“Did you know the only reason they have us add eggs and oil is because back in the 50‘s when boxed food was introduced housewives wouldn‘t use it because it made them feel useless? So they let them break a few eggs and the market took off. They needed to feel they had a role in the process. The whole mix could be, ‘just add water…’”
Alli and I are making food for the party tonight at the Art Barn. Art Barn is in Seal Rock, off the Oregon Coast near Waldport. Willow is the propretress of the artist venue and barn of murals, rugs and couches boasting a ping pong table and a croquet course.
Everyone will dress as a farm animal.
She throws a mold of jello in the crowded refrigerator and starts tossing something in a bucket that is a kind of bean salad. From the Midwest, her diet is what I call “future food” - appetizers and jello - the cutting edge food of post-war America.
Alli tells me she loves Oregon, it’s the most beautiful place in the world. I agree with her but I’ve not been many places.
I mix the eggs with a fork. The table I am working at is scattered with ephemera: beads, crystals, toys. A placemat of some Disney movie is under some books. There’s a basket filled with dusty knick-knacks.
Above the table hangs low a series of prayer flags depicting yoga positions. Plants grow in the window sill and a montage of potted plants are shelved in the hot sun room. The water in the sink has sulfur in it so drinking water is taken from the bathtub.
As three large sheets of brownies cook I sit at the table and read the notes on the refrigerator. They are mostly positive affirmations; “live your dreams,” “dance to the beat of your own drum,” “You’re awesome!”
Drawings by Oceana, Willow’s daughter, are tucked under and over layers of lists, notes, pictures.
In the other room Oceana warns a friend not to touch her mother's shrine as they prepare their costumes for the party.
The house is filled with these bursts of sunshine.
It's a wild home, overgrown with sentiments and feeling.
Warm and used like grandpas sweater.
Plus, there are cats.
Willow’s home makes me consider my concept of HOME.
My mind wanders.
I have this friend James who tells me whenever I see him he is giving away his possessions.
“James!” I say, “you said that last time! Do you have any possessions left to give?”
“There is a center in us and all the things we own revolve around that center.” James says. He puts his hand near his chest.
Maybe he doesn’t do that, but that’s what I imagine him doing.
“The more objects we give away the more that center can grow. It gets bigger and bigger and we have so much energy!”
He tells me he is keeping his mandolin because it is small enough for his travels and when he plays it he can communicate with the people along the journey.
What to take from this? Willow and James are happy. They are free. One has jars of tea and books falling from the shelves, the other lives in a backpack.
Be Willow and fill your jars up with loose tea and fairy wings. Be James and let everything but your mandolin go.
Who the hell knows? There's no one way. Complicated, Simple, Messy, Orderly. What feels right? What are our spirits telling us?
Mine says, I need to paint a mural and throw away old magazines. I need monster costume and I need to give away the old wall paper
Okay, the brownies are done and I still have to get my costume together.
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