Somewhere Past That Rain Cloud

Oh, it was such a hard day. None of us expected constant rain without a break and half of us wouldn't have come if we had known. But the Market looked nice and full and we were optimistic that the break would come. I noticed on the way home that it wasn't actively raining, but by then I was soaked to the skin so it didn't really matter. My coat failed to shed water and I spent far too much time standing in the aisle trying to amuse myself and keep Rich's guitar dry.

My left arm keeps falling asleep...serious cervical stress I'm guessing. This has been happening for a year or more, but just on Sundays after Market, or other times when I have worked too hard. Maybe it's from standing on concrete all day or all the lifting, or biking with the weight, or sleeping too hard on Saturday night. Or slumping into my chair trying to read the paper with my lonely cat on my lap. Spinal compression. Anyway, chiropractor time, and self-care day.

I've been working on an essay about women and aging and it is causing me lots of self-examination. After three markets I'm convinced things have to improve or it will end way sooner than I want it to. I weighed my load after week two, and it was 534 pounds. Not including my bike (30), the trailer itself (45) and me (135). That's way too much for a little old woman to be hauling.

That's right, I'm starting to admit that 60-soon-to-be-61 is kind of old. Not old old. So this week since I knew there would be at least some rain, I took my new pop-up (30 pounds) and left home every scrap of stuff I thought I could do without. The hoodies weigh about 35 pounds and sometimes I don't sell any, because people don't seem to have much money right now. So they stayed home. The 53 pounds of hats that can be displayed on a nice day went down to 35, and I could have taken fewer. I went through the box of metal things you hang on grids (whatever they are really called) and took out some, trying for a minimum. I even eliminated every piece of plastic and each tote bag that I thought I could do without. I use a smaller, lighter hat stick on rainy days. I leave the bottom shelf home, which weighs nine pounds all on its own. Wood is heavy. I didn't weigh my old wood booth but there is no question the pop-up is lighter. I did take a big towel and a few garbage bags, to keep things dry at first and then to keep the wet things from getting the damp things wetter. Everything was damp when I got it home, and it is all spread out around the shop where it will gradually return to normal. I brought home an estimated 10 pounds of water.

I took at least 150 pounds less this week, and the load seemed relatively light, a big relief. Of course if you don't take it you can't sell it, and my sales were low, but everyone's were and I did better than many. It turned out to be a pretty fun day overall.

I'm enjoying my new neighbors a lot, they have great senses of humor and that cooperative, non-competitive ethic that I love so much about Market. Across the aisle they overlap their tarps, actually built their booths with that in mind, and have a nice community going, like so many Market neighborhoods. I dislike the closed-booth way we have to box ourselves up in our white cubes on my side of the aisle...one thing I loved about being next to Raven and River is that we would leave our sides open so we could see into each other's worlds and be more continuous and helpful to each other. Not everyone can do that, particularly in the rain, and I actually owe Willy a big debt for lending me two sides, because the drip from the pop-ups of your neighbors goes way into your booth if you don't both have sides. Maybe in the summer they will take theirs down when I go into umbrella mode, if I do. The umbrellas and stand weigh 59 pounds...and you can fasten awnings onto your pop-up for shade, maybe a better plan than moving the umbrellas about. But aesthetically I prefer the umbrellas. We'll see, if the sun ever comes out on a Saturday again.

The high point of the day was of course when Rich Glauber came down and played guitar and sang with me, taking requests from the neighbors and passers-by (all two of those). We sang "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" just like middle school chorus. We sang old standards, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Here Comes the Sun, Let's Call the Whole Thing Off, whatever we could think to do. Rich is so great at singing with others, and we got a chance to talk about which parts to take, etc. I tend to sing strong melody because in my family the high harmonies get taken by my sister Paula and the alto ones by my Mom, and I have that amateur tendency to drift from one part to another to suit my low range. It dawned on me finally that Rich likes to sing melody. You're not a Leo or anything, are you? So I will brush up on my second-soprano and alto parts and maybe even write a short list of songs we both know. He knows just about everything, it seems, and we sang all the time as kids, so I know what my Mom knows. My sister's husband, Mike, also sings wonderfully and plays guitar, so we still sing at all the family gatherings, but I never get enough singing. Rich might just be my key to that right now.

I've been enjoying his blog, Music in Action, where he often writes about leading groups and mentoring kids in opening up to song, and enjoying getting to know more about his inner life as blogs work best, giving us glimpses of each other in easy, accessible ways. We've known each other a long time, but now in a different way. This was the week for that, maybe, as I got a visit from another Richard, an equally longterm friend who mentors me in other ways.

This Richard made it possible for me to build a house and he is essential to my Country Fair operation. We like to go out to "The Site" and listen to the trees and talk deep thoughts. He came over Friday and we had a lovely talk, where he observed many things that left me feeling "seen" in a wonderful way. I miss that. It's what I would have with a partner if I had one, or a family member if one lived close by. Other people may make these observations, but they seldom voice them, and Richard must have been in the mood to do that, and it was gratifying.

It's the type of joy you only seem to get after a couple of decades of investment, getting through years of annoyance or disillusion on top of the delight of discovery and the crush period when you think you might hook up with that person, or steal their husband, or whatever form it takes. I count Pamela and Galen in that group for me, just wouldn't want to have to go through life without them. They are there to take pictures of me in my Jell-O kerfluffle, they remember my birthday, they poke me and laugh when I get ridiculous. Pamela almost always comes down to Market to give me a break, which is just a lifeline some days. She drove out to the OCF to bring me a cellphone when I was marooned out there with my huge pile of wet shirts during that other rain disaster.

Galen is moving to New Mexico, but I feel okay about this, that our friends-for-life relationship will survive the distance, unless of course she stays there forever which could happen. Then I will just have to go there. As my mom reminded me, you can always take a bus to pretty much everywhere. Richard has talked about moving for years, but only to Port Townsend, where I could conceive of spending some time, and that would be harder, since he is my go-to person for all things project-related. At some point I made sure these few knew that we were friends for life, in case they had any confusion about my commitment, because I tend to not be a phone person and if you don't read my blog, you might not know how much I love you.

When I think about it though, there are a lot more people I would write about in this way if my arm wasn't continuing to bother me. I am rich in people who care about me despite my hermity nonsocial ways. I think I don't deserve them, that if they really knew me and how little I pet my cat, they wouldn't like me. The thing is, those kinds of people know I don't pet my cat and like me anyway. They laugh and describe me as prickly as they force me into a hug that I secretly enjoy. I am transparent to these people, and that is a relief.

I like being transparent, even though it means I am vulnerable and feel foolish rather often. I like being me, when I am reflected in the mirror of people I love. I thoroughly enjoy hamming it up in the rain, wet as a bedraggled cat, tap-dancing in the puddles. Seems like my neighbors enjoyed it too.

So, see, even on the rainy days, Saturday Market is the best thing around. All you have to do is drag yourself out of the house and enter into the serendipity and wonder that is available for free. And thank you immensely to that young couple with the baby in the plastic-enclosed backpack who bought not one but two shirts, and made my day with their appreciation. It didn't feel like a pity sale at all, not that I would have minded a pity sale, and I also thank all of the people who came down just to support us. Not to even mention our staff, who picked up wet garbage (the site was so clean this week!) and had to come, whether they wanted to or not. At four in the morning, too.

It is miserable to be soaked to the skin for hours standing on a street corner. At least we had each other. Saturday Market on a bad day is still a zillion times better than a day without Saturday Market. Thank you all.