Years from now, or maybe even a few months from now, I'll look back on this summer with the same bittersweet nostalgia as an old washed-up minor-league ballplayer might feel, remembering the summer he got called up to "The Show" (that's what washed-up minor leaguers call the major leagues) and he played there under the bright lights for 17 days, before they sent him back down to the minors because he couldn't hit major league pitchers or something, I can't remember anymore of the movie, it was starring Kevin Bacon or Kevin Costner or the other Kevin. Anyway, in the movie he got all misty-eyed and looked so sad and thoughtful and adorable when he talked about "the show" that I wanted to give him a hug and buy him a brewski or something...that's the vibe I'm looking for, that's how I'll always feel about the magical summer I exhibited my art for the world at the Farmer's Market, when I tried to hit major league pitching and failed to sell enough refrigerator magnets to justify all the time and expense of making them and getting up at 6:00am every Saturday morning...I mean, for god's sake, Saturday morning! - the whole summer long, we couldn't do anything, not a damn thing! We couldn't even go on weekend trips, well, one weekend trip, seriously.
The picture at right is a not-very-well-drawn rendition of the foot massage lady who parked her hinky booth by mine one weekend; I despised her for various reasons, mostly because she killed my sales with her holistic health hoodoo, also for the boyfriend who always seemed to be hanging around her booth and who I thought should probably be engaged or living with or at least maybe holding hands at movies with her but who turned out to be her friend who hung out at her booth all weekend and sometimes watched the booth for her and bought her breakfast and then shook hands with her and wished her a good weekend which I found somewhat disturbing, as I did the thing where she'd sit there and hold the client's feet and talk to them, it reminded me of the thing Bokonists did in Cat's Cradle, touching feet with each other. The mental image stayed with me most of the morning, keeping me in a state of hysteria veering one moment close to tears, the next to uncontrollable laughter, every time I glanced over at the neighboring booth. And still the grim, silent "boyfriend" sat at a nearby bench, gazing quietly upon it all.
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