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!

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Sign

The calories from the Halloween candy haven’t even been burned off yet and already there are Christmas decorations in the market place. Thanksgiving turkeys are still nibbling grass, blissfully unaware of their annual star status on the food chain. In other words, we are at the starting line of the holidaze, but we’re just getting warmed up, or cooled off in terms of weather.

‘Tis the season of dressing in layers, stoking fires, sipping tea, kicking leaves, planning parties, and donning our gay apparel, but the frenzy is still a few weeks away, so for this quiet lull between trick or treating and cranberry sauce, we thought we’d display a few signs from our travels.

The fog and storm images are self-explanatory and rather Novemberish, but the rest might require a little narration.

We’ve noticed that stores in other countries have a certain charm to their names. Perhaps tourists from other countries are also enchanted by what we name our shops. Yes, I imagine the lyrical sounds of K-Mart, Bi-Mart, and Walmart inspire much poetry and picture taking. On that subject, I just heard a great line, “If I keel over in Walmart, drag my body to Niemans!”

Who knows what “Mimi la Sardine” in Paris sells, or what could be found at “Funky Fish” in Naflion, but if it turned the contents of one’s stomach, beware of ever throwing paper down any toilet in Greece. “Twould be a faux pas of major proportions.

However, the soothing pepto bismal pinkness of the next three shops should sooth any upset tummy. “Piiiiiiiink…”

Mona and her enigmatic smile have fascinated peasant and nobility alike for over 500 years, so it should not come as any surprise that La Gioconda still woos the customers, whether she is hawking a sidewalk café in the City of Light, promoting “The Groovy Store” in The Peloponnese, giving out free pumpkin fudge samples in California, or representing Humboldt Carpet.

Speaking of celebrity endorsements, there are many ways to achieve Point Relax. In this sign, apparently Buddah is suggesting a cocktail. I’m getting mixed messages from Monsieur Van Gogh though. In one hand, he’s holding up a bottle of Absinthe, but he seems to be shaking his head back and forth in a dazed confusion. Does he want us to try the green fairy or is he warning us off her nasty sting?

Another way to achieve Point Relax is through retail therapy or, gasp! How did that sign get there? Honest Mom, it’s just a traffic sign, I had no idea.

Any helpful narration has come to an end, for the next few remain mysterious and they found their way into our cameras because of their baffling nature.

I’m super confused by NeOVADIAL. What’s it supposed to do? I mean, the poor woman is obviously in bad shape. She’s wearing some sort of brace or corset on her neck, and her hair stylist appears to have been in the throes of PMS or on an Absinthe trip gone awry. Come on, look at those butchered bangs and the gap of skin peeking out from her scalp above her ear. The cream cooked up in the Vichy Laboratoires has not eliminated the woman’s crow’s feet, yet she’s staring complacently as if she’s had a few of those Buddah cocktails.

As an aside, please remember that you can enlarge any of the photos by clicking on the images and then hitting the back arrow to return to the blog. For details, it helps muchly. I insert this handy dandy public service announcement here, so you can be sure to read the fine print at the bottom of the next one…

What? Persians for sale? Can we do that now? Again, confused. Are they new older Persians, or are they older new Persians? Regardless of their age they have been “examined by U.S. Customs and Border Patrol.” At least that’s what the green tape says. Attention attention - No more red tape, everybody’s going green.

Avast and ahoy, the head exams are free. Is this part of a kinder, gentler bureaucracy, the new health care plan, or a courtesy we now offer foreign tourists, otherwise known as homey land hospitality?

In New York hangs a sign with the words, “Fur and Furgery.” Oh, pray tell, what does that mean?! Perhaps I should give one of the Wanks a call and ask. Really, if you’re a wank, you’d hang out a shingle and advertise? Well, maybe the honesty’s refreshing. “Hello, Babe, I’m a wank, give me a call sometime.”

Ai yai yi. It’s all Greek to me. Anywho, see ya at Point Relax.