Two Saturdays
A day off from the market is a rare occurrence, taken only when the roads are too icy in the 5:30am darkness to make the trip into town safely, or when one is terribly and contagiously ill and must stay in bed with the door shut, tissues and tea on the nightstand.
Two consecutive weekends off from the market is unheard of, unprecedented and unfamiliar territory. Nevertheless, at the tail end of August, I ventured forward into this strange luxury, bringing back stories and treasures and a state of relaxation unparalleled by any meditation I’ve sunk into thus far in my little life (while we’re on the subject of rarities, two weeks ago I wore a dress to work).
Week before last, Patrick enlisted the help of our niece and nephew, Andrew and Rebecca, to work the market in our hometown, giving me respite and a slight conundrum—how to redirect my restless market set up/sell/tear down energy to more leisurely pursuits? I’m cut from the “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” cloth and while not fidgety exactly, I do enjoy that hit of dopamine when I can stand back and look at a project or task completed before diving into the next one. Without the bustle of all things market-related, what was I to do, drive aimlessly around the backroads of central Ohio and stop when the mood struck me? Have lunch at a small-town diner and forget that I’d be well outside the gluten-free restaurant belt? Head toward a lake or dam and watch the life that gathers on the sandy and reedy shores? Well…yeah, that’s kinda the idea and almost what happened.
I ended up at an artisan’s co-op about an hour from our place, looking for new earrings from a vendor we met at a pop-up market two years ago. She was set up next to us and our granola at a family farm-turned small craft brewery and her colorful display kept catching my eye (we all know how well granola pairs with beer, right? We scratched our heads at the invitation to attend and stopped scratching when we sold out in three hours). That day, I added half a dozen pairs of her fine clay crafted jewelry to my collection, giving some away to folks who said they liked them. Two weeks ago, I arrived at the small eclectic shop in Marysville where she consigns her wares and found what I was looking for and more. In this well-curated and cleverly laid out space, I reminded myself to look up and not just eye level at the products within arm’s reach. Dangling from the ceiling were exquisitely detailed twisted grapevine wreaths adorned with tiny hand-crafted clay mushrooms and fungi, paired with patches of moss and stems of artificial greenery that looked like the real thing. Enchanted, I stretched to unhook a crescent moon-shaped one and carried it gingerly to the checkout counter. Against the backdrop of our pistachio-green front door, this vertical fairy garden would welcome family and friends and Amazon delivery drivers well into the autumn season.
A Saturday off? I could get used to this.
Yesterday, we weren’t scheduled for either of the two markets we work. By previous arrangement, I’d been invited to attend a local authors event, sponsored by an indie bookstore just east of Columbus, where I joined 39 fellow writers at long tables set up in the lower-level auditorium of the nearby library. For two glorious hours, I was in the company of creatives, wordsmiths and dreamers who weren’t leaning too hard on our shared writing craft to pay the bills. A steady stream of readers filled the space, stopped to chat and ask us about our work and we happily engaged them as time became irrelevant and blurry on the edges of our conversations. I sold and signed copies for folks who took them up to the checkout table and marveled at my luck—I get to write and sell my words to someone who wants to take them home, nestle into a comfy place and read what I wrote. Seriously—that’s a grand outcome on the other end of a long, long chain of events that began with a simple idea for a story. I’ve just carved out a new and deeper pocket in the well of my humility. To celebrate, Patrick and I stopped for carryout from a fantastic vegan and gluten-free cafe on the way home. Eating green bean curry over rice and a tofu gyro in full view of the meadow will never get old.
Last night, I took more than a few moments to consider just how long it’s been since I’ve had a break like that. To unfold a Saturday slowly before me, not lugging a 120-lb canopy out of the car, wrestling it into place and hauling out the 20-lb tables, 50-lb totes packed with bags of twelve different granola flavors that sell like hotcakes on the hot asphalt of the parking lot where we’re set up…such a pause in that kind of action is pure gift, matched only by the generosity of our customers who rush to the table, thank us for being there and stuff their reusable bags with food they’ll eat for the next several days. For two weekends in a row, I got to see what the woods look like on a Saturday morning (versus say, a Tuesday, on a work remotely day), find out if the blue jays are more chatty than usual now that it’s the weekend (news flash: they aren’t the least bit encumbered by the human invention of the work week) and imagine the gaping hole in the row of stalls set up an hour away, good souls unpacking loaves of sourdough bread and round cardboard containers of cinnamon sugared donut holes, telling folks we’ll be back in a couple weeks. It’s luxury, every bit of it—a side hustle that helps us whittle down some debt and makes the house smell good at the same time, working fulltime jobs that bring meaning and purpose into our lives, getting to step away from either or both for a day, feeling deep gratitude all the way through to our muscles and bones and joints. In all directions, lucky us.
Stillness? Yes, it remains on my list of experiences to master. Retirement? A tiny speck on our married horizon but not rushing at us in a panic. When that decision arrives, I’m confident we’ll know what to do in and around the strangeness of joining the unsalaried class. Until then, I’ll eyeball some future Saturday and fill it with many things or no things, chasing whimsy and writing about it later.
What are you going to do with your next day off? Asking for a friend…
