Last night was spent with my favorite grandson, celebrating his 13th birthday and a lovely evening was had by all, with the exception perhaps of a certain one-year old grand puppy who was frustrated that all the people were having fun together and that he was not included. How can grandma come over, after all, and not include her grand-puppy in the festivities?
And this morning I was there at the Farmer's market bright and early, before one of the stands I tend to like to frequent even opened. In fact it was not open both times that I walked by, but there were plenty of other opportunities. I love spending early Saturday mornings at the farmer's market, when there is a full selection of produce, but mostly because there is time, time to wander amongst the stands, time to account for what you see, to make mental notes, to create fantasy dishes and menus, and to dream of what I might want to eat, might want to cook before heading back for a second round and settling into the business of actually shopping.
As I wandered back to my car, laden with two heavy bags I wondered if perhaps I had perhaps over-indulged. I always start with a list, I try to think while I shop, but I still occasionally get carried away and today I was rearranging my menus in my head as I walked back to the car. But as I was thinking about these small personal things I was also watching people at the market, wondering about my own excesses and also the simple pleasures of life, time with family, walking the dog, and a certain amount of focus on the personal and the small, as opposed to the outside world, knowing full well that we were all there, in downtown Knoxville, the morning before a football game, each in our own bubbles, some in bright orange bubbles, planning on a day celebrating a football game, me thinking of soup and homemade sriracha, perhaps some time curled up with a book, bumping up against each other, every bubble as worthy as any other.
And so it seems it has been a good Saturday, playing in the kitchen, taking a nap, reading the score and libretto to the fabulous opera performance I attended Thursday night, the US premier of City of Ashes by Evan Fein, with libretto by Knoxvillian Emily Anderson. In fact, I had read the libretto several times before attending the opera, and I wish I had had access to the score before the performance as well. But perhaps then, I would have known too much. Sometimes it is enough to be surprised by something new, to be carried away in the moment.
In fact, although I might have wished I could see the opera again the second night, I would have missed that 13th birthday for anything. I would not have missed wandering through the farmer's market. I would not miss curling up on the sofa with a book or a score or some knitting. I recognize that all of this is part of the process of settling back into my life, a small life really, a life shaped by my birth and race and education and fortunes in the world, but my life still.
