March 11, 2014 In the dimly lit back room of Spyce Gentleman’s Club, Randy Burnett, 53, pulls off his shirt and drops his jeans, revealing the uninterrupted riot of ink, splashed and flowing from the skin on his face, down his body, disappearing into the folds of his pants pooled around his ankles. How many times was his flesh punctured by needles, like tiny jackhammers, to create this chaos of colorful tattoos? Is Burnett addicted to the pain? Is tattoo pain addictive or is it the tattoo experience?
This is a travel blog – mostly.
Sometimes late at night or any time, really, we travel through the painful cuts in our hearts. They reach out and remind us that they will not be forgotten. We revisit them as we get caught on the painful edges of the wounds. A life not really lived, a child lost in her own damage, the missed opportunity to be someone's soulmate. Sometimes we travel to those wounded places and the melancholy catches us as we try to slip past undetected, unprotected. And so we stay there for awhile, even though we know it isn't a safe place to be. Just as sleep wraps its warmth around us, in that precise moment when the conscious gives in to the unconscious – we get snagged on the way she walks in defined slightly jolting strides, hips forward, defiant chin thrust out like some sort of armor. We stumble into the wound where she lives and see what was and is painfully missed – her face, both lovely and glaring, her long hair slightly waving, tumbling down her short back to her waist. How that hair makes her look so vibrant, so carefree – almost with a personality of its own. Not a care in the world, that hair seems to announce –Those beautiful brown eyes and the memory of her not wide but radiant smile. The lingering pain wakes us and we start to stumble over the snapshots in our mind of the moments before she was lost to us, and those that we imagine but never experienced. Sometimes we travel over wounds, into them and then we step quietly out and breathe the best we can and try to move on. And then, hopefully, for awhile we try to forget. Maybe we even peacefully sleep. For awhile. – Stella
Sometimes it's all about the journey and what you discover; not about what you set out to do in the first place. Today was the day to leave Eugene behind and take the EmX to Main Street in Springfield. As I crossed the street wondering what I would discover, my eye caught a beautiful painting on a building of an eagle and the American flag. Cool! I walked up to it and found the signature and there was an address too. I set off to find Art Stuff and the person who painted it, Mike Rickard. When I found the store, I was excited; it was so close. The hours on the door said that Art Stuff was open, but the locked door said otherwise. Determined to find Mike Rickard and ask him about his painting, I walked into the store next door, The Blue Buffalo Mercantile. I stepped into The Blue Buffalo, drawn in by the friendly man inside, to ask about Art Stuff and when it would be open. But, I instantly forgot all about the eagle painting and was overtaken by this lovely little store full of beautiful handmade treasures. Tony, one of The Blue Buffalo's owners was happy to show me around the organized shop. They have three owners who are all artisans plus 13 other featured artisans. The owners, Tony (who refused to tell me his last name), Mike Knotts and Dean Armstrong carefully select the artisans who display work in the store. They all have to agree on all decisions and that works very well for them according to Tony's wife Brenda, who makes handcrafted jewelry for the store. She says it is wonderful to work with so many people every day and always see new faces and have everyone get along so well. Buffalo Beginnings “The EuGenious Market was held in the Gateway Mall – open Friday, Saturday and Sunday – and started in October in 2012, while the mall was being refurbished. They [the mall] let 39 businesses go without redoing their leases so they could redo the mall,” Tony said. "It's kinda off of Einstein and Eugene," Tony says with a laugh of the EuGenious Market name. The three (now owners) decided to open their own store in Springfield, because the city is really putting forth an effort to get on the map as a city that supports the arts. High Quality Handcrafted Merchandise There were exquisite pens made from wood, antelope horns and bullet casings. Some of the bullet casings were made out of copper and had patterns fashioned into them. They have hand crafted leather goods made by Mike Knotts, Dean Armstrong makes Native American regalia, Chase Cranor makes ceramics and pottery and Brenda makes handcrafted jewelry working with beads and antique pins. They sell soaps made with goat milk and homemade laundry soap. And there is more. Everything they sell is handcrafted in Oregon. They sell home baked gluten-free snacks and Tony says their prices are really reasonable because they don't have a lot of overhead. I love these leather roses! And they look even better in person. They have beautiful opals, moonstones and photographs, too. Tony says the way to know if moonstone is authentic is when you drill the hole – if it chips, it is the real thing. They even have old Sarah Coventry display necklaces, which are brand new because the displays were never allowed to be sold. They got them from an elderly woman who used to sell Sarah Coventry. The Blue Buffalo has been in this space since April 5th, and when they finally get the bathroom into shape, they will use the back room for craft classes. They are still working on getting a Blue Buffalo website up and running, but do have business cards that sport...a purple buffalo. Tony says he didn't do it, and sheepishly grins. A Love Story Brenda and Tony met in Salem when they were both customers at an antique store. Brenda just purchased the most expensive item in the store – A hutch for approximately $1,500. She was walking out the door, passed Tony and their eyes locked for a moment, she continued out the door. When she got to her car she decided she needed to meet this man and went back into the store. She found him asking the proprietor who she was! Brenda says they have never been apart since that moment. This Thursday will be their 17th wedding anniversary. He had two children, she had two children, they adopted one and raised them all together. "I found the best," she says of Tony. "I used to take care of him...Now he takes care of me."
331 Main St., Springfield, OR 97477
541-521-4722 Sometimes you can be in a sketchy situation but you can't see what it is. You can't understand what you are looking at, even if you are in danger.
The Death My oldest daughter, from my first attempt at marriage, adored her grandpa "Bam Bam." While my ex had made it abundantly clear that I was not to interact with his family, I couldn't comply with his demands when his father, my daughter's beloved Bam Bam, suddenly took ill and promptly died within hours of our notification. So I loaded up the car with food for our journey to Brookings to give my daughter the opportunity to be with family and begin to process her loss. The Caring Gesture I was re-married to a wicked vile man, although I didn't see the truth of him yet, and he "kindly" offered to draw me a map so I would arrive without complication and not have to worry about getting lost. Considering the fact that I had no sense of direction (a characteristic he painstakingly convinced me I suffered from), I was touched by his caring gesture, until I arrived at the inspection booth at the border of California. I went into a panic. This trip was so important and my daughter was heartbroken. I needed to make this trip good for her which didn't include, rather decisively excluded, being lost in California. I was rarely "allowed" to go anywhere on my own (part of the yet unseen manipulation that my husband insinuated on me), and had no confidence in myself. This may seem a benign mishap to someone else, a mere bump, but getting lost terrified me. My Unexpected Reaction However, this time, I got mad, really intensely mad. And that made me do something I never did - I found a telephone booth and called him and unleashed my blubbering fury. Maybe it was the physical distance between us, maybe it was the momma instincts boiling up - that need to protect my daughter from any unnecessary stress, maybe I was just pissed. Whatever the reason for my reckless behavior, that phone call triggered a high-beam epiphany that caused a wall of bricks to crumble away and reveal the memories of every map he had ever written for me to get to places like the dentist or a child's birthday party, and every time I arrived late humiliated or in tears from having been lost for upwards of an hour or so. The Epiphany I could literally see those backwards maps all carefully designed to get me lost and undermine my confidence and cause me to remain abusively dependent on this sick evil man. I would get physically ill at the thought of having to find a new place in town by myself. That was the moment, on that distant isolated stretch of road, when I understood the sabotage to my self esteem, created for his amusement and control over me. Just the Beginning Unfortunately, it would take decades for me to see that this was a drop of blood in the sea of deception that I was drowning in. But I will leave those revelations for another time. -Stella Post Downtown Eugene Farmers Market Adventure
I wander around Willamette Street trying to find the downtown bus station, because I need to catch the EmX before my feet fall off. Although I have lived here my entire life, I am out of my element and have no idea where the station is. I ask several people, including a woman who doesn’t even live here; I can’t find the station. My nicely coiffed hair is limp from the perspiration and heat. The flattering but minimal application of makeup on my face is damp and escaping in the droplets of sweat. My tee shirt, no longer laundry fresh, is damp but thankfully doesn’t stink. My feet are crippled with blisters and by now I am limping but trying to look like I’m not. The toes on my right foot are dancing the cramping dance. These boots weren’t made for walking. They’re what Oprah would call “one-hour-boots” and I’ve been on my feet for 2 ½ hours. I wore my only uncomfortable pair of boots in my awesome collection, and I try to remember why that seemed like a good idea this morning. I smile to myself as I think about my adventures this morning at the Farmers Market and the interesting people I met. Finally I find the EmX! The bus is rank with cigarette smells that turn my nose and stomach in disgust. Well not the bus, someone on the bus, because it wasn’t choking me before. I suspect the hulking figure sitting across from me hunched over with the sloping back and head that looks burdensome to carry. He just got on. I try to not breathe. I move my toes and a sharp pain shoots mercilessly through my right foot. I may arrive to my car and drive home barefoot, because I cannot imagine bearing this pain for much longer. Both feet are screaming and I wonder about foot forgiveness. I may arrive to my car and have to drive home barefoot! The glass bottles I filled with ice are melted and lukewarm now, but I welcome the refreshment in this heat. The bus is moving and I’m closer to getting these boots off of my angry feet. When I get off the bus I cringe at the thought of the painful walk to my car. I get there and begin to drive but it is excruciating. After the 15 minute drive, I can’t take any more. I stop at a red light and tug on my right boot until I pull it off. It feels like my flesh tore off with it, but I feel an immediate relief and begin to drive with one stocking foot on the brake and accelerator pedals. When I arrive at Everyone’s Market to pick up the blue Voltage Mountain Dew that my daughter requested, I tug off the left boot, wincing in pain, and walk into the store in my socks. Finally I arrive home where the Band-Aids are. Comfy boots – comfy adventures – Stella
"Heath, like the candy bar. Toffee," Heath Banks said when I asked what his name was. His website presents him as "Melon Inspector/Developer," and I have reason to believe the charming melon specialist standing in the Melon Shack. It is only 11 a.m. at the Farmers Market downtown Eugene on this Monday morning, but it is already too hot for me. Heath, tall, handsome and enthusiastic about his melons, presents me with the opportunity to finally learn how to check a cantaloupe for ripeness.
"...[You] don't want to shake a cantaloupe...don't want it to rattle," Heath says. Shaking the melon will not tell you if it's ripe; it will only cause the melon to dehydrate. He says you want to press your thumbs gently into the outer edge of the end that wasn't attached to the vine (the blossom end). Be gentle, using the flat part of the thumb, not the tips, or you will bruise the fruit and spoil it. It should just give a little under your thumb prints. If it is really soft, it is over-ripe. He says to look at the stem end and to smell it for sweetness. If it is dark and moldy, the melon is probably bad. You don't want the outside of the melon to be soft either; that's a sign that the melon is over-ripe. After talking with Heath and his mom Reba, I score a free melon! Awesome! I put it in my backpack and head for the bus. When I arrive home I prepare to try this farm-fresh melon and check out the inside to see if it's perfect or beginning to degrade. I slice it in half as easily as a stick of warm butter. The fragrance of the fruit is sweet and heady. I notice that the center part, laden with seeds, is slightly pulled away from the flesh of the melon which means it would have begun to degrade and dehydrate, so I am eating it just in time. I wonder if the ride in my backpack jostled it enough to do the damage. I share it with my daughter and we agree that it is perfect. The flesh of the fruit is firm and smooth, the flavor sweet and mild. As I scoop each morsel, the dip fills with sweet melon juice, so I spoon that out and consume it too. The fresh, delicious explosion of flavor delights my parched tongue, and I am excited about what I learned and what I scored today at the Melon Shack. A bowl of fleshy sweet melonishousness! – Stella Check out Heath demonstrating to me how to check for the perfect melon: (This blog site won't allow the video to appear. I'll have this linked to my new blog site soon.) |
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