Today I wish to visit a summer memory because doing so is good for the soul. Well, I think so anyway. Saturday Market is a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. Sarah and I spend time there whenever we have it. We love the cultural diversity, the food, the music, and especially all the shiny things we can buy.
We arrived Saturday morning at about eleven, entering the vendor area and the swarm of people, all who looked familiar. The sound of pleasant conversation filled the air like sweet incense. Vendors peddling their merchandise, couples talking about the treasures they might purchase, and musicians playing viola and guitar, produced for me a sense of comfortable anonymity. Here I was safe, just a part of a community. No one knew me, yet we were all one. Sarah and I were free to wonder.
We walked around the north side looking at all the booths and tables. There were rings and bracelets made of gold, silver, copper, brass, leather, and beads.
We looked at dresses and skirts of many colors and materials. Tables full of incense lay before us with sweet Jasmine burning as a sample of the rich scents available.
Candles of every size, shape color and texture filled another booth. There were funny hats, silly dolls, and shawls of silk, jewelry made of spoons, earrings, toe rings, weird shoes and all the other wonderful, beautiful, useless things that we could ever imagine buying. I was in Heaven.
On the corner of Oak and 8th, Heaven continued. As we approached I could hear the sound of a slide steel guitar weeping like a cat in heat. This man was not a musician, but an artist.
With sound, this angel exposed the sadness hiding deep within me. Some moments it seemed he was using words, but these I could not understand. His music said it all, and I, transfixed, was his prisoner, I hadn’t noticed the tears running down my face, however, Sarah, being aware of my state pulled me back into the physical world.
Once free and sufficiently consoled, we continued our journey. Making our way across the street, I once again discovered the beauty of the women and the men and the shiny objects I might buy.
As we neared the food court, the aroma changed from incense to curry and Barbecue, of fried rice and coffee. Suddenly, commerce and sad songs no longer mattered. We were hungry and walking in the land of plenty. Sarah purchased a plate of curry something, and I a taco or two. Armed with these and glass of iced tea, we settled down, in the warm afternoon sun to watch a band of children play for the beautiful and strange people that we love.