of nails. We call this one, Spitting Nails.

I think of ice and frozen things, of frost, shimmer, glitter and sparkle, and twinkling lights for the light deprived. As the earth rotates on its axis around the sun, we are spinning our way to the shortest stretch of daylight this coming Monday, the 21st. But then guess what? The days start getting longer, whoo hoo!

As I’m writing this, however, it occurs to me that all these images are relatable to those who live in the Northern Hemisphere while the earth’s tilt is most inclined away from the sun. But what about those occupying the Southern Hemisphere baking in the summer heat in Australia, India, Brazil, Thailand, Madagascar or Mozambique for example? Do they even have chimneys for Santa to get stuck in, or think of one-horsed sleighs to jingle their bells?

I’m trying to picture eating Christmas dinner as a picnic on the beach, watching Santa arrive on a surfboard, filling my stocking - hung by the hammock - with oranges and lumps of coal.

I was shocked the first time I learned that the United States was not the center of the world. Growing up, all the maps showed it that way, and I suppose some of that ethnocentricity still lingers as I celebrate the birth of a desert Child with turkey, pumpkin pie and a gift exchange.

And neighbors, speaking of pumpkins, Halloween is over!

Ordered Chaos

Every year Groom and I have a tradition involving the Holidays, which officially begins on June 25th. When I turn to that page in the calendar, I announce, “only six months until Christmas.” He groans, I giggle and we start our gift account. We save our sheckles, occasionally selecting what we think is the “perfect thing” for somebody along the way, but mostly we wait until December to do our shopping proper.

This is because of Thanksgiving. After the turkey has been ravaged, but before dessert, we all pull out our gimmee lists and distribute them among relations. Lest you think us greedy, we all receive the “Do you have your lists ready?” email, reminding us to have them in hand along with the deviled eggs and the relish tray. I don’t think anyone is allowed at the table without The List.

Now that we are in possession of the Master List, that is, what everybody is bugging Santa for, we have been granted permission to finally unleash our pent up energy and engage in some old-fashioned retail therapy.

Finally the day has arrived and it is TODAY! I woke up at 5am, too excited to sleep, and rolled over and whispered to Groom, “Wanna go shopping?” Now it’s his turn to giggle. I’ve been whispering that to him in the dark once a year for over a decade and a half. Our shopping day cannot commence unless we wake up too early for sense and I speak softly those magic words.

Our friend, Goat Mama, has been shopping with us most of those years and today is no exception. She’s in her car en route, driving the three hours so we can stimulate the economy together.

The iPod weather report this morning was 9 degrees Fahrenheit. Single digit temperatures. A bit later, it dipped to 8. There’s ice on our windows. On the inside!

But before I can go shopping, I must honor my commitment and write this week’s entry. My parents suggested that I begin each week by reminding you to enlarge the photos by clicking on them and then hitting the back button to return easily to the blog.

I wish you could see the photos the way we do in our preview. They tell a story from start to finish, one leading to the next, according to color, pattern, shape or content, but by the time the program squishes them together, they don’t flow as smoothly as we’d like. It’s tempting to pout, but really, what good would that do? To compensate, I simply request that you enlarge them. Big feminine sigh…. Now I’m fluttering my eyelashes. Is it working?

Unable to sleep, the idea for this week came to me while cozy in bed. The idea was fractals in nature and man-made lines and how the two harmonize. I shan’t pretend to know the official definition of a fractal, so I will make it up. In my world, a fractal is ordered chaos. The word sounds too much like fractured for it not to share the root, so if I had to guess, a fractal would be the way leaves fall from trees and land in a comforting pattern on the ground. The leaves, once attached to the big picture and forming a complete whole, are now fractured, disconnected, but still form a reflection, a mini-portrait.

They do not fall in straight lines the way an orchard is planted, or the way the yellow stripey line is painted on the road, but they float to the ground randomly and arrange themselves harmonically. Fractals are nature’s repeating geometric patterns, the smaller part (ooh, a fraction?) looking like the whole.

They are not mirror images, perfectly round, straight or triangular, yet they form completeness by the very nature of their broken pieces. Think lightning bolts etched across the sky, mountain ranges varying by angular degrees, and the limitless design of snowflakes.

Wait. I think I just stumbled upon something profound, perhaps the reason this idea presented itself to me in the first place. Yet they form completeness by the very nature of their broken pieces. Yowza! I’m verklempt. A medieval scholar presented herself at our booth recently and shared a tidbit with me which now seems entirely relevant.

She studied mosaics, which are designs made up of little pieces of glass or stone, and she told me that instead of the shards being set flush, they are embedded into the surface at various angles. This is so they will catch and throw light.

How many of us feel broken, or at least as though we have broken shards? I struggle with this and yet fractals, things that are fractured, or mosaics comprised of little pieces to reflect light, are made complete by the very nature of their brokenness? Eeee, I wonder if coastlines doubt themselves because they are jagged or if a flower becomes depressed because it has an odd number of petals?

Fractals offer tranquility, a peaceful mindscape. By comparison, man has an obsessive-compulsive need to create things with straight lines, perfect curves and lots and lots of order. Natural fractals and human arrangement have their own beauty, and the combination of the two can be breathtaking.

Our photos on this, our high shopping day, represent some of each. Since it was a balmy 8 degrees out this morning, we begin our tale with a lone tree, silent in the winter sky, its bare branches looking like that lightning I mentioned earlier.

The spectacular bridge in Portland is an example of linear art placed against a backdrop of fractalicious clouds and what I call “heart-breaking blue.” Groom calls it “drunk on blue.” Do you have a personalized blue?

After the bridge comes the ice du jour. I see an owl with a scarf, or maybe it’s a kitten, in one of the clusters, do you see any creatures, people or funny shapes?

Transitioning from the frozen ice (what other kind is there? Diamonds, of course), we get the man-made kind. Oooh, pretty. Jewels are often referred to as “rocks,” so that leads us to the calming arrangement of the pebbles. It’s easy to see how nature composes them, and then what man does with them.

From circles in nature to circles in industry, on they go… Swirls, grids, curves, ridges, pleats, sprouts, criss-crossing, interlocking, overlapping, undulating. The pattern of nature combined with geometry engineered is co-creation at its best.

Cheers and ta, we’re off to go shopping!