Tuesdays

I'm agonizing over whether or not to commit to Tuesday Market this year. A commitment is not required, but in the past we have been able to reserve our spaces so we could start setting up before nine, when the farmers are all in and they know what space they don't need.

I understand that the farmers have to increase vendors to meet their budget, and they have a lot of new vendors who will be interested in Tuesdays because of limited space on Saturdays. So I can see why they gave us notice that they might need the spaces we were using in previous years for their own operation. While they weren't the prime spaces, they were good ones, around the fountain and in the main traffic zones. At the peak of the season we could be shuffled out to the margins, or closed out altogether.

We fit 150 vendors on the fountain block on Saturdays, so there are spaces available, but there are some issues to consider. There is a group of people who more or less live in the covered area to the west of the block, so I wouldn't want to set up there in case they don't vacate (and they haven't, in past years). I wouldn't want to set up too close to a farmers' food booth, because of the potential damage to my clothing and other items from the grilling activities, and I wouldn't want to be out in the perimeter where shoppers wouldn't go. I know I have a draw, but it isn't magnetic.

We could maybe move across the street, where people will most likely go to eat and sit comfortably, but the traffic will most likely be less that far removed from the core booths, so I might make less in sales, and Tuesday sales are already marginal. I would miss the income, and can't really afford to turn my back on it. One strategy might be to build up our part of the Market, with entertainment, maybe a food booth of our own, and start to promote it better so we draw some traffic to it independently of the farmers.

I don't know if that would be cost-effective for our market, since sales are low as it is and there isn't a budget for Tuesdays, at this late date. It starts next week. A lot depends on what our commitment is to Tuesday Market, which has been running for many years at this point, and we aren't likely to decide to drop it altogether.

And I feel that a lot depends on my personal commitment to it. I may be one of the steady sellers, since I do have bags and hats that seem to sell no matter what. I assume that my presence strengthens our market and my absence would weaken it. If I can't whip up some enthusiasm for it, I could be contributing to its demise. And I'm too involved in our community to let that be my position.

So I dunno. I'm leaning toward a stronger commitment, at least for one more year, to see if we can stabilize it and keep it growing. It hasn't been exactly thriving, due to lack of promotion, but maybe that is an area in which we can work. It doesn't necessarily have to cost money. It can be a good opportunity for some of the vendors who can't make it in on Saturdays to get started. It can be an asset to our downtown and our market experiences.

So I guess I'm committing. The next question is what I can do to make it work, besides showing up. The answer seems to be to fully commit, to be positive and supportive and flexible and cooperative with however things have to play out to ensure our success. All of us. Always take the high road. I can do that.

Clarification

It always surprises me when someone mentions reading this blog, and I had some funny conversations yesterday with people who admitted they don't really read it, just look at the pictures. I do get to pontificating sometimes, kind of rambling long-winded preaching, and I don't really mind if you don't read it. I know I can be silly and mistaken, and that is the nature of public statements. People did thank me for posting that little "live without pretending" statement which I learned from FB was from Drakkardnoir, which I googled but don't yet know much about.

A few people admitted they didn't know my position in the last entry, but I think they accurately read that I was on the fence and just working out my thoughts as I wrote, not coming to any real conclusions. Hey, I don't have to have a position, anyway. Make up your own mind about everything, don't take my word for it.

But regarding the Serve campaign, I thought yesterday went really well, that their corporate presence was respectful and lowkey and not a problem in any way. It's exciting to be in the development phase of something new, to be asked for honest feedback as if our opinions were valuable. They saw us as a challenging opportunity and as a partner and I think it will be an interesting development for us. So I guess I am for it.

I sold more tote bags than usual, which was only three, and a couple of those locally made Market bags, so my fears about the free totes were silly. These folks didn't repeat the style errors of those people handing out the insurance company totes last year, who stood on every corner and forced them upon everyone who walked by, and wouldn't leave when we asked them to (well, they moved to corners outside our footprint and continued). Those people would apologize for impacting our businesses but then give the excuse that they were just doing their jobs, to give the grosses of bags away, and they finally did and left and I haven't seen another of their bags since. It wasn't like that yesterday, and I don't think it will be.

The Serve people were clearly cooperative with us and though the system had some glitches, I think it could benefit us if enough people use it. It may just be a precursor of a better system to come, but it's a step forward in integrating technology into our ancient market model, and I think we're wise to take it.

I had my moments of paranoia but that's my silly coming out. Fear only has the power you give it. It's useful to point out to you the areas in which you need to work, or as a warning system, but fears rarely materialize. Once I got used to the look of their "creative", I didn't mind the little signs in people's booths and I didn't mind wearing the little button and I think we're going to see this as we see the use of credit cards, which is now a completely normal activity. I'm sure back in the eighties or whenever we started processing them, we were nervous about whether or not the Market should be adding a layer of complexity.

Our layers of complexity are what make us rich, figuratively, and literally. I had a great day yesterday, and lots of us did. The sun made a huge difference for us, very welcome. Thanks to the Earth and it's relationship with the Sun.

I'm going out for Easter brunch. Now if my friend would have signed up for Serve, we could split the check even if we didn't have any cash. That is if we had smart phones. And if our passwords worked, if we remembered them. And if we had those young Serve people along to help us through the process. I'm thinking that after four weeks, maybe we'll catch on. It's not that complicated.

See you Saturday!

You've got to serve somebody

As an aging political radical, I feel a certain responsibility to uphold my counter-culture ideals, but those are hard-wired by now and I don't often need to examine them or my ability to stay true to myself. I have noticed in my mature years that life is a series of compromises, and it becomes hard to be consistent, when the real need is to be practical about survival and, as Beth said, "Let's pay the bills."

Beth, our fearless leader, is a visionary who has an immense heart, especially regarding the Market, which is a highly spiritual undertaking for many of us. I trust her completely to have the best interests of our eclectic group in mind with the far-ranging decisions she makes daily. Kim's instincts for how to keep Market thriving are finely tuned as well, and our management team is dynamic, amazing, and so very thoughtful about how to move into the future, which comes every Friday at midnight, relentlessly, rain or shine.

Us old folks feel the erosion of our safety and a certain confusion about what the kids are doing this week on our lawns. Life moves quickly and we move more slowly every day, and those are contradictions that we have to find a way to live with. I just want to make my art, to be in the flow state where my hands and heart and brain are working together to make something out of nothing, but the stuff piles up and I have to sell it or give it away. If I want to stay healthy and pay those bills, I need the customers that Beth and Kim deliver to my booth space. I need them to want just as much of me as I am willing to lay out before them.

The vulnerability is constant, but I do gain strength from those others around me and safety is relative. I'm content with the amount of exposure I get at the Market, and I can return home each Saturday evening with my soul intact, plus a few groceries. No one can do what I do, no one can be me. That's firmly established at this point in my life.

I'm grateful more than I can say for the opportunities for connection that I earn through my participation in the Market. After sitting taking minutes at just a few Standards Committee meetings, I am in awe of the members of this group who meet so frequently to uphold and protect our opportunity to thrive by making sure we stick with our Maker is the Seller ethic, to a fine point. They insist that all of us are consistent in our values and keep trying for greater artistry and success without losing what sets us apart from the entirety of the global marketplace. No one can be what we are collectively, either, because each one of us is held to such a high standard. We have formed the habit of looking minutely at whatever we do and we don't rush into things. When I signed the articles of incorporation as Board Chair back in the early eighties, I was scared and wondered what we had wrought. What was I thinking then?

Looking minutely is true for all of our committees. The Holiday Market folks keep the budget tight so we can all afford the show. The Sustainability Committee brought us sorting and durable flatware, and locally produced canvas totebags to replace plastic. They keep looking at every aspect of our organization to see how much more closely we can serve our values of treading lightly on the Earth and controlling our waste and enthusiasm to make sensible decisions, and they work with the Food Court Committee to find products that compost well and reduce our carbon footprint. Budget Committee, obviously working for our pocketbooks, and the sweet, gently Kareng Fund committee think about us and care for us. All of these volunteers bring their human selves to the office and share what makes us real and united in our wish to do well while we make our way.

This rare, precious center of our lives attracts a lot of attention. Everyone wants to touch and feel what we do, sense the source of the vitality that we are sustaining. It's like the Jell-O art, wondrous and simple, but complex and seductive. So we share ourselves, put it all out on display, and sometimes have to handle the over-enthusiastic response. Witness the drum circle excess. We love the drums, when they are cooking and providing a heartbeat. We hate the way the Free Speech Plaza has been twisted to allow sales of illegal and just unfortunate items that do not meet our standards and represent a threat to our safety and wellness. We work hard to find solutions to problems like this so that free speech is upheld, but the people taking advantage of the opportunity are held to account.

So when our attractiveness got the attention of a major global corporation and they selected us to serve as a background for an innovative product launch, Beth and Kim spent many, many hours discussing with them how they might present their ideas without taking advantage of us. At each step along the way, they thought carefully about what would be presented and how that would benefit us. They insisted that these folks get to know our culture and tread lightly on our sacred ground.

In short, the American Express product Serve is a new payment system designed to make spending easier for customers who aren't in the habit of using cash. To my mind, cash is the simplest way to control my finances, because I can only spend what I have, and that works for me. But I have noticed that many people have to take the extra step of going to get some cash so that they can shop at our Market, that check-writing has become an annoying task to many that they don't feel safe about (providing personal information) and that people are sometimes reluctant to go all the way across the street to use a credit card, and the occasional sale is lost. Time is moving more quickly and people have been trained to expect immediate results for everything. This program provides a way for an instant cash transaction from customer to me, without the cash.

I laugh, because cash will not go out of style in my life, but I can see the genius of these people who found a niche of society that is growing and is not well served. There are tons of outdoor markets, craft and food and food carts and festivals, all over the world, and the systems for purchasing items at them have not evolved. Artisans can use the clunky card processing systems of the past, expensive and annoying. We pay 5% on our credit card sales, and the staff spends increasing time being our processor. It's barely working, and it's time to find better ways. Let me say now that I disclaim any endorsement of any such product, and I participate out of my wish to be practical. Every Etsy seller has to have a Paypal or some such account to receive payment, some bank account or something. Nothing is new about that.

I appreciate the fact that Beth has seen the trends and is working toward a better, more sustainable group of options of which this Serve program is one. It's a little start-up of a big corporation and it may not fly, but it's a new idea that might just be a way for me to make more money more easily. It might not, but it's easy enough to try it out for the four weeks the AmEx and media folks will be on site introducing it. It won't work for everyone. You have to join up, and only members can access it, and like any online service or credit card service, you have to give them your personal information so they can identify you and keep that information secure. and it's all free, free, free, and they will even give you $15 "cash" to spend when you activate the account.

Of course I have a certain mistrust of that, but having been online in several capacities for many years now, I don't feel exposed anymore. The brazillions of people online don't notice or care about me unless they google Jell-O Art and find me there. I am no more exposed by this than by being on the bicycle chic website where candid photos of Eugene cyclists are posted. In the big giant world, I am just not important. I'm a little old lady who sells tote bags and t-shirts and baseball caps and Jell-O art and if the government wanted to come and get me and mine my brain for the keys to creativity and my solutions to global climate change, they would have already implanted that chip and put me in their gulag. Really, getting another credit card account is such a minor thing, that I signed right up.

I'm certain my trust in Beth and Kim is not misplaced. I'm fairly certain these folks trying to promote this little product are trying hard to touch us without leaving marks. Of course a thousand free tote bags are not going to help my bag sales (you can see some of mine at the right), even if I point out that they used a toxic PVC-based ink on their "eco-friendly" bags (locally printed, but not by me), and that their groovy seed tags don't identify the species and that any gardener would refrain from planting random wildflowers in their gardens. I will probably plant one, because I'm so curious to see what species they are and if they will even grow, but my healthy skepticism about any kind of "green" promotion is intact. I know just how hard it is to uphold any ideals in the face of practicality, marketing, and the big, big world.

We're in it, that world, and on this Earth Day we can stop to see how little we are, how short our lives, how giant our capacity for compromise and destruction, and how we must remain vigilant about being thoughtful, kind, and caring.

We must project outward from the heart. One of the many wise people who access Facebook, another giant that threatens everything we stand for, recently posted this online:

Live without pretending
Love without depending
Listen without defending
Speak without offending

That went on my refrigerator immediately. You can't be too careful, and you can't be too fearful. Life moves quickly, as Lynn says, it is short but it is wide. I think we can accommodate this corporate campaign without giving up even a little piece of our ideals. They want to touch us, they want what we have, but no one can have what we have. It's ephemeral. When I go, all of this construct of my life goes with me. The Jell-O may live on in perpetuity, but no one will make it like I make it.

It looks like it may be sunny tomorrow. Thank you weather, thank you so much in advance. We will gather, we will stand on the Earth (albeit covered with cement right where we stand) among the trees (which sometimes get in our way and other times provide us blissful shade), and we will enjoy the community we can touch and be a part of, but never control.

Stay calm, folks. We're juggling a lot of things right now, but we're standing solid. We can handle the attraction, we can handle the attention. On the upside, people reading the Wall Street Journal, and people living in New York City, envy us. You can't complain about that.

Change is the only constant, uncertainty is the only certainty. See you on the Park Blocks, (god willing and the creek don't rise.)

Somewhere Past That Rain Cloud

Oh, it was such a hard day. None of us expected constant rain without a break and half of us wouldn't have come if we had known. But the Market looked nice and full and we were optimistic that the break would come. I noticed on the way home that it wasn't actively raining, but by then I was soaked to the skin so it didn't really matter. My coat failed to shed water and I spent far too much time standing in the aisle trying to amuse myself and keep Rich's guitar dry.

My left arm keeps falling asleep...serious cervical stress I'm guessing. This has been happening for a year or more, but just on Sundays after Market, or other times when I have worked too hard. Maybe it's from standing on concrete all day or all the lifting, or biking with the weight, or sleeping too hard on Saturday night. Or slumping into my chair trying to read the paper with my lonely cat on my lap. Spinal compression. Anyway, chiropractor time, and self-care day.

I've been working on an essay about women and aging and it is causing me lots of self-examination. After three markets I'm convinced things have to improve or it will end way sooner than I want it to. I weighed my load after week two, and it was 534 pounds. Not including my bike (30), the trailer itself (45) and me (135). That's way too much for a little old woman to be hauling.

That's right, I'm starting to admit that 60-soon-to-be-61 is kind of old. Not old old. So this week since I knew there would be at least some rain, I took my new pop-up (30 pounds) and left home every scrap of stuff I thought I could do without. The hoodies weigh about 35 pounds and sometimes I don't sell any, because people don't seem to have much money right now. So they stayed home. The 53 pounds of hats that can be displayed on a nice day went down to 35, and I could have taken fewer. I went through the box of metal things you hang on grids (whatever they are really called) and took out some, trying for a minimum. I even eliminated every piece of plastic and each tote bag that I thought I could do without. I use a smaller, lighter hat stick on rainy days. I leave the bottom shelf home, which weighs nine pounds all on its own. Wood is heavy. I didn't weigh my old wood booth but there is no question the pop-up is lighter. I did take a big towel and a few garbage bags, to keep things dry at first and then to keep the wet things from getting the damp things wetter. Everything was damp when I got it home, and it is all spread out around the shop where it will gradually return to normal. I brought home an estimated 10 pounds of water.

I took at least 150 pounds less this week, and the load seemed relatively light, a big relief. Of course if you don't take it you can't sell it, and my sales were low, but everyone's were and I did better than many. It turned out to be a pretty fun day overall.

I'm enjoying my new neighbors a lot, they have great senses of humor and that cooperative, non-competitive ethic that I love so much about Market. Across the aisle they overlap their tarps, actually built their booths with that in mind, and have a nice community going, like so many Market neighborhoods. I dislike the closed-booth way we have to box ourselves up in our white cubes on my side of the aisle...one thing I loved about being next to Raven and River is that we would leave our sides open so we could see into each other's worlds and be more continuous and helpful to each other. Not everyone can do that, particularly in the rain, and I actually owe Willy a big debt for lending me two sides, because the drip from the pop-ups of your neighbors goes way into your booth if you don't both have sides. Maybe in the summer they will take theirs down when I go into umbrella mode, if I do. The umbrellas and stand weigh 59 pounds...and you can fasten awnings onto your pop-up for shade, maybe a better plan than moving the umbrellas about. But aesthetically I prefer the umbrellas. We'll see, if the sun ever comes out on a Saturday again.

The high point of the day was of course when Rich Glauber came down and played guitar and sang with me, taking requests from the neighbors and passers-by (all two of those). We sang "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" just like middle school chorus. We sang old standards, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Here Comes the Sun, Let's Call the Whole Thing Off, whatever we could think to do. Rich is so great at singing with others, and we got a chance to talk about which parts to take, etc. I tend to sing strong melody because in my family the high harmonies get taken by my sister Paula and the alto ones by my Mom, and I have that amateur tendency to drift from one part to another to suit my low range. It dawned on me finally that Rich likes to sing melody. You're not a Leo or anything, are you? So I will brush up on my second-soprano and alto parts and maybe even write a short list of songs we both know. He knows just about everything, it seems, and we sang all the time as kids, so I know what my Mom knows. My sister's husband, Mike, also sings wonderfully and plays guitar, so we still sing at all the family gatherings, but I never get enough singing. Rich might just be my key to that right now.

I've been enjoying his blog, Music in Action, where he often writes about leading groups and mentoring kids in opening up to song, and enjoying getting to know more about his inner life as blogs work best, giving us glimpses of each other in easy, accessible ways. We've known each other a long time, but now in a different way. This was the week for that, maybe, as I got a visit from another Richard, an equally longterm friend who mentors me in other ways.

This Richard made it possible for me to build a house and he is essential to my Country Fair operation. We like to go out to "The Site" and listen to the trees and talk deep thoughts. He came over Friday and we had a lovely talk, where he observed many things that left me feeling "seen" in a wonderful way. I miss that. It's what I would have with a partner if I had one, or a family member if one lived close by. Other people may make these observations, but they seldom voice them, and Richard must have been in the mood to do that, and it was gratifying.

It's the type of joy you only seem to get after a couple of decades of investment, getting through years of annoyance or disillusion on top of the delight of discovery and the crush period when you think you might hook up with that person, or steal their husband, or whatever form it takes. I count Pamela and Galen in that group for me, just wouldn't want to have to go through life without them. They are there to take pictures of me in my Jell-O kerfluffle, they remember my birthday, they poke me and laugh when I get ridiculous. Pamela almost always comes down to Market to give me a break, which is just a lifeline some days. She drove out to the OCF to bring me a cellphone when I was marooned out there with my huge pile of wet shirts during that other rain disaster.

Galen is moving to New Mexico, but I feel okay about this, that our friends-for-life relationship will survive the distance, unless of course she stays there forever which could happen. Then I will just have to go there. As my mom reminded me, you can always take a bus to pretty much everywhere. Richard has talked about moving for years, but only to Port Townsend, where I could conceive of spending some time, and that would be harder, since he is my go-to person for all things project-related. At some point I made sure these few knew that we were friends for life, in case they had any confusion about my commitment, because I tend to not be a phone person and if you don't read my blog, you might not know how much I love you.

When I think about it though, there are a lot more people I would write about in this way if my arm wasn't continuing to bother me. I am rich in people who care about me despite my hermity nonsocial ways. I think I don't deserve them, that if they really knew me and how little I pet my cat, they wouldn't like me. The thing is, those kinds of people know I don't pet my cat and like me anyway. They laugh and describe me as prickly as they force me into a hug that I secretly enjoy. I am transparent to these people, and that is a relief.

I like being transparent, even though it means I am vulnerable and feel foolish rather often. I like being me, when I am reflected in the mirror of people I love. I thoroughly enjoy hamming it up in the rain, wet as a bedraggled cat, tap-dancing in the puddles. Seems like my neighbors enjoyed it too.

So, see, even on the rainy days, Saturday Market is the best thing around. All you have to do is drag yourself out of the house and enter into the serendipity and wonder that is available for free. And thank you immensely to that young couple with the baby in the plastic-enclosed backpack who bought not one but two shirts, and made my day with their appreciation. It didn't feel like a pity sale at all, not that I would have minded a pity sale, and I also thank all of the people who came down just to support us. Not to even mention our staff, who picked up wet garbage (the site was so clean this week!) and had to come, whether they wanted to or not. At four in the morning, too.

It is miserable to be soaked to the skin for hours standing on a street corner. At least we had each other. Saturday Market on a bad day is still a zillion times better than a day without Saturday Market. Thank you all.

Last week, last year, the last thirty years, all in the past

I told myself that it was not about me, I told myself to keep my emotions to myself, and to not even say anything if it wasn't going to advance the situation. When the facilitator asked everyone to speak about what their current thoughts were about the situation, I was last of about twelve people, and as my turn neared I could hear my heart beating loudly, calling attention to my obvious emotions. My mind was blank, and I had nothing prepared. It all seemed too complicated to sort out in that moment.

So I spoke about my long history with their group, reminding them that I have always been a supporter and that my economics and activities were intertwined with theirs, that I felt I had to speak up when I saw them going rapidly down the wrong road, and that I was sorry if anyone had felt hurt through what I saw as my truth-telling. In short, I made it all about me.

I was embarrassed, but the facts were there. I needed some acknowledgment from them, but I didn't get it. I got stony silence, and even some hostility. I've counseled myself all week that it's projection to think it was directed at me, that really it is directed at my whole organization, my associates, and what we represent to these folks who are working really hard for a change that makes them feel insecure and fearful of nearly everyone.

They set that up, but I don't doubt that their intentions are true to what they believe. They don't see a membership organization as a viable model for them anymore. They see making decisions as efficient processes best left to others with some perceived degree of expertise not available to them as farmers. I see it as a huge process of errors based on false assumptions, but it is not my organization. That was made abundantly clear.

So I'm just stepping back and grieving, basically, and have to put my own self back on track in a life that doesn't include something that has been part of it for 30 years. I can do that. There are a few people whom I will remain connected with, but mostly, I'm stepping back. I'll recycle the screens, put all the t-shirt ideas I've worked on for years for them (to no result) in a bottom drawer, and just stop trying.

I hope it works for them the way they want it to. I can see their logic, as all along I have been able to see how they are thinking, but just didn't agree with it. I saw clearly the abrupt change in the organization when the new members were appointed, with no accountability to the membership and no communication either. Appointing more people with no stake in the success of the members will compound the errors, but maybe they will luck out and find some really good ones, people who are grounded in the community and know something about the issues.
People who are diligent and work to become invested, to care deeply, and to keep the organization on the right track. I'm assuming they will intend that, and I hope they will succeed.

But I'm really glad it isn't my organization. When someone is wounded and there is no acknowledgment, they tend to close up and stop trying, and broken trust takes a long time to repair. So it goes. It won't be repaired. My team let me know they get me, but we are finished with our work for now. The City didn't agree to close the street, though they did support our proposal for an alternate site for the farmers, and that may come to action.

I'm an officer for our organization, and my job is to record and communicate, and that is plenty for me for now. It's ironic that I was the farmers' strongest advocate within our membership, always trying to bring people around to see things the way I thought the farmers saw them. I feel injustice and that's always a clue that perception and action are disconnected somehow. Emotions got in the way, but when you care about something very much, it is hard to make strictly rational decisions. The rational decision would be to not even write this post, which is why it has taken me so long.

They will do what they do and all I can do is accommodate and work around them. It feels exactly like an unbalanced, abusive relationship I was involved in many years ago. All I could do with that was step back, stop participating, and grieve the loss until it stopped hurting. It did eventually. This will too. The sense of relief is already there, that I don't have to care. It is not about me.

I'm over here, doing this other thing. It's plenty to keep me busy. I replaced the Wednesday night meeting with three other decision-making bodies with a lot more potential for learning and contributing. They are all happy to see me when I show up, and that feels so very rewarding.

Good luck, farmers. I still care, of course, but it is not my dog.

Your Mom gave you Jell-O, now here's hers.

A strange thing happened the other day. I was putting together some of the leftover pieces of Jell-O to use them up, making flowers for a couple of people as gifts, and it occurred to me that I could sell them.

It was a flash of a brilliant light. I've been thinking about a piece I am going to write about aging in this body, how it will determine my future. Ever since I blew out a disk I've known that I need to move away from screenprinting, and away from making and selling clothing. It's just too heavy, and takes too much physical strength to print and haul the stuff to Market.

The silk things are light, but there are so many variables in the process that the results are not dependable. The value is high, but they aren't really reaching their market on Saturdays, anyway not at the level I would need to survive. It's something to build upon, and I'll do it.

But the Jell-O, it is right here now. It's cheap, the recipe is simple, and the results are fascinating and gorgeous. I really know plants, and can use all that knowledge to make amazing, wonderful creations. And they weigh hardly anything.

Whether they will sell or not is a big question, but they will most certainly be enjoyed. Nobody can really believe they are just gelatin. It could just work, at least it's worth a try.

All the Rest

So, there were other Jell-O sculptures and other Jell-O artists at the show...it really wasn't all about me. Since I was running so late I did not get around to photograph the other pieces before the show like I usually do, but I think Maude's will cover the photo territory.

The Jell-O Gone Bad one by a new artist was great, very polished looking. Regular David Gibbs came for the 15th year with a life-size torso that even jiggled, especially in the jiggly corner that is that one by the stage. If you stomp on the floor the Jell-O moves. He had a toaster/brain that was perfect. He also made fine jewelry which he gave out to participants and friends and I will install the three pieces I now have in the Museum, and look forward to more artifacts and displays from him over the years.

Julie Sannes made hands and wigs and she and her Jell-O partner always dress alike in outrageous costumes, this time red and black and polka dots. I totally missed the finer points of her artistic statement. The show went by way too fast between explaining how to dry Jell-O and check on the t-shirt table, and I barely got a glimpse of the things everyone brought. There were several toasters, one with orange toast that looked great coming out of the slots. Someone made a very accurate breakfast plate with eggs sunny side up.

The Tacky Food Buffet was prodigious. My favorite taste sensation was peppermint Jell-O with candied ginger in it. The peppermint was so light and refreshing, an excellent idea, from Kathleen Fitzgerald. (If these people have Jell-O names, as is traditional, sorry for outing you as real people). One woman whose name I really should remember always brings traditional recipes and she brought chicken gizzards and sauerkraut on rutabaga slices, which actually was pretty good, had orange zest and raisins in it. I thought it needed a bit of an orange Jell-O dome over each piece, but then you would have had to eat Jell-O.

Many people did! The Maude Kerns volunteers go wild with bringing Tacky food and there were big bowls of Jell-O that they ladled out for the willing public. All the Pudding Plops and stiff Jell-O candy was gone rapidly, and there was Kitty Litter and some high fiber bars that looked lethal. Leslie What came just to drop off Tacky Food, the bars and I'm not sure what else, but she brought me some antique gelatin boxes, complete with the packets and recipes, treasure!

I enjoyed the show, always silly to the extreme and a cool serendipity when they riffed on effervescent, stuttering it in a reference to The King's Speech, and I had the same word on the t-shirt, without knowing. It was kind of a natural leap from toasting and Lawrence Welk, but neat we all thought of it. The performers always appear quite well rehearsed and really super well-dressed, always ready with great aprons and accessories that are unequaled. Some memorable songs, like Jell-O Jamboree, that I'm still singing.

Indi Stern, the person who holds everything together and has the best memory for all things Radar Angel, did a beautiful slide show that I saw only one slide of...most of the photos were taken by the late Lee Hebert and they are wonderful. Indi does it all for the show, and maybe most importantly has a talent for gathering talented people together and making it all fun and rewarding for everyone. Talk about treasure, Indi is priceless.

There were lots of admiring fans, too. Apparently a whole busload of seniors came from some center, and they probably had a lot to say about Jell-O, which is over 100 years old now as a product. People used to render their own, ick. So many people could not quite believe that so many things were possible with the simple mix of gelatin and water.

I did, however, give the wrong recipe out to many of them when they asked. I have been using 3 ounces of gelatin per cup of water this year. For the edible stuff I added about 2 ounces per package to firm it up. It's all experimental, and if it doesn't come out right, just stick it in the microwave and start over. Make Some Tonight!

Might as well wait until next year though. It's one of those Rites of Spring and now it gets put away for the rest of the year, though I guess I will have to take at least the wings to the Country Fair, just because they're wings. I'll probably try for the Mayor's Art Show with the mask, too. No reason not to.

All of the dried pieces in my collection are now housed in my project room which is the future Jell-O Art Museum. I'm actually serious about this, at least the collection phase, whether or not it makes it to the public opening phase. I'm an archivist, and I will now archive the show and the Angels as best I can. The history of the Radar Angels will probably only ever be written in fictional form, because it's mostly too outrageous to be believed, but what is fact will be collected. I'm sure at some point it will all end up in the dump, but not quite yet.

So if you have an memorabilia you want to pass on to the Museum collection, let me know.

See you next winter. We now return to our duller, less colorful reality.

Jell-O Art Museum

Jell-O Art by the almost-famous Jell-O Artist, Diane McWhorter, of Eugene, Oregon.

I set things up at home so I could get it right. Floor to ceiling.

This is dried gelatin, to be clear. It doesn't jiggle, but it will last forever.

So What's Next?

Talk about afterglow. I don't believe I have ever packed quite so much into a day, and my body tells me to not make a habit of it. Doing Market on opening day is already a rush; it happens so hard and fast and includes everything. It no longer surprises me when I'm brought to tears by some person, some news, or some witnessed moment, because that happens every week during the Market season.

First, a big thanks to Willy, stellar friend who not only loaned me a pop-up booth, but he brought it down to the Market and took it home. It saved me from having everything wet, and helped me greatly to pack up early without causing a huge disruption. I apologized to all my neighbors but there was no way to make it to the Jell-O Show without leaving Market early, and I was too broke to skip Opening Day sales, which were heart-warming.

The supreme moment of my Market life found me on stage, where Rich Glauber effervesced and called me the Pre-Eminent Jell-O Artist in the World! I accept, though of course you know it isn't true, or is anyway built upon the foundation laid by E. Celeste LeBlanc, who took Jell-O Art to the fine art arena decades ago. She always experimented and came up with the next technique, and amazed and delighted every year. The yellow dress underneath my sculpture was gifted to the Jell-O Art Museum by her and launched my ambition for this year's show, and I owe her more than thanks.

I'm not a performer, generally, but because Rich got me up there, with the gorgeous and poised Joanie Cypress, aka Old Queen Scarlett, who graciously wore the other pair of Jell-O wings and carried the bird through the crowds amazing the populace, I tasted adulence and liked it. (Spell-check says I either want opulence or flatulence, hee hee.) That much time in the spotlight was just right.

So in mid-afternoon I loaded up the trailer and dashed home, trying to take a moment on the way to look around and feel relaxed. By the time I schlepped all of the Pudding Plops and wings and things to the Jell-O Show, it was almost opening, and the wing attachment to the sculpture was an utter fail. She fell over to the left, her feet slid out from under her, and as the crowds gathered I pushed her into place and carefully balanced things just well enough to make it. I abandoned the full display and wore the pink wings myself, which turned out to be the perfect choice. There was a bit of crackling now and then as people got hooked on the various snags of the wing edges, but the crowd wasn't too crushing and it gave people a chance to touch and feel the Jell-O and they really wanted to do that.

I had a glorious moment, tears again. I stood resplendent in Hope's dress, with my apron added, winged up and holding the bird aloft, while being interviewed about my Jell-O mythos. I was well prepared to hold forth, having written about it for years, but looking out upon a packed circle of smiles, cameras, and admiring, amazed fans, I felt I had reached an artistic peak I may never reach again. Full approval, what a concept.

A day or two ago I googled Jell-O Art and found some of mine, but under Jell-O Artists I did not find myself, so I recognized a goal to be a famous Jell-O Artist, not just locally, but googly. Alas, pride and hubris will not get me there. I told the Emerald photographer to make me famous, and he utterly failed to include me in his photo post, although you can see my sculpture in the background of one of his wonderful photos. Kim took photos at the Market, so maybe those will get me there, or I will have to find another way. It's time.

Self promotion is a double-edged sword, but I feel a confidence that might just propel me to take one more step toward claiming my hard work and delightful creative energy. It's not just about the life-long slog of doing things that satisfies us, but moments now and then when we accept credit for what we have done. I felt that at the Historical Society panel, and yesterday, and once in awhile when I am thanked for some small thing. One of my goals for a long time has been to be one of the Weekly's Happening People, I guess it would be on the merits of the many clever and uplifting t-shirts I have made over the decades, but it's hard to justify promoting myself into that, since I have done those things mostly for profit, not really out of that much altruism. My giving has not been active like true Samaritans (spell-check say Martians) and I have not done it as a selfless volunteer like so many.

They would all say similar things, though, that they get back much more than they are given, etc. It's a form of grace to be at least somewhat self-effacing. I can see that because of my strong Catholic and anti-feminist indoctrination as a child (Sunday always still brings Catholic thoughts, especially in the morning when I am supposed to be at Mass) I am confused about what is truly saintly and have stops built in to keep me from pride and satisfaction.

Saints aren't supposed to even let people know how good they try to be. Women and saints are supposed to support, feed, and stay in the background. If you say you are good, you are automatically less good. You will be arrogant, you will be selfish, you will be greedy and you will be a fool.

Ha! I stopped being afraid to be a fool one Hallowe'en when I dressed as one with that Bali mask in previous photos of the sculpture, and went around my neighborhood strewing writing and inspiring quotes and craziness. I should dig up that essay I wrote about it, and post it sometime. At any rate, I can play the Fool. This is another gift from Jell-O Art.

Yet when I stood up yesterday in those two great moments, I did not feel the least bit foolish. I felt honored. And all the honor came from others, from watchers and people I didn't even know. So there is something in there to build upon. Honoring oneself for one's accomplishments can be done in a saintly way. Service can be done without self-sacrifice, and a big part of that is acceptance. Accepting that we are all doing these good works all the time, all promoting what we think is important, and all feeling the appreciation and lack of it that comes in any normal day.

One thing I keep returning to as I watch my fellow Market artisans and try to hear how they tick, is that we are all so very similar and generally unaware of that. We all tend to be overly self-involved in our struggles and isolate ourselves in our romantic idea that it is me, just me against the giant and regularly cruel world. Then in our contradiction we gather together, not in competition (though of course we sometimes feel that) but in cooperation, each one bringing a tiny piece of what becomes the essential whole, that is so much greater than what any one of us could do or be.

It's an amazing event we put on so dependably, and maybe because we are getting old now we can take the step of truly seeing it, and ourselves as we are. Forty two years of Market, and twenty-three years of Jell-O Art. That is, in the giant world, just about nothing.

But in our little world, good heavens, that is something.

Thank you Saturday Market, and thank you Jell-O. *takes a bow*