Asea

[offcntr]

I think my booth thought it was still in Anacortes. Particularly in the late afternoon, when the wind picked up. But I had neighboring booths and a magnolia to break the wind (and provide much needed shade) and my 8-foot Market booth seems to act less sail-like, so all was weill.

It was Pride Day in Eugene, with a big celebration at Alton Baker Park, and a parade that came down Oak Street right through Market, complete with motorcycle cop escort, lots of participants from every branch of the Family, flags, signs, and a llama in a rainbow blanket. As an ally with five family members in the community (gay brother, lesbian sister and sister-in-law, trans brother and non-binary nibling), I was right on the curb with my bear, waving my flag and cheering. Cheri was particularly impressed with the llama, asking everyone who stopped in, Did you see the parade? They had a llama! (To which one of her friends said, "Oh, Caesar was here?" Apparently he and his person are regulars at these gatherings. A Lambda Llama? Who knew?)

Some nice interactions with kids again: a little boy with his Spanish-speaking family, giggling at the elephant bank noises. He was carrying an improvised paper cone in which he was collecting fall flower petals from around the Park Blocks. Later, two little girls from England each got to pick out their own toddler bowl (fawn, and my last bunnies) and I showed them how to carefully hold them, two-handed, while grandma paid for them. They were so proud. Mom got herself a bear stew mug; apparently they were all moving to Eugene where Mom would be working in the wine industry.

Some of my special order customers came down to pick up their commissions, including a real estate agent who's been buying my work for years, initially to dress houses for showing, eventually for her own kitchen. She asked if she'd ever told me how she found out about me? I don't think so? I said.

It was many years ago, twenty or thirty, and she was representing a house whose aged owners had died. Her handyman was doing dry-rot repairs, and found several boxes in the attic, filled with pottery. By me. He brought it to her, asked what to with it? He didn't want it. Oh no, she said, This is mine now.

Problem is, I didn't sign my work, still don't I'm a pottery stamp guy by midwestern training. She had the work for a good eight years before it occurred to her to take some down to the Info Booth at Saturday Market and see if anyone recognized it. Oh yeah, he's just around the corner, said Vi. (Vi had been at Market for decades at that point. Vi knew everything).

This sort of feels like an episode of something on HGTV.

Sales were slow, but steady, and it wound up being a pretty decent day by closing, maybe 10% of last weekend? A solid Saturday.

Best t-shirt of the day: "It's not a Dad Bod, it's a Father Figure."