Summer's Arrived, But We're Leaving...Again

Time is melting like wax on this fine summer day, as Groom and I pack for Art on the Green in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. We recently returned home from a fabulous Salem Art Fair and having practically sold out (of stock, not our values), we have what a friend describes as “a better set of problems.” The good news about selling well at an art show is that the rent is paid for another month. The bad news about selling well at an art show is that, ahem, we don’t have any stock!

My nose requires a bandage and is scabbing over as it’s been forced to the grindstone this past week, but I’ll have to take a philosopher’s approach and say at this point, “It is what it is.”

Snow White recently asked me if I’d ever been introduced to the Green Fairy, otherwise known as Absinthe. I scrolled back through the archives to last year and sent a link to the blog when I wrote about my experience with the licorice tasting cough syrup. While rereading the entry, I realized I have been writing with the assumption that everyone has been with me from the beginning. According to our analytics software, this is not the case.

While it has been reported that leaving comments has proved difficult to impossible for most (Double Exposure and Lulu, my faithful friends, you rock!), the amount of “followers” and comments do not reflect the growing number of readers that check in on a weekly basis. It occurs to me, rather late in the game, that I haven’t necessarily been writing these weekly musings as entire stand-alones.

Oh, there’s the regular cast of characters such as Groom, Kimmmm, God’s Minion, King Zolo, Nanny Bee Bugg and the rest that I expect everyone to keep up with, rarely reminding people who they are. Sometimes I share very personal experiences, at other times it’s our photography with apt quotes, and still others are updates on our going-ons.

Right now, as my thoughts are trying to organize themselves in my brain, I am trying not to be overwhelmed by the laundry still on the line, the stuff that needs to be packed, and all the details that must be attended to before we roll out of town. In other words, I’m making believe that I’m an easy-going person. Uh-oh, Groom is laughing hysterically. Glad I could make his day.

As though this next sentence isn’t completely obvious, it’s the height of summer. I selected these pictures to illustrate the season. Summer to me shouts color! Vibrancy, energy and unabashed monkey love.

Speaking of which, it’s almost our anniversary. Oh, don’t worry, this probably won’t be the last mention of it, but looking through our recent pictures for selection purposes, the one with the rose and the daisy caught my eye. It reminds me of Groom and I: A co-dependent hybrid. We’ve still managed to maintain our own separate identities, but have fused into a single entity. As we approach almost two decades of legal binding, I understand the quote, “And the two shall become one.”

I bought a lottery ticket this morning at around 7am after discovering we ran out of milk, so while walking home from the corner store in the peaceful quiet of the morning, I imagined spending our winnings nurturing the animals of our planet.

While I fantasized about doing good, I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered the look of pure joy upon this dog’s face while he was riding next to us on the freeway behind his motorcycle daddy. I missed the money shot. Our car windows were too smudgy, the sun was coming in at a sharp angle, but I did see the most perfect composition and dang! Imissed it. Oh well, it’s committed to memory and I’m easy-going, remember?

No matter how long I sit here, my clothes are not going to pack themselves. I have no idea if any of these random thoughts tie together, but I do wish all of you good health, a joyous week and we love to hear your charming comments. Thank you for tuning in.

52

Ah, the Thanksgiving blog. It’s tempting to wax poetic about Pilgrims, pumpkin pies and Project Runway, or to make fun of those daring dolts who deep fat fry their turkeys in spite of newsworthy hazard warnings. Seriously, after numerous explosions involving boiling oil, trips to the E.R. - if not the morgue - and house calls from the fire department, year after year, dinglehoofers still insist on dropping 20lb birds into vats of bubbling lard? God Bless America.

Or I could give culinary advice. If you’re having menu issues, how about serving Turducken? I think that’s a chicken wrapped in a duck stuffed inside a turkey. Yep, an American tradition since 1621. On the other hand, if you don’t like to eat anything with a face, tofurkey is an option. That would be a poultry alternative constructed out of tofu, or curdling soy milk. Yummy.

The other way I could approach this week’s entry is to give a sermonette on giving thanks, but most of us already know we should do that. So instead, Inspiration is the word of the day. And Anniversary. Hey, I’m allowed more than one.

Happy Anniversary to this blog, it is officially one year old today! We have managed to post photos and text for 52 continuous weeks. That makes a year, right? I’m thankful we made a commitment and have followed through regardless of our schedule, travels, triumphs and travails.

We intended to debut our new photoblog, The Language of Light, at the one year mark, but as today rapidly approached, it did not quite happen. Instead of pouting, we are pretending flexibility and just going with it.

Which leads me back to inspiration and gratitude. Question. If a sermonette is a mini-sermon, what is a mini-sermonette called, un poca sermonito? Without fear of repetition, I am advocating, stumping, soapboxing for you to enlarge some of these photos by clicking on them and then hitting the back arrow to return to the blog. I humbly insist you do this at least for the photo of the dew drop on the branch. Amen and gracias.

Now what do these photos have in common with Inspiration and Gratitude? To make sure we’re on the same page, I looked up the definitions in the dictionary and here is the gist: It’s like breathing. Wait a sec, as soon as I typed that I took a pause and looked up the etymology of the word. Inspire comes from the Latin inspirare and means “to breathe.” Ah-hah, I’m on to something.

The pearl is that inspiration is a Divine gift; a breath of life, animation, and ideas pressed upon the mind or soul of man (and by man I mean hu-man). If inspiration is done on the inhale, then gratitude is done on the exhale. It is a continuous cycle: Breathing inspiration, exhaling gratitude. I guess that would be considered, Thanks-Living.

Plucking from the opening sentence, I am returning to the topic of Project Runway, a television show for competing clothing designers to debut their talents. The three contestants still standing by the end of the season are rewarded with a fashion show in New York to announce the winner. Along the way, they are challenged to create outfits within certain parameters such as time, choice of materials, and budget. For instance, the designers could be taken to a hardware store and given 30 minutes to select materials to create with for under $75.00 and provided only 8 hours to finish their look. Crazy fun!

One of my favorite challenges is the “look of inspiration.” The producers of Project Runway might drop the budding designers in the middle of Manhattan, a zoo or a museum and give them a few moments to discover their inspiration. By show’s end, they must reveal the origin of their idea as well as its manifestation and the judges will pronounce whose garment came the closest. It’s exciting.

After watching that particular episode, I realize that I already create that way. I was recently interviewed by the local paper about how I stay true to myself and yet design on trend. I told the journalist that I do not pay particular attention to what others are doing, but continue to design jewelry based on my feelings and my feelings are related to my surroundings.

I fill up my well, so to speak, by taking walks and capturing images wherever I happen to be. Here are some of the images that both inspire and gratitude us.

The first picture is of the Grande Dame, the Black Tartarian Cherry tree located in the Owen Memorial Rose Garden here in Eugene. It is said to be the largest cherry tree in Oregon and is at least 150 years old. I curtsy in her presence. Equally magnificent is the magical world inside the fairy tree at the Buxton Corrie House in Corvallis, Oregon.

Images three and four were taken at Cape Perpetua on the Oregon Coast and in Napflion, Greece. Five and six were snapped in Athens and at Eugene’s First Christian Church. I find the beauty of Oregon equal to the staggering riches of world-wide travel. Gratitude!

Buildings inspire texture as you can see from the ones shot in Eugene and New York. If you paid attention to the poca sermonito and clicked to enlarge, you’ll see a reflection in both the building and the dew drop. Architecture reflects architecture and nature reflects nature and then spin your partner do-si-do. Mirror images everywhere.

To quote Julie Andrews from The Sound of Music, here are a few of my favorite things. I’m grateful for the iconic tower Gustav Eiffel designed for the World’s Exposition of 1889. I’m thrilled with Steampunk fashion (did you notice the relationship between the Eiffel Tower and the man’s funkalicious top hat?). I purr around the friends who belong to these colorful chapeaux, designed by the talented Bo Peep. I’m impressed by the generosity of France and the brilliance of the sculptor Frederic-Auguste Bartholdi of Colmar for our symbol of liberty.

I adore letters, both the individual members of the alphabet and the cohesive form they take when written and mailed. They represent communication and friendship and I wholeheartedly appreciate those who make the effort, whether in person, through email, the phone, text messaging or a hand-written note. I love you all.

Birds, nature, the ocean... the list goes on. But like a contestant on Project Runway, I am challenged by space and time and must take leave to get my turduckens in a row. Again, Happy Anniversary, Happy Thanks-Living and I leave you with these words of gratitude.

Thank You, Merci Beaucoup, Muchas Gracias, Domo Arigato, Mahalo, Danke Schon, Grazie, Ta, Asante, Efharisto, Obrigado…

Two For The Money

A couple of entries ago, in “Say Cheese,” I wrote about a miracle. Instead of turning water into wine like Jesus did at his mother’s request during that famous wedding in Galilee, I turned wine into photography.

If you remember, Groom and I recently purchased a new camera for our anniversary after weaning ourselves off the bottled grapes. I was thrilled about our new acquisition for almost two days before malcontent and displeasure grabbed me by the ankles and started playing tug-o-war with me as the rope.

Never flexible enough for the splits, I didn’t enjoy the sensation. Here’s the deal. I thought I could share, but each time I got my hands on our new camera and slipped into my “artiste” mode, Groom would see a shot he wanted to take, and folks, he just kept interrupting my mojo.

I would inwardly sigh with exasperation, but hand the camera over anyway. After all, it was an anniversary gift, which came with the implied agreement that we could both use it. The generous, loving, wifely side of me wanted Groom to blossom in his photography skills and I loved seeing the shots he took.

Afterward.

But not while we were in the middle of stalking light.

Bottom line? I wanted to share the hobby of photography with him, but not the camera. I quickly discovered it was like trying to write, but having somebody borrow my pen every third word, ruining my flow.

Now, what to do? My energy is not subtle. Groom knows me too well and he figured something was up about 15 seconds into my frustration. How do I tell the man I love to keep his grubby mitts off our anniversary present?

I have a couple skills in my toolkit, but lying isn’t one of them. I suck at it, which is why I don’t bother. I could tell you my honesty comes from a pure place of integrity, but that would be a lie. It comes from not being clever enough to keep my stories straight. If I tell a lie, I bust myself instantly. The aggro’s just not worth it, so my ineptitude as a liar keeps me honest.

When Groom asked me point blank why I was being snotty, I had to admit I was struggling with either being “nice” or telling him I could no longer share our anniversary camera.

He just laughed. Here I was, hesitant to speak my true feelings yet after I did, he said my energy is much more pleasant when my words and actions line up instead of tap dancing around an issue. Apparently I emit a funky vibe when I am not speaking my truth, which bugs the heckles out of him.

With the truth buck-naked and on somebody’s front lawn (he asked me while I was taking a photo of a neighbor’s flower garden), he said it was no problem, he would wait to take photographs until he could get his own camera.

Oh noooooo. While that sounds lovely on the surface, I knew that would be trouble with a capital T. One, I would not be able to enjoy taking pictures alone, knowing I was being a selfish biyatch while Groom waited patiently as I focused here and zoomed there. For-geddaboutit.

Two, by the time he got his own camera, I divined it would be a bigger, better fancier version of mine and that would simply open a can of one-upmanship worms. To compensate, I would have to upgrade and that would motivate He to outdo She. Nope, I put the ix-nay on the ait-way.

As his birthday falls on our anniversary, or is it the other way around, I suggested that we pool our generous gifts into a fund and get a second, identical camera for him. That way, we could share lenses, batteries, cords, etc., but more importantly, we would be playing on an even shooting field.

In less than a week, funds rearranged themselves to provide Groom with a twin to mine. I was thrilled.

For one day.

Groom managed to find yet another way to vex me. As we roamed our neighborhood, each interpreting light, color and texture to our heart’s content, I was a happy woman until he emptied the memory cards onto the computer and we had a slide show.

Aaaargh, his photos were turning out better than mine. Oh no, I don’t want to leave you with an impression that I’m competitive or anything (of course not), but it irked me that he was already surpassing me.

Let me submit to the jury a recent example. Take a look at the two photos of the red fence. Do you see how straight the wrought iron pickets stand for him? And do you notice how drunk and disorganized they become for me? How does that happen???

My mother has a theory that many inanimate objects with moving mechanical parts are designed with the express purpose to work for men and break down for women. I want to argue that her idea is sexist, but…

Okay, now on to the Fair. On Thursday last, we woke up to the idea of attending the County Fair for pitchur takin’ (fancy talk for the art of producing images of objects on sensitized surfaces by the chemical action of light), but were both feeling reluctant to plunk down the price of admission.

A few minutes later, via email, Kimmm informed us that she had two extra free tickets to the fair and told us “folks with new cameras neeeed to go to the fair at dusk to get frustrated and amazed by taking photos of lights and sunsets.”

What? Free tickets just like that? So off we go that evening and between us, can you guess how many shots we fired off in less than three hours? If you said 500, you’d be right. Although we each took some amazing shots (not presented here yet), I noticed that Groom still did better in certain situations. Take a gander at the carrousel horses and the clowns. Crikey!

I’m delighted to report that I am not really in competition with Groom. He inspires me and I am determined to become the best photographer I can become. This sounds cliché, but I am in competition with myself.

I am also noticing that I am an emotional photographer, my camera reflecting sundry moods. When I am tired, the images blur. When I am nervous, the photos are shy. There is a magic that happens when I am focused and my heart is open.

Discovery is an enchanting process. My eye follows faces, while Groom’s traces places, buildings and flowers with bees. I like urban portraits - tattoos, piercings, street fashion and haunting bone structure.

Some of our photos overlap, as we think from very similar angles. Yet we are constantly surprising each other with a glimpse into larger views or a detailed world that the other didn’t notice. It is stoking the already kindled embers, as you can see by this last photo of the fire dancer. Passion caught as our initials are danced into flame.