We have a Queen!

Sunday morning ramblings, wonder how much I repeat myself. This is an increasing tendency I have noticed in myself and others. I don't have the patience to re-read all my postings to prevent this, though. That's one nice thing about blogs; people rarely go back to read all the old entries. That's one kind of annoying thing about blogs as well.

Market went well for me yesterday, sold four "Eugene, Oregon" hats which tells me there were a lot of tourists. Even sold one at about 5:45 when the hats were the last thing I was packing up. People weren't ready to go home yet. Saw a couple of Hoedads to hug and saw some others I thought I recognized but they didn't seem to know me so I let it go. Sorry now of course, should have said something.

The Slug Queen Coronation was worth the bit of lost sleep and routine on Friday night. You have to love an event that makes you laugh for two hours straight. The Old Queens are funny and their Queen personas even funnier. The outfits are always amusing. I am always amazed how willing people are to reveal themselves in full, in front of what seems like all Eugene but of course is only a small group of at most a couple of hundred people, mostly friends of one or more contestants. I say I will never run for Queen but there is a little glimmer of willingness there...I'm a woman who regularly wears huge Jell-O flowers in my hair and barely thinks about it. But actually being the Slug Queen is a lot of work and the pageant is only a small part. I'm thankful to those who are willing.

Promoting my Jell-O Art was hugely satisfying. Kim wore her Jell-O headdress and looked stunning. She credited me from the stage and I had to stand up and wave my arms in the salute to glamour which seemed to arise spontaneously from me even before being reminded that we do that as a tribute to Bagonda. Perhaps I am naturally glamorous after all. Nah. But on the way home from Market yesterday someone cleaning up their yard gave me some applause and told me I was a parade of one, and awesome, and I gave the salute again. Maybe when I am really old I will run.

Didn't sell any Jell-O slugs but that day will come. I still have one large one that needs a habitat and might become an exhibit for the Salon. Haven't heard from the Mayor's show yet but I'm not expecting to get in with gelatin art. Then again, with the amazing photos Kim took, it might end up being one of those items that gets in because it is the Mayor's show, and the unusual is sought after. We'll know soon.

The sun came out only briefly yesterday, through a hole in the trees that allows it to shine directly on my shelves, the one place I really want total shade all day. I had taken down the umbrella after putting it up for a previous minute of semi-sun that looked promising. I was a bit vexed at the hole in the trees but my neighbor Tim pointed out that it was a spotlight on my booth, and that sounded so special I realized this was a classic example of seeing a hole where a pile of riches could also be seen...and I chose the hole. Really trying not to do that.

It was hard not to complain about having to wear my dorky fleece socks and work shoes all day because I was cold, on a day in August when it was supposed to be 80 degrees. But I tried hard not to complain. It is a fact that a lot of us vendors are actually traumatized by this season, some quitting or looking elsewhere for sales, not fully able to keep the faith that we are in the best place we can be in any economy. Mostly our problem is the weather, which brings us closer to imagining what it is like to be a farmer, so on that front maybe this is part of our healing. A customer told me that she was sent over to see my tote bags after not wanting one of their polypropylene ones, which made me feel good, since I used to print the LCFM totes, bringing me thousands of dollars of income over the past two decades. The beat goes on, as Beth said.

The Market itself is on budget, and while it is a conservative budget, that means we are not really losing ground. Buying might be shifting to more practical, lower-priced items, but there are still people with money who want to spend it on hand-crafted goods and interaction with artists. Everybody gets her day. My season's average is down a bit from last year, but not that significantly. I have hurt my sales by allowing so much attention to be diverted by the Jell-O, but I can't bear to take it away from the hot spot in the front of the booth.

So many people are so amazed and delighted that I feel it is a public service to Phun to display it, even if I don't make a cent, which hasn't been the case. I've made over $200 on it so far, if my records are accurate. That can't match the profitability of t-shirts and hats, but it feeds me in so many other ways that I'm really appreciative of it. The colors and shapes are so appealing and attractive at the Market, that even other vendors have told me they love seeing it, and of course most people love to see others look glamorous or foolish or whatever people think about how I look wearing it around so casually. I'm hearing people say they've heard about it, so a couple of them may be coming down to find it or bringing others. It really is the world's only thing like it, and how rich would your life be if every time you left the house you saw something you had never seen before, could not see anywhere else, and had to re-route a few neurons to integrate into your cognitive storage?

Arguably you do this every time you leave the house, but anyway, the point is true. It is good for everyone to have this Jell-O in their lives. And that is just the perfect, and traditional role for Jell-O. I'm glad it has worked out this way. I hope I never lose interest in it.

And to project this outward and apply it to all of my fellow artists, performers, service-providers, Slug Queen candidates (go Mary Ann, and Kimberly!) photographers, writers, and cooks, the world is so much better with Saturday Market in it.

A cloudy day or many, cold in the summer or sneezing at the HM, we are so, so lucky to have the opportunity to give and take every Saturday. To have a public gathering place like that, to have a public who loves it and uses it, to have a family so large, eclectic, and desiring of peace and love, well, that is just the best a person could hope for in public life. I'm proud to be part of it.

And I want to give a special mention of appreciation for all of the staff who make it happen, to the ones who sweep and clean the Park Blocks for us each week in the dark hours of the morning, who sort our garbage, put out our safety equipment, and make sure we have as effortless a time as possible, run our credit cards so accurately, find us booths when there are none, remember our family situations and provide support, and listen to our long involved stories of pain and isolation and emotional overload. There is a lot of unwritten stuff in their job descriptions, a lot of stuff we couldn't really pay them enough to do for us, but that they do anyway. One of the most valuable parts of this is the weekly address that graces our newsletter from Beth, our beloved manager.

She keeps us on track by reminding us what's important. She reminds us to breathe it in, and breathe it out as kindly as possible. She brings us together as a community that can encompass the highs and lows and still stay together. We were discussing yesterday our habits of leaving after packing up without saying goodbye...jokingly chastising those in our neighborhood who forget that on any given Saturday, some of us are missing and some may not return. You can't say goodbye to everyone, or even hello as you pass by their booths on a hurry to somewhere. You can't make a family where you really have a granfalloon or a loose association of competitors. You will hurt yourself if you expect something that doesn't really exist, but I have found that no matter what I put into the Market, I always receive more than I invested.

Sometimes it is indirect or not in the form I can easily recognize or expect, but it always comes. On the whole, Saturday Market does not disappoint. And it does feel like a family to me.

It will be important to remember this as we leave the tourist season too early and slide into the season of questionable weather long before we have gotten enough of the dependable sort. What we build, we can hold. What we make is worth it.

But we sure do need each other. See you Tuesday! Corn Guy, corn guy!