Ogling The Gargoyle

The last few weeks for us have been about Washington. We went to Seattle for the U-District Street Fair and turned right around and drove to Spokane for ArtFest.

ArtFest is one of our favorite shows to do. Set in a beautiful park, surrounded by stunning Victorian architecture, it is a camera addict’s dream.

On the first day of the show, I met a budding photographer and we instantly hit it off. Groom watched the booth while she and I ran away from the circus with our cameras and practically drooled over all the turrets, transoms, and entablatures.

The next day we did it again, ogling the gargoyles, gables and cobblestones. 

What felt great about the experience (besides playing hooky from the booth), is that we were both open to how the other one viewed the world. The lens was our magic door. I watched what animated her while she noted what sparked my attention. 

There was no competition, only pure inspiration at play.

While I can’t speak for her, I feel that she helped me raise my game, and for that I offer a Thank You.

Eating Like There’s No Tomorrow

On the eve of what has been predicted to be “May 21 Judgment Day,” we’ve actually planned more for the U-District Street Fair, which also starts on Saturday, than to be caught up in an end-of-the-world scenario.

However, if today is the last day of life as we know it, then Groom and I spent it eating as if there was no tomorrow.

Based on the recommendations of people who live here and are in the know, we walked for miles today (well, at least for blocks and blocks), eating our way from neighborhood to neighborhood.

We started near the University of Washington (Husky Territory) and walked to Green Lake. On the way, we stopped at Irwin’s Bakery and tried one of their apple and pecan scones.

The footpath circling the lake charmed us and folks were in a collective good mood, something we attributed more to the first sunny day in Seattle to climb the mercury ladder hitting 70 degrees(according to the news report) than to people struggling to fit one more day of exercise before the impending apocalypse.

The sky dazzled blue, the sun took center stage and we continued from Green Lake to Ballard where we feasted on quiche, chocolate croissants and coffee at the beloved Café Besalu.

Leaving our vehicle safely parked in the hotel’s garage, we also used Seattle’s great bus system to get around in addition to bi-pedding it. From the Ballard neighborhood we cashed in our transfer tickets to catch a ride to Fremont where we took Kimmmm’s advice and sampled chocolate at Theo’s. We figured what have we got to lose (except all the extra calories) and bought the ghost chili pepper chocolate bar. So hot, it can turn one into a ghost. Sounded like a perfect day for such a claim.

I don’t know if this will be our last post or if there will be anyone left to read it, but it’s sure been a good ride. If we are here tomorrow, well then come on down to the street fair and say hello.

Lucky Number 13

I know, I know, we’ve been remiss. It’s been days since either Groom or I have written an entry, but if we had, it would look something like this…

Dear Diary, we packed the van.

Dear Diary, we unloaded the van.

Dear Diary, we’ve laundered the clothes, cleaned the house (again). Made more jewelry, rinsed the dishes, prepared for our housesitter, bought groceries, packed up our stuff, loaded the van.

Well, you get the picture and see why we would never bore you with such snoozy details. 

 In case you’re still awake, we’re almost ready to hit the trail again, heading for Seattle this time to sell our jewelry at the U-District Street Fair, where as you can see by this sign, you can find anything including “Psoriasis and Exzema.” Apparently it is free and lasts forever.

And with the iffy-mixed weather reports, all I can do at this point is invoke the well-worn and beloved ancient Saturday Market incantation, “sun, oh sun, sun I hope.”

Shoe Biz

First came the invitation, then the R.S.V.P-ing, then lining up behind the red velvet ropes, and finally, after actually being on The List, ushered in.

What on earth am I prattling on about? Well, I must back up a moment. Nicknamed Cinderella for a reason, me likey shoes. Regardless of what anybody says (evil stepsisters included), I think I have great taste in footwear.

A woman at the Eugene Saturday Market recently asked me where a great place to buy shoes in Portland was. My answer was the brand new John Fluevog Store of course! So imagine my surprise when she replied, “Oh, is that where you and your friends get your clunky, old-lady shoes?”

Insert the loud sound of a vinyl record being scratched here.

My what? Did she say clunky, old-lady shoes? I had a minor heart flutter. And then I burst out laughing. Not for one second have I ever thought of my designer shoes as invoking images of either clunky or an advanced age bracket. No, no, no. Young, hip, stylish maybe, but definitely not what she said.

But to answer, yes, the Fluevog Stores in New York, Seattle, San Francisco and now, finally closer to home in Portland, are the places where Groom, my friends,and I buy our funky (rhymes with clunky), quirky, and colorful shoes.

And we were invited to the Launch Party! What’s a four-hour round trip drive when the opportunity to meet Himself is presented? We spent yesterday in Portland, hanging out with friends, enjoying the sun and rubbing elbows with the creative genius, John Fluevog.

Secretly, I was hoping for one of those posh gift bags, or a special sale, or some form of contest that would provide the winner with a pair of groovy shoes, but facing the longish drive home, we opted not to stay very late, so we don’t know how it ended.

But while we were there, oh what fun. Loads of great Fluevog shoes on display and even more on the feet of all the guests. It was one big gawk fest, everybody admiring what everybody else was wearing.

We were provided with refreshments and a D.J. in the corner kept the music flowing. One distraught man spilled red wine on one of the brand new leather display tables. Betcha that’s gonna stain. In his case, no matter how cool they were, we did not want to be standing in his shoes.

Hailing from Vancouver, B.C., John Fluevog has “provided unique soles for unique souls since 1970.”

Before I ever tried on my first pair (Thank you Kimmmmm!), I was drawn to his humor and philosophy.

Question: “Are John Fluevog Angels really satan resistant?”

Answer: “You’re wearing Angels right now, right? Look around - do you see him? Nope! I guess they are resistant. (Good thing, too. I heard he was asking about you.)

My philosophy? Shoes should make you smile!

Awesome, Possum

You may or may not know this, but I have a numbers thing. I find comfort in alignment and feel a sense of calm when things add up. For example, since the odometer of the century turned over my age adds up to the current year. I’m 46, so 4 + 6 = 10. Last year, in 2009, I was 45; in 2008…I think you can do the math.

I was 43 while our country was operating under the influence of the 43rd President and I turned 44 when we elected our 44th Commander in Chief. There’s harmony in them there numbers.

And I’m also date oriented. Yesterday marked 30 years since Mt. St. Helens blew her top. There must be something about temperatures rising and guns during the month of May because 27 years ago today, the infamous Diane Downs shot her three children.

And, 12 years ago this week, Kip Kinkel went on a killing rampage known as the Thurston High School shooting. Same month, same year, Brynn Hartman shot her husband, actor and comedian Phil Hartman while he was sleeping and then turned the deadly gun on herself.

On a lighter note, today is also the 48th anniversary of Marilyn Monroe singing her oft imitated breathy rendition of “Happy Birthday Mr. President” to John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Okay, that’s enough of trivial pursuit. Whoops, I stand corrected; this entire blog is froth, little slices of life served on trifle crackers. Bon appétit!

Phew! What a whirlwind road trip. We were home from Medford for about a minute and a half before turning right around and heading north to Seattle for the University District Street Fair, otherwise known as U-District.

Intending to avoid the worst traffic both Portland and Seattle have to offer, we decided to begin our long weekend meeting up with Nanny Bee Bugg (our photographer friend), for lunch at an Indian restaurant. This way, we could toodle around Portland for the day and glide into Seattle after rush hour.

We chose this restaurant on purpose because they’ve been known to serve a particular dish that appeals to our darker humor. If you read last week’s entry, you’ll recall we stayed with friends in southern Oregon who adopted two goats that currently live in their house.

For some deep-seated Freudian mystery, each time we stay with them, we have this hankering to eat goat curry. Although admittedly, I would be insulted and appalled if, after friends stayed with us, they desired to try kitty cat curry.

Hypocrisy aside, we were disappointed to discover that the Indian restaurant did not have it for Thursday’s lunch buffet. Oh well, there’s always Seattle.

After vindaloo and rice pudding, Nanny Bee Bugg drove us to the Northwest Industrial section of the Rose City, introducing us to Macleay park, a forest within a metropolis. This stunning gulch of tall timbers was a gift to the City of Portland in 1897. Pine trees, ferns, a babbling brook and an abandoned stone building named “The Witch’s Castle” made for a delightful respite.

Caravanning across town, we meandered through antique stores in the Sellwood neighborhood and ordered coffee at The Blue Kangaroo. We were invited to select our own preference of beans they’ve roasted themselves. The barista then ground them and made us each a delicious cup of pour-over coffee. Strong and full-bodied, just the way we like it.

I often do my best photography with a cup of coffee in one hand and a camera in the other. As I’ve mentioned before, I do not study my subjects, but simply aim and shoot at whatever catches my attention in the blink of an eye. If they turn out, it’s the luck of the draw. Groom is patient, and his work is beautiful. My random way comes from an intuitive place and I’m often surprised later to discover what I’ve shot, as it all happens so quickly.

I could be called the Impatient photographer or the Promiscuous photographer. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. I meant that I take optimal advantage of the digital age and refuse to limit myself based on the old standard of finite film. I take the camera with me everywhere, wearing it like a favorite piece of clothing.

Back to window shopping in Sellwood. We wandered into a posh store celebrating its three week anniversary. That was weeks, not years. Heeding my father’s advice from childhood, I looked at the store’s inventory with my eyes not my hands until I spotted the fur blanket draped over a fainting couch. I had to touch it to see if it was real or faux. Flipping over the tag, it read, “Possum $1,200.” I yanked my hand away almost as quickly as if it had said skunk.

“Groom, you gotta see this,” I whispered loud enough for him to hear across the empty store. Curious to see what I found, he sauntered over. “Pet it,” I suggested.

“Oh, that’s soft,” he said.

“Yeah and it’s twelve hundred dollars worth of possum,” I say with all the flourish of a big reveal.

“Gross.”

The overly made-up clerk came to the possum’s defense. “It’s called eco-luxury.”

Now here’s where, in an alternate universe, I might have been able to keep my mouth shut, but in this reality, well, we all know that didn’t happen.

“Eco-luxury… is that fancy talk for road kill?”

The clerk did not care for my observation. Her way of showing disapproval, since she could neither smile or frown (I’m guessing Botox), was to ignore my question and instead, correct the way I said “Eco.” In my mouth, it came out sounding like echo, as in “eco-friendly.”

She hissed, “It’s eeeeeko-luxury.” Then, to make the road kill blanket appear more exotic, she emphasized the detail that the possums came all the way from New Zealand.

Groom didn’t miss a beat. “Even if they bought them their own seats on the flight over, that’s still a pretty good mark-up.”

Clerk glared at us. “Bet you’re sorry you let our kind in here,” I say, waving goodbye and wishing her a happy three-week anniversary.

And with that, it was just about time to bid our friend adieu and continue the drive to Seattle. Our late night arrival didn’t pan out exactly as we had imagined. Even at 10 o’clock at night, the traffic was bumper to bumper often to the point of standstill.

After we finally arrived and shlepped our belongings up two flights of stairs (no elevator), I was a wee tired. I started to brush my teeth and the experience woke me up with full alert precision. Groom says he’d never seen that particular expression on my face before. I loaded my toothbrush with shaving cream and went to town polishing my pearly off-whites.

Now I know what you’re probably thinking - What kind of idiot uses shaving cream to brush their teeth with? Are you imagining an aerosol can with a push-top lid? Me too, but noooo.

It’s my turn to ask the question. What kind of genius thinks it’s a good idea to package shaving cream and toothpaste in the exact same type of tube?? In my defense, it was late and I thought I had fished the shaving cream from my toiletries kit and set it on the edge of the tub out of reach. Oops.

Let me tell you, that is one disgusting flavor even if the label dubs it “mint.”

Our Friday in Seattle was perfection. Riding the bus downtown, we had all day to play, taking photos, shopping and being touristas.

Of course, we had to visit our favorite shop, the John Fluevog shoe store, and er, um, yes we each found a pair to take home. Near Pike’s Place Market, we tried an African restaurant and ordered, you guessed it, goat curry. Yucky! It was mostly all bones and what little meat there was tasted exactly what one might imagine goat to be like; fat, tough and gristly. The sponge bread was rather curious, though.

If you ever find yourself in Seattle and you like coffee, by all means, treat yourself to the Italiano hand-crafted by Roland at Ancient Grounds. Not only is it likely to be the best cup you’ll ever encounter west of the Tiber, but the scintillating conversation and fabulous collection of art will knock your socks off.

One of the oddities of the weekend was a display window for an eyeglasses shop. Hmmm, doesn’t sound quite right, but when I typed “eye glass shop” the word combination evoked images of a boutique specializing in glass eyes. Then, when I try “glasses shop,” that made me think of fragile drinking cups.

The macabre display was in a window for eyeglasses. Two full shelves of white doves (stuffed, plastic, felt?) lay on their sides with eye glasses positioned over them. At first glance I thought, “Uh-oh, the shopkeeper doesn’t realize the birds look dead. Maybe the birds couldn’t stay upright.” I voiced my concern and Groom says, “Uh, honey, lookey there.”

I follow his pointed index finger and sucked in my breath. With the arrows impaling the birds, I changed my mind. I came to the quick conclusion that the shopkeeper did indeed realize the birds looked dead. That’s Seattle for you.

We considered attending the Kurt Cobain and Andy Warhol exhibit at SAM (the Seattle Art Museum), but honestly? we didn’t feel like spending the $15 each for entrance tickets. We’ll probably kick ourselves later, but looking at the poster, I asked Groom if they dug up Cobain’s bones?

“Nah, that’s from an album cover,” he informed me, but the gruesome imagery, knowing he committed suicide, made me want to stay outside in the sunshine, smelling all the gorgeous flowers and nibbling on the chocolate pasta samples at the Farmer’s Market.

As for U-District, the street fair was pretty good, although it began quirky enough. Up at 5 o’clock, we were on site by 6am navigating the parking gauntlet. We unloaded our booth and accoutrements, parked, then spent the next two hours setting up. By this time, we were hungry and breakfast beckoned. Returning before 10am, we were greeted by a young woman with an official looking badge. She introduced herself and apologized for what she was about to impart. “I don’t know anything, except you might have to move your booth.”

What??

Looooong story short, after waiting a nail-biting amount of minutes, the fire marshal appeared and explained that the fire department needed access to the water source hidden behind our booth and a U.S. post box. Well, the post box was cemented and bolted down, so our booth was the issue. Um, but that was the 10’ X 10’ space the show told us to set up in, so now what? Having to move is NOT what an artist wants to hear 15 minutes before a show officially opens, especially when everything is already in place and getting it that way took two hours.

When we removed our “back door” (white tarp) and showed them that our fabric was attached with Velcro, the fire chief allowed us to stay with a warning; that if a fire broke out, the firemen would bust through our booth. I calculated the risk. If a fire broke out that close, then I probably wouldn’t be staying in it anyway, looking quickly for the nearest exit.

Unbeknownst to me, the same thing had happened to another vendor across the lane while we were at breakfast. She had been forced to move and the vendors were now waiting for us to return, anticipating how we might take the news. Apparently, this whole little drama was playing out around us and I had no inkling that I was being observed. Throughout the weekend, the vendors in our neighborhood introduced themselves one by one, telling me what I looked like from their perspective. Gulp.

All I can say is thank God I was in a good mood! I did not panic, yell, get aggravated, but as one candle maker described, “You were solid.” I think that’s a compliment? She imitated my body posture and mimicked my impassive expression. It was a queer feeling to learn that a number of people were watching for my reaction while I had no idea.

Other highlights included selling the Exlax necklace to a University of Washington Professor (Whoo hoo!), sipping Bubble Tea with tapioca balls from our favorite place, Oasis, and hanging out with my author friend (her book is rated second to Harry Potter by popularity).

We concluded the trip Sunday night with an overnighter at God’s Minion in Portland, sharing a lovely visit and good food and then driving home to Eugene on Monday.

Gee, think this is long enough? If you read it all the way through, congratulations. Hope you enjoy a few of our photos from the trip and we’ll see you next time.

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.