Treasure Hunting

A friend sent me an inspirational card this week and enclosed two flat glass stones with the words “strength” and “passion” etched onto them. Which is perfect since we are combining two passions this week, photography and yard sales. Both offer the thrill of the hunt.

We’re not ones to limit ourselves to yard sales, though. Garage sales are good, too, as are flea markets, estate sales, rummage sales, thrift shops, antique stores and bazaars. There’s so much fun stuff to look at and instead of feeling the impulse to buy, we get a contact high just by clicking the shutter and saving the funky junque for posterity.

Well, that’s mostly true. The other day while in Corvallis, I escaped the booth with my trusty Canon and iPod, the white earbuds affording me some personal space and groovy tunes while I took a walk. In other words, I was by myself.

Uh-oh.

I stumbled across a yard sale. No, bigger than that - a Church fund-raiser. Hallelujah, shopping for Jesus! When I finally made it back to the booth, I told Groom I needed a Hamilton (I must be related to the Queen of E. as I rarely carry cash), because I just bought a box of stuff from a yard sale.

He thought I was joking.

When I came back a bit later hefting the box he just shook his head. “But look,” I said, “a tin box I can collage for only ten cents. Ooh, and here’s a hanky that’s genuine linen from Ireland.” I pointed to the tiny oval gold sticker with black lettering on the back that said, “Genuine Irish Linen.”

“If you say, so dear.”

“I also bought some Christmas presents,” I justified and proceeded to show him the cool hand-carved wooden mug for our nephew’s Tiki room.”

But mostly we just enjoy taking photos at yard sales.

It seems I say this every week, but I’m still surprised when our eye is drawn to something similar, but we see it in such a different way. Groom noticed a box of dolls and the macabre collection of heads, body parts, and shivering figurines in bathtubs hit a particular tone. He captured it and the photo deserves a click of your mouse to enlarge for full appreciation.

Their expressions haunt me. Did you take note of the Kewpie doll in the lower left-hand corner? Yikes, looks like dried blood on its skull.

Speaking of skulls, while Groom went for the big picture, I zeroed in on a detail, focusing on this doll’s cracked one.

This next one, well, I don’t want to meet the person who needs these delicately painted jars. Boric acid and nipples? What kind of freak collector is that? Good thing we ran across this timely playscript, Calm Yourself. Could come in handy.

One of the things I adore about yard sales is that you never know what you’re going to discover. At this particular one, two children accosted me. By “accosted,” I mean they both ran over to me, grabbed my legs and begged to take a picture.

I looked at my new toy and then at their faces and how could I say no? I gingerly placed the camera around the boy’s neck first, keeping a tight grasp on it. The camera, not his neck. He was all wiggly with excitement wanting to push every button willy-nilly. Speaking calmly, I diverted his attention to the scene around him and asked what he noticed and what did he want to take a picture of?

He pointed to his sister. Aaaaah. So the little boy took a portrait of his sister and then it was her turn. She wanted to do the same thing, so here are the pictures they took of each other.

Sometimes a surplus of vegetables are on offer, so Groom baked a delicious loaf of zucchini bread with this squash.

The last photo is one we should call “Full Circle.” Imagine our surprise when what should we discover but one of our own stamp pins for sale by somebody else? It’s the one in the very back row, far left. As the story goes, one of our customers passed away and the pin ended up in her estate sale.

Oh well, you can’t take it with you.

Seeing Signs

Phew! The weather report on Saturday called for rain, but the collective mood of the artisans and patrons alike kept the wet clouds at bay and we sighed with relief as the sun came out to play, long enough for us to take note of these signs.

In the early morning, a “homeless” man stopped by our booth to rant. He showed me photos of his apartment, talked about his $700.00 bicycle and continued to spew resentment that the economy has been affecting his begging business.

After listening for quite awhile, I found the magic wand to make him disappear. I asked him point blank, that since he wanted everybody to give him money, what was he willing to give them in exchange? A smile, a kind word, a blessing? He, ahem, suddenly had to go.

Eugene is a quirky place. Admittedly, sometimes I have felt “stuck” here, but that was B.C. (before camera), and now I’m discovering my bliss, my heaven.

I don’t exactly want to say that Eugene is white bread, but pulling straight from the City of Eugene Recreation catalogue, there is an “Ethnic Excursion” planned. Any guesses what it could be? Lunch at a Thai restaurant, housed in the former International House of Pancakes. Oh, my sides are hurting I’m laughing so hard. And wait, there’s more. Here is a direct quote from the description, “After lunch, a mystery stop around town is usually planned.” Mystery stop? Usually planned? Boy, sign me up.

NOTE: When Groom proofread this, he came to the “Ethnic Excursion” paragraph and choked. He exclaimed, “This can’t be true, nobody is going to believe you!” I whipped out the catalogue and pointed to the lower left-hand side of page 52. We both had a second fit of laughter.

Through his tears, he rationalized the mystery stop and why it is usually planned. “The driver has to roam around downtown in the tour bus until he spots somebody that could pass as a ‘person of ethnicity.’”

We were cracking ourselves up. Then I said, “That explains why that bus full of people were honking and waving at me and taking snapshots the other day. Is that why they’re called honkies?”

If Eugene is spread on the white bread side of life, its edges can get a little moldy. These rough edges that used to poke at my raw nerves have become fuel for inspiration.

You may not be able to partake of the “ethnic lunch excursion,” but we can proceed with a mystery stop or two around town.

We purposely walked down 13th to photograph Antrican’s hand-painted mural, and I am ashamed to admit I didn’t know it had been “accidentally” painted over two years ago. What? Where have I been?

I don’t think the signs would be as interesting if every photograph were taken from the same angle, say straight on and centered. That’s why a few of these well-known landmarks are only partially on view. For those of you who live here, you’ll know straight away where everything belongs, but for those of you who reside elsewhere, I guess that’s the “mystery” part of this tour.

P.S. We are looking forward to having our own website, The Language of Light, completed. The photos in this blog format are often cropped in strange places and/or squished together in odd ways after posting. The finished result looks very different than what we see beforehand and we are trying not to be too disappointed. Click on the photo to enlarge and use the back button on your browser to return to this page.

Autumn Falls

What?! Three short days ago I was wearing a halter dress and peep-toe shoes and today I’m wrapped up in a coat, gloves, hat and a scarf. Brrrr, transition from summer to “autumn” in Oregon can be abrupt.

The weekend - spent not only in a different zip code, but in an alternate weather universe - held delights and surprises for us during the 37th annual Corvallis Fall Festival. The atmospheric conditions in terms of Egyptian blue skies, citrine colored leaves as well as purse-friendly customers helped to create a profitable and satisfying couple of days.

Corvallis, Oregon received its lovely name from the Latin phrase cor vallis, which means Heart of the Valley. Appropriate, don’t you think, as it sits smack in the middle of the Willamette Valley. Before Salem, Corvallis was the Territory of Oregon’s capital in 1855.

Enough of the history lesson. Today, Corvallis is home to OSU (Oregon State University) and the Beavers. They luv-a their orange and black. And their tattoos. So much so, perhaps one enthusiast dyed her pit hair for the home game.

Looking at the photos we take, it’s occurring to me that they reveal as much about us, what we notice, how we see the world, as it does of the place du jour er, week. This next little arty piece inspired no doubt by Edvard Munch’s The Scream is a partial percent self-portrait. I’m cor vallis, that is in the heart of the valley between keeping an open mind and being continually surprised by others and say, their orange armpity hair-ness.

It isn’t until the digital film is developed that we notice that day’s theme and focus, repeating patterns and overlapping colors and textures.

While at an out-of-town show, Groom and I take turns slipping out of the booth and wandering the environs, ever on the hunt for things that catch our eye. We rarely have the opportunity to walk around together, so our way of navigating this separate-togetherness is to each take our own photos and then sit around the glowing computer screen by night, offering our day’s treasure to the other.

We are continually surprised by how much we think alike and yet how one will capture an image unseen by the other. Angles, perspectives and subject matter continue to call us and we are excited as our own hearts (and minds) open to answer.

We refer to this one as “blue chair in green ivy.” And as anyone who’s walked around with me while I’ve had the camera will attest, I loooooove mannequin faces. I’m currently building an entire series on them, to be revealed at a later date.

Ha! This amazing vendo-matic postcard machine, well, let’s just say I didn’t know taking photos at an art show could be considered hazard duty. The “amazing” part of the vendo-matic postcard machine was that it produced bubbles and squirted water. I got hit right in the face with a shot of water, so I renamed it the Blasto-matic. Picture me dripping wet on the other side of the camera, my Sunday coif wilting and my stern face smiling. Sort of smiling. Later.

Speaking of water and cameras, as it’s raining and I’m pouting, we haven’t figured out yet what to do about taking photos while it’s coming down in buckets, cats and dogs, or any other euphemism for precipitation. So who knows what we’ll discover in the next seven days…