REMEMBERING TO BE A TOURIST

The mean reds settled in sometime around Wednesday and hung around for the rest of the week. I was having a hard time shaking it. In fact, I was on the verge of just surrendering to it, wrapping myself up in it like a cozy blanket. But Saturday morning, still feeling the lingering effects, I peeled myself out of bed and headed to the Farmers' Market. Our Farmers' Market is also a tourist destination and in our first few visits Chris and I did indeed play tourist. But then it became a grocery shopping experience. Now my goal is to get there early, before the tourist crowd starts to form. I get in, get what I need, sometimes (most the time) get a few things I don't need, and get out. This particular morning I was moving slower then usual. I arrived at the market early enough to easily find a good parking space but late enough to run into the beginnings of the tourist crowd. My first instinct was to be annoyed, but then I found myself waiting in line for roasted chilies, one arm loaded down with tomatoes, sweet potatoes, an eggplant and a zucchini while fishing my camera out of my bag with the other hand. And that's how I ended up as a tourist.

Instead of my usual rush, I took some time to linger. I decided I needed a nice loaf of bread from the bread shop and while I was at it a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee. I sat outside enjoying the cool morning and my cinnamon roll and watched as a young man was just setting up to play his cello. He gave me the impression that this was his first attempt at street performing. His notes came out tentatively and quietly. But they were clear and true. I dropped some money in his tip jar and took his picture. I think it gave him some encouragement, because he began to play a little more assertively.

And just like that the mean reds lifted up and away.