Here Comes the Groom

As my Bride often says, I have no idea what this blog entry will be about as I sit down at the computer keyboard (or in this case, the laptop). Inspiration should come easily since I am sitting on the back deck of the Cloverdale Chapel being serenaded by songbirds and enjoying the moss covered tree branches swaying in the breeze.

Inside the building the annual pre-Mother’s Day sale is just getting underway. Regular readers will recall that this historic Creswell locale was mentioned last year at this time. This sale marks the first full weekend of our selling season. April, and the resumption of the Eugene Saturday Market, lets us get our show legs back under us one day a week – while May tosses us back in the deep end of the pool.

Even so, it still does it gently, which is just the way we sensitive artistic types prefer. Yesterday we were in Corvallis on the OSU campus for Mom’s Weekend – the Student Union organizes a sweet one-day art market as part of the festivities. As far as out-of-town shows go, this is the perfect way to get started each year. Plus, it allows us to be here at the chapel sale today, a gathering of artistic women (and the occasional gentleman) who are “artists because they love creating art,” as one of them stated during the greeting portion of the morning.

Next weekend we head a little further afield, setting up our wares at Art in Bloom in Medford. While certainly a bigger undertaking than this weekend, it has the ease factor of being able to stay with friends (Goat Mama and Papa), and the bonus factor of being able to visit Bride’s Mama and Papa. We’re keeping our fingers crossed that the weather listens to the forecasters and refrains from jumping from 60 degrees to 90 degrees overnight (as has happened in years past).

The third weekend in May will find us in Seattle for the U-District Street Fair, which requires us to be fully committed to the continuing adventure we call our lifestyle. Rain or shine, calm or gales, feast or famine, this is about the time we feel like our mettle is being tested. This is a show that can be really rewarding, or cause us to wonder aloud, “Who thought this was a good way to make a living?”

By now you have probably said to yourself, “As fascinating as this all may be, why are you writing this week?” Please allow me to enlighten you – it beats me! A day or two ago I knew something was up before my Sweetie Blossom even spoke, by the evil glint in her eye… She proceeded to convince me that it would be a great idea for me to write while we spent the day here at the chapel.

Let me tell you, she must be pretty convincing. I had not expressed any interest in doing this, I had no compelling notions that I was needing to share, and yet here I am… Well, that’s why she is inside chatting with the customers, and I am out here recording my random, yet highly insightful, observations.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand (uh…what was that again? Oh yes…). One big bonus that comes with beginning our out of town treks is the new photo op potential. Yes, our neighborhood is fairly photogenic, downtown has the occasionally well lit architectural detail, and the Market is quite colorful, but really, the creative well starts to run a little dry after awhile. Somehow, the cornice on a building in a different town makes a much more interesting subject than the one down the street.

I’ll take a slight detour right now to mention the occasional tragic moment of not having the camera in hand when a photo op presents itself. A recent case in point was the fellow crossing the street in front of us while we were driving across town – let’s see if I can properly convey his outfit without the benefit of an accompanying photo…

Imagine an old-fashioned one-piece bathing suit (short sleeves, to the knees, buttons up the front) having had a brief but passionate affair with an old-fashioned prisoner’s jumpsuit (black and white horizontal stripes, kind of baggy). The offspring of this union was the focal point of the look.

But, as all fashionistas know, accessories make the outfit. So, he drew the eye down the exposed leg to a pair of beige cowboy boots (not a common shade, by the way). This may have been look enough for most of us, but not this guy. His finishing touch was a smashing chain-mail vest. Wow. Really, why don’t I drive with the camera around my neck at all times?

I always love to hear how Sweetie Blossom spins the tales of the various things that happen to us (or even just around us), and while the classes and recent spate of local events we have attended have been the source of some fun blogging, road trips always provide her with good material.

We were talking the other day about how she is able to describe an event we both witnessed with complete accuracy, and yet still make me laugh and surprise me. Someone said the other day, “You said out loud what I was thinking, and I didn’t even realize I was thinking it!”

So, saddle up with us and let’s go find out what new and exciting things and amazing tales await just around the corner.

Monkey Mom

This week’s activities included a pre-Mother’s Day tea at a 105 year-old chapel. This historic Cloverdale Meeting House is currently available as a beautiful site for weddings and other social gatherings. In our event, friends congregated to sell wares, sip exotic rose milk, nosh on handmade chocolate and exchange bits of old fashioned gossip. Wanna hear some?

Let’s see…God’s Minion just became a grandmother for the second time (Congratulations!), Kimmmm’s husband is being presented with the Ashden Award for Sustainability (Way to go!), Bo Peep was commissioned by said husband to create a top hat to be worn for his audience with Prince Charles (Yeah, Baby!), Sister was bit bad by a dog (Ouch! Sorry, honey), Chakra Girl is learning to Salsa (move those hips, darlin’), cousin Mary designed us kimono’s from material brought back from Japan (Thank you!) and I overheard a musical friend talk about her “glory hole.”

Conversation was brought to a halt with that one. Huh? Upon further explanation, we learned that a glory hole is a warm place where something hard is put to melt. Yeah, that didn’t really clear things up too much. There might have been something about glass blowing in there as well.

Which brings me to this week’s spelling mishap. I’ve already mentioned Brande Roderick’s flexible use of the American language (remember “forgooed?”), but I think she may have been eliminated from the competition by pulling a Dan Quayle. While expressing frustration, Brande tried to spell crap and came out with “s-r-a-p.”

To rap, er, wrap this up, I’m pretty tired and don’t have the energy to share my windy lesson on intention and resistance. I’d rather snuggle up with Companion and watch “Project Runway,” dish on girls behaving badly (Ms. Joan and Melissa “Oh grow up” Rivers), contemplate who’d make the better, ahem, “coffee” date, the character Patrick Jane on The Mentalist or Detective Sam Tyler from Life on Mars.

I want a full body massage, to be fed chocolate, to sleep for awhile, to have toe-curling “coffee,” and not have to be anywhere or do anything or process information or learn any lessons or be challenged for a little while. Yes, I want to indulge in mindless television without losing brain cells and eat junk food without gaining weight.

On that indulgent note, I’d like to wish all the women out there a Happy Mother’s Day! Whether you diaper a goat (you know who you are), nurse a cat, pamper a dog, or have a human animal, it all counts. We nurture the earth, each other, our men, our creativity, our bodies, our businesses, our minds, our pocket books, our homes, our parents and hopefully, ourselves.

Speaking of moms, I was on the phone last night with Sister, checking on her wounded finger, when she told me this story about our mother that she’d just heard. After the telling, we argued as sisters are wont to do. “No way, that’s not true.”

“Oh, yes it is, go call and ask her yourself.”

“Fine, I will,” etc. etc.

I hung up with Sister and dialed Mother. Okay, more accurately, there was no dialing involved using a cell phone, but it doesn’t sound right to say “I hung up with Sister and punched Mother.”

“Mom, is it true?”

She verified that it was indeed.

“How come I’ve never heard this story before?”

Mom’s reply is so casual, “I don’t know, it didn’t last very long.”

“Tell me what happened!”

“I took Eldest child to the doctor and was holding her in my arms at the check in counter when I felt something tug at my leg. Naturally, I thought it was one of the other kids in the waiting room, but then the sensations dramatically changed and I turned my head just in time to see a monkey climb up my body.”

“A monkey? A real monkey? Are you sure it just wasn’t Sister as a toddler, she was so hairy and cute, you know, or another kid?”

“Oh no, this was way before you or Sister was born. It was a real monkey and all I could think was that it was going for my child.”

“What did you do?

“Oh, I don’t know, I think the woman it belonged to came and got it or something.”

“A monkey is climbing you and you don’t remember what happened?”

“It was a long time ago.”

Yep, that’s my mom, cool under pressure, doesn’t fuss much. If only I could get her to say in an Australian accent, “The monkey took my bay-bay.” Oh never mind. Love you mom.

As Mother’s Day is just around the corner, I’d like to leave you with a quote from the estimable Dan Quayle. “Republicans understand the importance of bondage between a mother and child.”

Oh, glory hole!