All of my art life is tangled up in one weekend!

Don't have time right now to write a full post, but did want to remark upon the second Radar Angel Slug Queen, Markalo Parkalo (aka Mark Roberts). He is a fine man with superb listening and communication skills and might be the most responsive Queen ever appointed. With his practiced skills at NVC and empathetic listening, many will be able to appeal to him for all manner of assistance and support. He came around Saturday Market yesterday promising all sorts of things...our heart's desires!

I plan to pitch the Kareng Fund to him to see if we can ride his coattails a little. A Market-grown nonprofit to help artists of all kinds (the low-income ones anyway) undergoing career-threatening crises. We give grants of up to $750 (soon to probably be raised due to a grant we received for $5000) and have given about $25,000 out in the past decade. He can help us with our outreach plans I think.

Mark has been running an Empathy Tent at the Market on occasional Saturdays. It's a neutral place where skilled listeners are available to all. He does this in honor of Marshall Rosenberg and it is a needed service.
I plan to use it myself next time he appears.

Singing for him was a blast. We rehearsed slightly the night before and didn't coordinate anything. Our costumes and styles are as always left to our own artistic inspirations and that is one of the keys to understanding the Radar Angels. We shine from within, and we try to help others unfurl their wings, so you never know quite who will participate and what they will do and say. We were asked to waltz if we wished and some of us did. It felt lovely to stand in front of yet another loving Eugene crowd and sing in public. I'm still surprised that I can do that after so many years of thinking I had stage fright. Maybe I still do, but when I dress in glittery clothes and wear Jell-O my inner glamour takes over and I am simply happy to be me. Like a bird. We were described as an "entourage of strangely clad hangers-on."

I suppose we could have been seen as outsiders to the Slug Queen Coronation, but that is simply not the case. Radar Angels have always been there. Radar Angels come and go from the active performance or art participation levels. We're like the Old Queens. You can't get rid of us, and you can certainly dismiss us (repeatedly in some cases) but we're not going anywhere. We are a shining thread of the Eugene fabric. We have our wings on and our fingers in every pie. So as the royalty we are, we find our shortage of photos and accolades amusing. At least Roger Rix and Kim Still recognize us. Not to mention Maude Kerns Art Center
(see previous blogs about the Community Partners thing.)

Have to go and picnic at the Country Fair site. Tra-la! Finally the picnic is held on a Sunday so craftspeople can make it before the food is gone, so I will go walk the land and love the community some more. This is a weekend full of heart. Love for everybody!

Time!

2012, when I made this, was a Big Year

There's really nothing left to do to get ready for the Jell-O Art Show but get dressed in one of my several costumes and get in the car. I go early to help get things set up...last year I swept the gallery floor. Even as a Queen I am always about pitching in. I thank Mom for that, for giving me three sisters and a brother so there was always lots of work to do, and people to harmonize with while we did it. I know Saturday was always cleaning day as in so many traditional familes, but that is a tradition I dropped like a hot potato. I don't even always do it on Sunday, since I try to have a day off after Saturday Markets and certainly will need one after the Jell-O Art Show. I suppose I should have trained my kid better though. I hope he does housework.

I dreamt last night I had a pet baby tiger with a broken tooth that I had neglected to get fixed. I was feeling awfully guilty for having such a big pet and then not being a responsible pet owner, and my son was standing there judging me (not something he really does much). That was coming from his wife, (who also does not judge, though she is a pet rescuer,) but anyway, I knew full well the time had come to sell the tiger despite how much it purred when I petted it. I was (and always am) much harsher on myself than any judge could be. This dream probably came from a little pep talk I gave a new Radar Angel in the parking lot last night after our dress rehearsal.

She just joined us, bringing lots of skills at stage management, choreography, and a general enthusiasm that is priceless, not that any of us lack that. She was so upset she had come late to practice and felt unprepared. We sometimes forget to explain our habits, so well-worn after so many years of this, but we always have our last rehearsal the night before. I was the only one who brought snacks last night, mostly because Indi is gone for the weekend and won't be doing the show. It's a real tragedy for our continuity and I know both she and I and several others will be feeling actual heartbreak tonight, but the show goes on and there will be a next year. So there's that, and these new people who haven't ever made Jell-O Art and have not even been to a Jell-O Show before. Fortunately most of us are more-or-less seasoned at most of our roles, but we forget to say some of the things. Indi never forgets.

I'm still new at a few things, being the Queen for one. It's only year three for me to be her and be in the show and give a benediction and multitask like mad, though I have brought Jell-O for all twenty-seven and made t-shirts for it since 1994. I took my carful of props over and today in a bit I will take my carful of Jell-O and ruffles and do what needs to be done. I can't do what Indi does but some of it comes fairly naturally. I can talk about Jell-O Art without a thought. I could tell our new young Angel that although we work hard to make the show clever and polished and remember most of our lines more-or-less accurately, it's Jell-O.

The whole point of choosing Jell-O, in my opinion, is that it is beautiful, ubiquitous, and accessible. Everybody can find the Jell-O aisle and buy it, make it, love it or hate it, and make it into art. Everybody. It takes no special talent at all, or even skills. You just open the box and mix it with water. All the rest comes from within, and it is limitless and laughable. There is no good or bad Jell-O Art! There is not evaluation on your piece or your participation or your singing or your dancing or even your ability to show up on time.

We are the most forgiving and supportive kind of organization ever. Okay, not always, as we are humans and we complain and say nasty things from time to time when we are not thinking as clear as Jell-O. Life gets murky like what happens when you mix chocolate milk into the green gelatin thinking it will look prettier. But when you get up on the stage with the Radar Angels, particularly at the Jell-O Show, all you feel is love. Everybody in the room is looking to you for a laugh, a tear, an entry into a private joke, a chance to sing along, or just a tenuous smile within their particular grief. It is so very simple to express yourself through Jell-O.

They surprised me with a Title

This is what I always say and what I will say in my off-the-cuff speech I decided not to prepare much for. The Jell-O Art Show is in the moment, the moment you bring to it. When you bring your joy, it adds to all the other joys of Jell-O and there we are in the happiest mix. I think that is why it only goes for three hours. No one wants to watch it all melt and get moldy and be like a repeat of some bad TV and not be the peak experience it is. Everyone wants a brief respite from all care, a celebration of spring, a romp in the new grass and a bite of beauty and delight. Even the chocolate-covered Brussels Sprouts taste good.

If all the Jell-O jokes have been told, so what? It's Jell-O. If someone falls down on stage and misses their cue, so what? It's Jell-O. I told her to laugh and keep going, whatever happens. I told her although it matters so very much, it also does not matter at all. It really doesn't. All the Jell-O is never all the Jell-O. There is always something that will amaze even me, veteran of all the Jell-O Art Shows and taster of all the Tacky Foods. I always have a huge grin the whole time, and if I don't, it's just because I took off my glasses and forgot I can't see very well without them. If I don't recognize you, just come over and fake-insult me and I will pretend to cry. I tend to get pretty over-excited and up in the air about three feet above the crowd, but do know that I return all the love over the next few days and you can always come and collect if you didn't get enough.

It's Jell-O Day. It's way better than my birthday. Maybe it is my birthday. I think I am turning one. It's too much trouble to make a cake, let's just make some Jell-O. Then, let's put it up on a pedestal and take it really, really seriously. After that, let's throw it out in the yard for the slugs. Want to?

Writing Exercises the Whole Life

I'm supposed to be working. I take minutes and transcribe them as one of my jobs, which translates to a lot of sitting and I only get paid for two out of the five groups I do this for. Six if you count the Jell-O artists, for whom I track script changes and write things for possible use in the performance. Still, I generally like to do it. It feeds my need to articulate carefully, use my vocabulary, practice typing (still don't use those little fingers) and put things into words when they are sometimes said in less-than-elegant or diplomatic ways.

The task uses a certain kind of careful language that requires impeccable spelling and a solid understanding of intent, lots of editing skills, and the ability to construct simple sentences. I like long run-on sentences packed with lots of dependent clauses and uncommon words, which I should be using in fiction or even in blogging. I can't often use them in the minutes or reports I type. I can say anything I want in the Jell-O scripts, which is my joy in that job, but filling up the script with language usually involves taking it out in the next draft. We only have about a twenty-minute show.

Meetings are often two hours or more, so that is four or five for me. I have to move around on my seat cushion a lot and refocus my brain afterward. Super-tight attention is required to avoid interpretation in minutes: there really shouldn't be much of me in there. Of course there is a certain personality and style that comes through. I don't want to get lazy about it, and actually welcome the times that someone takes issue with words or phrases and challenges me to think again. Without that I would be throwing hours of focus out there to not even be noticed. Not many people read minutes at all, or at all carefully. You have to be a certain kind of detail person to even bother doing more than a quick skim.

Yet keeping the public record is not only a legal requirement of most organizations, it's a facilitative skill. Anyone can check back on a detail, and I frequently do, and assume others do too. I tend to leave things out that might make someone look bad, in the interest of moving forward through awkward times. Volunteers have a hard enough job speaking in groups without having to be super careful about how they might be misrepresented. I try to keep to the salient facts, including the discussion points, but I don't generally put names to opinions. You have to be there to really get the sense of the personalities of the meetings I transcribe. It's a little less transparent, but a little more efficient and protected from people who like to target other people with their complaints. While I simply love reading the OCF Board minutes, with all the names and attributions, I don't do that type of attribution unless someone asks me to. There have been times I have quoted people against my better judgement, because when getting paid, I do have to remember that I am working for the people who hired me, not myself. But the truth comes out. If someone acts like a jerk, they don't stay hidden for long, even if I extend them some courtesy. There are always stories between the lines, whether or not I am aware I am alluding to them.

I'm blogging today instead of transcribing just because I want the pleasure of writing without concern. I barely edit these blogs, though I like to think I write in an organized way. I read them over a time or two, but mostly they just flow out and that feels good. It's how it used to feel when I would spend three or four hours writing fiction, somewhat effortless and in the zone, really a pleasant place to dwell. I wish I wrote more fiction.

I'm still using the skills I learned over the last couple of decades, and my writing group still meets weekly to talk about writerly subjects. Pitching my script idea to the Radar Angels was a lot of fun for me, and deepening it as I incorporate the characters people want to play and the style they want to play them, as well as their lines that they write, is a great exercise in collaboration, which balances my need for control. One member carefully led me into a discussion of "holding space" as a facilitator, rather than moving the group in a particular direction. That felt useful and I try to do that. I'm not in charge of anything (setting aside my role as the Queen of Jell-O Art) except for helping all of us to hold space for each other, so that we all can thrive and create in the ways we want to. It's a gorgeous process to witness.

It has been working pretty well, the script, the minutes, and my writing life. I'm still working on a book, about my house and property and the historical background I've been so thoroughly researching. The research is a lot of fun, and I will hope to write some articles about it and some sections of the book in the next year. Unfortunately that work generally gets shelved in May and not addressed again until fall or even winter, as the business of making a living intrudes. I might get a couple of things in before April, but that is looking less likely as the meeting frequency increases and the workload does too. The board I found in the house is turning 100 years old next month. The first date on it, April 23, 1915, is one century before my brother's wedding will be, in Australia. I'll be there and not thinking about my board. The photo shows the board, which has three signatures and two dates, and this is another one, with the date of January 10, 1916. I assume that was the completion date, and the other, signed by Elmer Irwin Van Orden, the completion of some earlier phase of the work. Trying to answer the question of what Van Orden did has been a great puzzle. My current theory is that he did the basic framing to convert the two-room old building to one with a shed-like addition for the kitchen and bathroom, or maybe he built the foundation and chimney, or maybe he moved the building there and did those things. I don't know why the wood would have been on site to sign unless he had done a significant phase leading to the finishing done by this guy, Howard Frank Bowers, and Bilyeu Vaughn, who both signed almost nine months later. The fiction writer will have lots to do to fill in the gaps for the nonfiction writer.

This is the board, but not the right signature.

Back to the present year: John wants me to speak at his wedding, and I am tempted to use that tidbit in my speech, but I know that my house is about my life and the task is to speak to his life. I'll have to scratch that itch in another piece of writing. I'm not planning to take my laptop with me but rather paper journals, so I might take the one I write house pieces in. Experience tells me to just take a blank journal and write all about traveling to strange lands with my Mom, and I have learned to listen to experience, that's for sure. Maybe you'll see something here before I go, but March will be a very busy month.

In the meantime, I'll include a youtube of a Radar Angels performance song that I had absolutely nothing to do with. The skit was about a lot of things at once, as usual, as you can see by the diversity of costumes. It's a great piece of parody and staging, and if I knew who to credit for filling that space with that level of creativity, I would credit them. I have a feeling it was all of them, because that is how it works in collaboration. There, I have a lot to learn, and a lot of it is not at all about me. Good exercise.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vuu3ofp92Uc     
The song came near or at the end of the 2009 show Jell-O-Zone. Since the year was the sesquicentennial of Oregon's founding, the pioneers were included. Wish I could read the script.

What is fear and why do we worship it?

Simple answer: being human is hard and we are really used to feeling afraid. Of just everything and it's opposite: fear of death, fear of living too well. Fear of that guy, fear of my dark self. Fear of tomorrow, fear of not having a tomorrow. It all goes around in me, all the many things I'm anxious about right now, and when I try to tease down to the center of the fears, there's really nothing there. I guess that is the good news.

I'm terrified about my trip to Australia (in April) but what part? I've flown on planes and nothing bad happened. I get to spend all the time in the world with my Mom, a rare treat that I plan to treasure. I get to see my little brother marry the love of his life and meet her whole family, what a joyful time that will be! I get to see roos and cockatoos and no one is going to make me eat vegemite if I don't like it. What's wrong with me?

My latest theory was that maybe it was the falling barometric pressure today as a big storm blew in, to be followed by a few more. Rain isn't scary, and I'm not really afraid of that leak I had in the skylight...if it's still leaking after the fix, well, I can try again. The roof won't fall in. Getting wet isn't a big issue for me, no hairstyle to worry about or suede boots.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm testing my developing dairy allergy with abstinence from all things milk...including butter. Which ends my little cookie habit rather abruptly. I'm fearful of diabetes and high cholesterol, so I'm trying to eat no added sugars and more fresh vegetables and more oatmeal and walnuts, and reading internet articles that seem to assure me I'm pretty all right on both of those concerns. I can admit I could have been stuffing down my anxieties with cookies and such. Comfort foods. Cheese could have been that, cheese and cookies and beer. I haven't had beer in years now though, and I don't think I'm that attached to those things. I love dried fruit so that is sufficiently treat-like to satisfy me. Maybe I just need to cut back the coffee a little.

So what are the coping mechanisms I can use for anxiety? I'm a big avoider, which actually tends to increase the anxiety because putting things off leads to an overwhelming list of them. Could be that. I do have a long list. But one by one I've been crossing those things off: got new glasses, did the Jell-O thing last Saturday and it went really well, got back out into the shop and worked without any significant flare-ups of my repetitive motion stresses. Avoidance and escape aren't great, though they work some, but I'm escaping a lot less just in general, trying to face things faster and more efficiently and be more productive. That seems easy enough, and it's working.

Fear of what is out of my control? Well, duh. Practically nothing is. I'm involved with several groups who are trying to move forward on business and philosophical stuff and I am not in charge of any of it really. That's frustrating, but I'm not full of fears about it. I'm not the one responsible for any of it either, it's the groups. Everything is all spread out and we're doing it all together, and none of it is life-or-death.

So I've decided that it's just me. I'm more fearful than I used to be. I remember observing my mother's writing group a couple of years ago and noticing that all the women in their 60's through their 80's seemed afraid of everything. Their writing was timid, the subjects safe, and they all clung to safety in every way, it seemed to me, from conformism to politeness to their dependent relationships. I was in my fifties and pretty emotionally brave at the time, particularly in regard to writing. I didn't notice that changing really, but it has. I have less interest in *my truth* or anyone else's. I like to read it when other people write it, but I'm less willing to make definite statements about emotional truth. It seems more nuanced and complex than I can pin down with words. I don't know as much as I used to believe I did.

My concern for the environment and the survival of life as I know it has heightened. I feel more doomed and while I still try not to use fossil fuels and to eat organic and use more herbal and less allopathic remedies for simple things, I don't know if I believe in it the way I did. No, that's incorrect. I'm more convinced than ever than I need my food to be clean and my air to be free of poisons, but I see more clearly how futile my actions seem. I'm going to wipe out about a decade of biking with this one long airplane trip. Though I still have all the benefits of the decades of biking I guess. It doesn't just trade out in that simple manner. I'm still committed to those things, but I felt I had to upgrade my phone and I really ought to upgrade my car, because I have grown fearful of driving and that's making my life contract. And the bill for the new phone is more...seems like I just went in the wrong direction. I can't spend more all the time. But that seems to be just what I am going to have to do. So big free-floating fears there.

It's probably TV. That box is made to build fears. All that clever programming is so scary all the time. It's scary that people's values are so nuts that we love watching young women compete and lose complete composure and social mores to *win* some young man or some dance contest. All of the striving to be a star and the best and the one is ultimately completely depressing (and I don't watch those things, but turn on the box and there they are all the time.) It could be the approach of Valentine's Day, reminding me how much happier I would be if I just had a love to depend on, someone who loved me enough to give me a diamond or something. I don't know what I would do with a diamond, and chocolate is off the diet mostly but I suppose being able to depend on someone might be nice. I could pretend to be safe all the time if I trusted them to be in charge of things I don't want to be in charge of...but nah. Ain't gonna help me. I feel safer when I'm in charge. Back to that.

So here I am trying the writing work-through, wrapping it up by reminding myself of all the things I am not afraid of or aren't really problems, hoping the anxieties will dissipate. I do feel a little better. One thing I just did was while away the hour before the Radar Angels arrive to work on the script for the Jell-O Show. I have a good idea (at least I imagine that it is a good idea) and could probably write a finished script in an hour, but we are going to collaborate and though that is a little scary, it will be pretty fun and we'll come up with a good result. I've been through it twice now and both times it worked just fine. No reason to think it won't tonight, plus I cleaned up the house and have all this space so I can do other big projects in the living room until I clutter it up again. Lots of plusses tonight.

I still feel really anxious. I wish I had a better handle on it. There's always tomorrow, though. Something could happen this weekend to make me feel safe and good. That's likely actually, since Sunday is the Kareng Fund Art Bingo event and that will be all full of love. I keep telling myself this one thing I learned somewhere: turn anxiety into curiosity. Curiosity is fun and a great attitude to work under, and really quite useful when we don't know how things will go. Who does? The best laid plans, etc. etc. Maybe I'm just anxious in the sense of in a hurry. I want to see how these things I'm anticipating will turn out. Will the Jell-O Show be funny? Pretty sure it will. Will the wedding be one to remember? Definitely. Will a kangaroo kick me and knock me into a cockatoo carrying a vegemite sandwich in its beak? Guess we'll see.

See people Sunday. Come down and play bingo. What's not fun about that? Wear boots if it's really wet. Better put on some water for tea; here come the Angels!

All of the Compromises

I have come to see what a luxury it is to be conscientious about all things environmental. I've already written about how asking for help and that interdependence I'm developing is difficult and rewarding. Some people, especially my neighbor Christina, have made many subtle changes that are working for me even while causing some guilt.

For instance, the clumping kitty litter in the big plastic jug has to be my disposal method of choice right now. I can barely lean down far enough to ladle out the clumps and I would never be able to handle the big old bag. I used to just let the stuff get so bad my cat would get the hint to go outside in one of my many brush piles, but now he's constantly annoyed that I won't jump up and let him out on a moment's notice. Jake has now moved himself up into the attic where he is on the prowl for some pesky rodents and he may be using the insulation for more than a bed, but whatever. I won't even know about it for months, when it will be dessicated like the corpses of the rodents and so what? I sleep better without him on my bed and I can't say I miss him as he still comes down to eat and strew his litter all over the rug as he angrily scuffs it out to get his messages across. My cat tells me what he wants by climbing and making messes if I don't respond the way he wants me to. He will carefully paw little items off the high shelves just to make me let him out at night, no matter how many times I refuse. And the upside of having the attic open a bit is that all this moisture that is accumulating from hanging the laundry on the upper cabinet doors instead of outside can get out along with the bit of heat that is also escaping. More ventilation is probably a win.

I can, however, clean it up his petulant kicking better from my one remaining throw rug under the box. I can sweep and even vacuum from the scooter. I've learned that even one step prevents accessibility. I can't get out to the back deck without the crutches, which is just as well as that Trex is slippery. I absolutely require railings on steps, kind of a no-brainer. And assistance: well, if the extremely fit Rich Glauber had not stationed himself in my path at the conclusion of my coronation, I would have pitched onto my face and completely ruined the moment. Indi told me (by mistake) that a whole rehearsal had been consumed by discussing the logistics of how to accommodate my disability, which should have tipped me off to the surprise but thankfully didn't. If I haven't said it enough times, I love the Radar Angels so much, including all of the new and retired and anyone who remotely connects with that loose membership ( no reflection on their morality, I just mean the requirements for induction are rather unwritten.)

And Christina is adept at the use of plastic bags, so I can't quite eliminate them from my waste stream yet. This insidious consumer product now may have to be collected or even purchased as I use them in the garbage cans, because they have handles. She put one in the yogurt container I use for compost, which I used to blithely toss off the back deck to the compost pile, something I always enjoyed for its efficiency. Accordingly I discovered I can still toss it, just in the bag...so at some point I will have to go out and collect all of the half-decomposed plastic out of the pile. Those little sleeves the paper comes in are perfect for this. I hope to be gardening again in June, though I guess I won't be moving trays of starts from one sunny spot to another. I'll just trade some farmer for his labor. And ask for a delivery. Or maybe this would be the year to split a CSA.

I have plenty of time to think; too much perhaps. The reserve system at the library is made
for the disabled. You can even send someone in with your card to pick up your held materials. The library is marvelously accessible and I will be testing that again this afternoon as I take a cautious outing on the scooter, just getting dropped off at the library and making my slow way to the Market office two blocks away. I wish they would not have eliminated that Olive street sidewalk, since the other side has that hilly place that you are forced to navigate. How many people see that as an obstacle? Why do the dis-abled have to do so much education of the temporarily-abled?

I will do my best to gently lead the public and its officials in a more educated direction if I can. Like many Queens before me I have realized the responsibilities of royalty, and I plan to promote compassion and evolution wherever I can. I just missed a chance as the Witnesses knocked on my door. I heard them and wasn't expecting anyone, so instead of my usual "Come In" I shouted "Do I know you?" They of course answered no and explained their mission, to invite me to whatever on Easter. I felt safe enough and admitted that I was confined to a chair, but when they asked if they could leave their literature, I kindly agreed when I should just have said NO! Maybe I sensed that if I said yes they would leave quickly instead of trying to proselytize (huh, I always thought that was prosetlyize) through the door.

I now wish I would have been more receptive to my sister Karen, the Duchess of Lean (manufacturing) when she attempted to do an analysis of my workspace. Naturally our sibling stuff came into play immediately with defensiveness on my part but I did recognize the value of more efficiency and organization. I made a few changes and good friends also helped me decrease the hazards when I went to crutches. There are still obstacles but I'm getting good at setting up places to rest, sit and perch so I can use both hands or at least one. Walkers are good too. With the scooter, once I master the proper inflation of the boot, I will be able to do pretty well with printing for a few hours at a stretch. Padding the boot correctly is important, as it is so generic. I have used maxi-pads, especially the nice cloth covered hippie ones, to pad certain areas of discomfort. My boot is inflatable and I inflate the back for resting and the front for scooting. Where there is a will there is usually a way.

That is enough for now. I have a lot of plans in the works, secret and not, and I will most definitely be gradually getting back up to full speed. My doldrums are long past as the lilacs swell outside my window and the weather improves. I have to now join the chorus of people who cautiously admit that a particular adversity (thankfully minor in my case) has resulted in an opening, and tangible, visible improvement in their lives. Irony abounds as I leap forward on one foot and am able to accomplish things I never even thought to dream.

And let me say now that one of the things that occurred to me on April Fools Day as I sat in the afterglow, is that now no one will ever press me to run for Slug Queen, a task I never wanted but of course have as a natural possibility due to my ebullience and joy-tap. I am not running and will not run even if drafted! Not that I don't love every single candidate both successful and un-.

I have my Crown. My Royalty is assured. As your Queen, I vow to explore all of the behaviors, both clandestine and public, that are associated with the Crown, and this could be a profound change in my ability to manifest my desires and those of others. Let's just see. Unlike a Slug Queen, I reign forever, and can never be Old. Old Jell-O has a terrible smell, and I will remain fragrant, transparent, and delightful, or you will let me know the error of my ways with your protests and demonstrations. Occupy my front porch anytime, and when I say "Do I know you?" answer carefully.

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.