Even when a person (me) does not have a M-F work-week anymore, Saturday can be delightfully off-track: Zing and I cherish the illusion that we have the streets mostly to ourselves then, along with a few others without schedules. Instead of hustling office-workers, we greet sunrise-loving joggers and bike-riders, dogs and their dog-walkers. This morning, though, was different: we ran into lots of workers — heads-down, intent on beating schedules: Before 8 a.m. men in orange vests were running (literally) around the new Arena, which has a grand opening Oct. 1, and nearby on Capitol Mall scores of young people hustled to set up booths before the Farm to Fork festival opened later today. Zing and I swooped past this frenzy and headed to the Capitol, with its wide green park. There we edged past kids and parents and pets and people in scary-crazy costumes, all waiting for the start of a parade. I saw posters about infertility and hope, promoting infertility as a legitimate disease with possibilities for a cure that included acupuncture. More toward afternoon, walking home after a brunch with Patrick and Steph, I came upon the start of another parade. “What do we want?” the leader shouted to her straggling stalwarts. “Justice for elephants!” they shouted back, and began to march.
That brunch at the Porch (I had a shrimp po-boy and coffee in a big white cup) was golden. Clark, thank you! for leaving me with such treasures! P & S were going to the hills right after we ate, and I find myself even now reaching out to re-live this morning. Not to be dramatic — it’s just that death makes everyday moments like this matter.
When I heard of the "Farm to Fork" festival to be held today around the corner from where I live, I couldn’t wait. Yesterday I scoped the blocks where it was being set up and took a photo of a lone old truck signifying the history of farming in this area. But when I finally strolled over this afternoon -- maybe I was tired out — I was disappointed. I guess I expected a giant farmers market and what I found was mostly promotional booths for everything from honey to rice to goat meat. I saw a monk in yellow robes and people with rainbow hair and many families with babies and dogs loving the food truck fare. Nothing tempted me, so I went home and made a grilled cheese sandwich with a slice of farmers market tomato.
There’s more — the tedious stuff even invades the weekend — collecting papers for auto registration and reassuring myself that yes, maybe I will be able to pass the driving test, that I should just study the online materials and take the leap. "Bound to fail” is hardly the attitude I’d recommend to anyone else, but it’s hard to chase that irrational fear from my own heart.
A lovely talk with Susan interjected my afternoon, and evening closed discussing free-motion quilting on the phone with Janis, just as if we were face to face with a piece of art between us. That’s weekend magic.
Love,
k
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| Above and below, preparing for Farm to Fork |
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| Farm to Fork display |
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| Before the Infertility March for Hope Capitol Park |
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| Justice for Elephants and Rhinos march |
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| Promoting honey, Farm to Fork Festival |
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