Slightly Off Center

After six decades of misery, I finally got a referral to an Ear/Nose/Throat specialist to see if anything can be done about my chronically goopy sinuses. Because it's not the kind of appointment you can wear a mask at, I got a drive-through sinus reaming Sunday. As of now, I'm officially negative, and have to isolate 'til Wednesday, when I have two different doctor visits.

Just had a customer pay me $40 for a $25 mug, refused my offer of change.

Wonder if it has to do with the fact we had to delay her pickup until after my COVID had cleared?

Like the woman walking around Market Saturday, mask under her chin, "Legalize Freedom" on her shirt in big shiny letters.

And now I want a shirt that says Normalize Responsibility.

I got my third shot yesterday afternoon, three days after my six-month anniversary. I signed up for a slightly-after-noon slot with Lane County Public Health at their Fairgrounds clinic.

Apparently, so did everyone else in Eugene. That's what I get for scheduling during the lunch hour.

The line ran out the back of the Auditorium, across the parking lot to the Historical Society Museum, down their sidewalk, around the corner, and all the way back to the gate.

Did I mention it was raining? Well, spitting, a little, which means folks tended to cluster under the Museum porch roof until the line at the back door was almost gone, then surge across the lot to the canopy by the back door. So for the longest time, there'd be no progress at all, then suddenly, move up twenty or thirty feet. Then wait again.

All told, it took an hour to get to the actual door, though once inside, progress was pretty rapid. Got my Pfizer about an hour after my theoretical appointment time, took 15 minutes to read email, and when I didn't collapse, went back to the studio to continue glazing.

Woke up this morning feeling crappy and feverish, but popped a couple of acetaminophen and struggled through glazing another 40-some mugs. Feeling better tonight, but still think I'll take this Saturday off from Market, mostly to catch up with glazing. I'd still like to load the kiln on Monday.

My stock is so thin, it's getting hard to come up with a theme for the tabletop that I haven't used before. Today, it's just birds featuring a little flash of red: humminbird, tanager, sandhill crane.

In the two weeks since I've done Market last, Fall has arrived. Not that the leaves have turned, or the geese left--though I heard a flock over the house this evening. No, it's that the heat's broken. This morning, when I left the house, I turned around and went right back in. Changed shorts for jeans, grabbed a jacket, put on socks. Definitely feeling the season.

The day started super slow, not even people looking. Also more folks walking around maskless, which annoyed me no end. Don't know if they were anti-vaxxer/maskers, or people who'd decided they were vaccinated, and therefore impervious. In any case, nobody actually came into my booth naked-faced, so I was denied the pleasure of kicking them out again.

The day eventually picked up. Jeremy and Cara came in for their weekly fix--a frog soup bowl. I sold a lot of soups, in fact, ran out of goat and flamingo bowls, and sold the orphaned octopus bowl that I'd been using as a filler. It's a good thing I'm firing this week, and that I haven't glazed bowls yet.

Talked a couple of people who'd seen my tall mugs at Tsunami. One says she's bought six so far, and got another from me today. The other one liked the sea turtle mug she saw there, didn't see anything here she liked better. So she's going back to buy it. I"m fine with this, even if the bookstore gets a cut. The more things I sell there, the more they'll take in the future. Sales commissions, like credit card fees, are just part of doing business.

I also got to show my cardinal pots--mug and bowl--to a young woman with a cardinal tattoo. Turns out she's from Kentucky, and redbirds were her grandmother's (and now her) favorite birds. I told her about my philosophy professor back at undergrad, who used to talk to cardinals and we both agreed it's a shame we don't have them out here in Oregon. (She came back later to get a mug.)

Best random observations of the day: an inconspicuous bumper sticker that read "Montana Is Full (We heard North Dakota is nice...)" and a conspicuous t-shirt that read "Butch Fatale." Also this:
That seems to be a functioning space helmet breathing apparatus. There's a solar panel on top, connected to a fan, little ducts along the jawline leading to filters on the helmet. Also a cushion or air seal in desert camo, presumably to keep breath in/viruses out. Which leads to the obvious question:

Where can I get one of these things?

We seem to have regressed. Back in masks, every other booth vacant. Add in yellow tint to the sky and a hint of smoke in the air, and you get a day I'd really rather have slept in.

But I came to Market like a good potter; I'd gotten an email last Saturday from someone looking for plates. Told her I was in Silverton, but would be back to Eugene this weekend. So here I am.

She did come and get three dessert plates. And Cara and Jeremy picked up their weekly addition, a salmon soup bowl. Also met a nice couple from Portland, who said they always stopped in to get something whenever they were in Eugene, and today was no different. And then there was the woman who couldn't decide which dinosaur bank to get to accompany her pig--so got both.

Yeah, it was actually a pretty good day.

People were really reasonable about wearing their masks. Maybe a dozen without, all day, but as long as they were on the sidewalk, and not in my booth, I wasn't gonna fuss. Even the little kids would adjust their masks, cover their noses, before coming in to look at the pots.

And speaking of masks, KEZI-TV came down to Market to get a reaction to the outdoor mask mandate, and after getting some background from Market staffer Vanessa, they came next door to talk to... me. Yep, I made the late news Saturday night. You can see the article and the video on their website. Even generally accurate, though I've actually been coming to Market nearly 30 years.

And my masked bear, Bella, even appears.

Still sorting out my experience with the Silverton Arts Festival. It was... kind of a lot.

In the past, it's been a pleasant and well-run show. Never a top-seller, but they treat us well--dinner on Friday night after load-in, breakfast, sandwiches and snacks in the Park Building Saturday and Sunday, volunteer booth-sitters circulating throughout the weekend. The show information is helpful and comprehensive, both what we received before the show and what was in the move-in envelope.

This year, things were a little scrambled. From what I could understand, the entire organization dispersed during the pandemic, and an all-new (four member) board was in charge. We didn't get any information in advance beyond what was in the contract, and hardly anything in the envelope. When I called to ask when to load in, I got an I dunno, we're going to be setting up after 9 am, so I guess then? (In fact the contract said noon til dark.) They also added an insurance requirement, but had no idea what the coverage was supposed to be. And there was a bridge out on the road from Salem to Silverton, and they didn't think to tell us to expect a detour--nor which detour was shortest. They didn't know how to stock the Park Building until a couple of vendors told them, and they went around the fair both afternoons of a cool-to-chilly weekend offering ice cream sandwiches to the artists.

Like I said, a little scrambled.


The weather wasn't baking hot, like the previous weekend, so that was good. I had a reasonably level spot, only took a few shims to get the shelves straight. We did have rain driving up Saturday, quite a bit in Salem, in fact, but it tapered off to showers by the time we arrived, and had stopped entirely by the 10 am opening.

Saw some familiar faces, people we'd sold to over the years. A couple were at the stop-and-hello-but-there's-no-room-for-more-pots stage of their life, but it's still nice to see them. One couple were at the opposite end of the spectrum--they'd lost their home in the Lionshead fire in 2020, and one of the only things that survived was a small covered crock, fox pattern, that made it through with just a few drips of window glass fused to the rim. They got a few things to start their new collection, and updated their address on my mailing list. (The postcard was forwarded, so managed to find them. There's no mailbox left at the old address.)

We also ended up next to familiar vendors, Joe and Lizzie with their fused and stained glass, Doug's jewelry. Lindsay, the rain chain maker was down at the other end of the row, so we didn't get to talk, nor to see her cutting copper sheet into leaves all weekend.

It was a strange weekend; I got into a debate with a five-year-old girl about why my bear was wearing a mask. He's too little to get the vaccine, I explained. Stuffed toys don't need masks! she insisted. I asked if she'd asked her stuffed toys their opinion; she actually paused to think about that, then returned to her previous assertion.

A little later, Elisa the jeweler looked in on the back of our booth, a little shook. She'd had a customer ask why she was masked up, and she explained that she being exposed to many people at the event, she wanted to take precautions. Oh, COVID isn't real, opined the woman. It's just a bunch of unrelated symptoms the doctors slapped a name on. They haven't even [something sciency she couldn't remember] the genome. Elisa was like, "Was she right? I'm thinking, how much do I really know about this thing, really?" We reassured her that, yes, it is real, they did sequence the genome, which is how they were able to construct the RNA vaccine, and we both know people who died of the thing. Besides, who's more believable, doctors, scientists and NPR reporters, or some rando at an art fair with a "Religious Exemption" non-vaccine card? And gave her chocolate chip cookies.

I'd say that was the low point of the weekend, except for the couple with the pug dog on Saturday. They'd spent a fair amount of time in the booth, talking about the work, and then she tells me (at length) how she makes pottery too, and has too much in her cupboards, and that's why she's not going to buy anything from me... while her dog pees on my sandbag. When I interrupt her with this bit of news, she yanks the leash, apologizes abruptly and dashes down the path. I rinse off the weight with water, and bring in the enzyme cleaner Sunday morning to give it a more thorough washing, but I still see several dogs sniff the ground around it over the next few days.

Sunday afternoon, a couple of plein air painters set up along the path behind us, recording the scene. One of them included my booth. That's it on the right, with the blue sandbag. Yes, that sandbag, immortalized in art.

The show is just on the edge of too far from home, about a 90 minute drive, which makes for long days, but there are compensations. We get to sleep in our own beds, for one, and Sunday morning as we passed through Albany, we saw three hot-air balloons, presumably in rehearsal for the Art and Air Festival this weekend.

Sales were down from previous years, unlike my other two road shows this summer. Could have been weather--Sunday was downright chilly; could have been the bridge. I'm always on the fence about doing this show, and this year didn't make the decision any easier.

Just got an email from the Anacortes Arts Festival yesterday. The fair is a go, though with layout adjusted per COVID limitations. Best part, though, is that they're foregoing the application process, in favor of just inviting everyone who'd been accepted for 2020 to come this year instead.

As you know, Bob, my other potential Washington show, Edmonds, rescheduled from June to August, then waitlisted me. As they're also the show with the horrendous load-in/out, involving queuing up 12 blocks up the street and down the hill, waiting to be moved in, I don't feel any great pain with deciding to decline, even if my name comes up on the waiting list.

Anacortes is a much easier situation, being spread out across seven blocks of downtown, with access via cross streets. If we're in the same general location, something they're trying to ensure, we're also conveniently close to street parking during the show. Plus we can split the drive up over two days and visit Denise's cousin in Seattle. (For some reason, it's always easier to do a long drive when you're going home. Why is that?)

So I guess I'll be going to Washington this summer after all. I'm mailing the booth fee check today.

Lane County is down to Moderate risk for COVID. Three weeks of this, and Market can add more booths back. 

It's the day before Mother's Day, and Market is packed... with vendors. At least twenty people are still standing when the lottery runs out of 8x8 booths. Some of them may have taken 4x4s, the rest get a priority point towards next week, provided they stay until their name has been called.

It's an issue, this year. We're still operating at 50% capacity, because of COVID, so every second space is mandated empty. Market is currently not accepting new members, because there's nowhere to put them. If Lane County can ever get back to Moderate risk, we'll be able to shorten the distance between booths to four feet, which will bring 30-some spaces into play, but right now we're still at Extreme.


Meanwhile, we set up hoping for last-minute Mother's Day shoppers. I get out all of my mom-and-kid-themed plates for the bench display, and a bonus real mom and kid card (featuring Nubian goats from the Lane County Fair) heads up Denise's box of greeting cards. The selection was getting a little thin, so she spent Thursday and Friday gluing up another forty cards to fill up her display.

The day starts out a little bumpy. I'm very sensitive to chemicals and scents, so am not delighted to find my neighbor for the day is a soap-maker. Even eight feet away, a plume of essential oils so strong I can taste it drifts into my booth. I moan quietly to Vanessa (of staff) about it, and discover that Market actually has a sensitive vendors list, and tries to steer soap/lotion/scented candle vendors away from their booths. I'd never heard this before, but at least I'm now officially recorded as a frail (unscented) flower, and will not have this happen again in the future.

Also, sometime around 11 am, the wind shifts around into the west, and the scent is blown over to Effie, on her other side.

Sales start slow, but pick up eventually. I do sell a lot of presents for moms (and grandmoms), but some from moms, too. A mother picks out a chickadee-pattern stew mug to go in a CARE package (along with packets of instant soup) to her daughter in New York. A mom with ten-year-old boy in a dinosaur-print hoodie totally makes his day with a T-Rex bank.

A young woman from two weeks ago stops in again. She and her friend had each bought a mug, and we'd bonded over our favorite science podcast, Ologies. (She'd picked a bear mug, and that week's episode was Ursinology.) We visited a bit (boy, is that a midwestern phrasing), and I showed her Denise's paper. Later that afternoon, she came back and picked out a packet of note sheets and a couple of cards, including the one with a snoozing Alaskan Brown Bear.

Best mask today: it's plain olive drab, but emblazoned with the word, Wash Your Hands, Ya Filthy Animals!

Preach, brother, preach.