yesterday, i was at a local show, hawking my wares and saying hi to all of my pals that were really there for the farmer's market. for unknown reasons, i could not go to sleep the night before. perhaps i was excited, perhaps i drank too much coffee, perhaps i was worrying about the thunderstorms in progress around 2 a.m.... who knows why really.
i was fully exhausted when i arose after 3 hours of sleep. no surprise there!
in spite of my lack of rest, i had such a nice time... it was kind of like a party under my tent.
loads of ladies and wily children twisting at their mums.
a nice row of jewelry making ladies all chatting and visiting one another.
a visit from my old pal from architecture school.
and there was loads of chit chattery.
i enjoy the hell out of this. it feels like i am playing dress-up when folks enjoy putting necklaces on... the dress-up i NEVER would have indulged in as a child. however, now it is splendid to see how my garden driven wares make other folks happy. really i can't put a price on the joy that my customers give me.
i was a very tired person at the end of the day. luckily the show runs from 10-2. this makes it a work day from 7 to 4. not awful by many standards including my own.
by two pm, the farmer's market had vanished. poofed into thin air.
there was NO evidence of it having ever been there that day.
i love this ... it is ephemeral art, one minute gorgeous crates and tiers of luscious foods.
the next is filled with poof, an empty park with swings and local yoga denizens on portable mats.
it really does feel like instant community and good eats are here for congregations to be created.
my son had helped me set up and break down plus load and unload the truck at both ends of this event. he too was tired. my daughter walked from her cafe job to meet us for a ride home too. she was just as tired as us show peoples. so between the three of us and my pal who needed a ride home, it was one clinking ride southwards.
if i back up a smidge or two, i can do some background info infill. the truck is my husband's gas guzzling work transpo. it consumes unnatural amounts of gas and has more things wrong with it as it travels local roads. we dare not take it for hour long jaunts... it just would not make it. as graham and i started out on our trip to set up, there was naturally NO GAS in the tank. this is the usual condition. i hate pumping gas and get to do so every danged day. this is because i live with Cosmo Kramer. my husband is not cheap, however he feels paying for gas is an affront to him personally. it is an interference in my own life, that he never replaces gas in the car or the truck. i am constantly at a gas station for this inconvenient time sucking activity. he likes to take my car ALL the time because it is better on gas. HE NEVER PUTS ANY BACK IN... and like kramer from seinfeld, he enjoys running it until it is limping back into the gas station on fumes. i honestly refill what i can, of the tank every damn day. sometimes twice a day. no matter how much i put in, he uses it into the red. i often don't even get to replace it during a day, if there was some fuel in the tank, cause he feels it is his right to drive until he no longer can. dare i say, i don't actually mind paying for gas, nor do i always care about pumping it, BUT i hate always being in straights over needing to. just one time, it would be swell to get in my car and not have to estimate how much fuel remains and if it is enough to limp to a gas station on.
he really makes me crazy with this shit. and it is a daily occurrence.
flash back to the prepping for the show.
i was late to set up my tent yesterday, due to the need for 3 things.
1.coffee to function at a basic level.
2. something for breakfast, as i would not have a chance to eat until the show was over. that 4 hours can seem mighty far off when you are hungry.
3. the eternal need for gas.
4. a bonus, graham forgot to put the tent in the truck while loading things.
and here is what was on my mind...
in my decaffeinated state, i needed to figure out how to fuel myself, graham and the truck for the trip over to the other side of the city. i had $14. in my checking account and $12. in my savings. neither will allow me to grab the all important $20. increment from an atm. so quick juggling allowed us to snag breakfast/coffee from checking and put $11 into the tank. i could manage the upkeep later when i would be more moneyed at the end of the day.
now i was finally good to go and try to make some money.
i took everyone home after the show, we unloaded the truck and then went to taco bell to refresh our systems. then off to target. i wanted a movie, a book and whatever else struck my fancy. this time a t-shirt for me, fresh golfing gloves for graham and halley asked for an economy pack of new undies. we splurged on some chips and soda for the movie watching too.
i neglected to buy gas.
not only had i been out all day working in my jewelry grade self employment gig, but also as mom to three very very tired teens. i made dinner... yep, it was prepared the night before. and it was tasty.
and then i felt a nap coming on.
i fell asleep sitting up in a chair for an hour and decided to really go to sleep when i woke for a bit.
here is where some of this boring stuff comes together...
i was nearly peeing i was so full of personal glee!!!!
evidently, i had left no gas in the truck and my husband was fit to be tied.
i fell asleep happy and warm and full of joy.
it was a great day for me.
and also for a few jewelry folks who got just what they needed. and wanted.
and i somehow outwitted the gas brat in my house.
i am still giggling inside if you might imagine that.
surely, i will be paying for that in five minutes, but that is the way my life goes.
thanks for listening to the details of my day.
boring as it is, i t is all mine.
someday,
perhaps it will be different when i am lounging on a long chair, pool-side in the tuscan countryside and behind my small villa surrounded by olive trees.
until things change a lot,
i will be schlepping around and moaning to anyone who might listen.
thanks.
xoxo.
W.
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