Ice, fire and finally, water.
This little tale isn’t really about art fairs or galleries – but it was kind of in a field, and tickled my silly sense of humor to the extent that I wanted to share. Last weekend D and I spent some time at Lake Cuyamaca. One of my favorite activities is to walk across the top end of the lake, next to the meadow, over towards the forest. From there, there are a lot of options for wandering and discovering nature.
Talking of nature, there’s a last-chance for the call of nature before you set off.
But let’s take a closer look at that sign. It isn’t a man, or a woman or even a disabled sign (not that this particular potty could accommodate a wheelchair, but the path leading to it wouldn’t be easy for a wheelchair anyway). It’s a white label that’s peeled off into the shape of someone taking a seat!
I’ve been locked out of a few places before – my house, my truck (multiple offenses) and my motel room. Motel 6 are particularly good at having the key not work the next evening, but that’s always an easy fix.
This weekend I went to Flagstaff and fairly easily found my Airbnb location. The owner I knew had taken the weekend off to go hiking out of town, and out of cell phone range. There was another guest also, but when I arrived the place was empty. And locked.
It had been a busy week and I’d skipped the part where I’d written the entry instructions down because I thought they were in a text on my phone. They weren’t. They were on my email which I couldn’t access until I got my laptop onto wifi. I couldn’t get onto the wifi until I accessed my email and found my host’s wifi and password. Catch 22. I could always find a Starbucks, if only I could get onto the web to find where one was because I don’t know Flagstaff well…. Catch 23?
I wondered how friendly the locals were. This is a fairly rural area – down a cinder gravel road. I was in luck. The second house I tried had a 4 furiously barking dogs and a friendly homeowner who stuffed them back into the house and sat on the steps with me and was willing to let me use his laptop as well as his wifi, though mine turned out to be faster. Email accessed and problem solved!
This tale doesn’t have a picture. You will see as it progresses why I couldn’t post one.
At the end of February, I was packing up from a show in Indian Wells. The booth is constructed of walls that come in two pieces, and these go six to a bag (three tops, three bottoms). Individual wall halves weigh about seven and a half pounds (about 3.5 kilos for my European fans), so not difficult to lift, but can be awkward to handle in small spaces as they’re about 3 feet/1 meter square, especially if the wind catches them. The sides have metal bars that accommodate velcro straps top and bottom, and the bottoms also have wind-out adjustable feet.
I’d packed the art and two bags of walls, which were laying at the back of the booth. I took down another top half, and to this day I don’t know whether I caught it on the side of the desk, tripped over something, or the wind caught the wall, but down we went. The wall went off in its own direction and I went onto the two bags of walls. I mentioned the hard little feet, didn’t I. I caught myself right on the padding. The girl padding. Really hard.
Aaargh, I groaned out loud, and clutched at the point of impact. The guy from the next booth came running over. What happened? I hit my tit, I groaned. Sorry, girlfriend, I can’t help you with that. By this time I realize that I didn’t break any bones, am not bleeding, and it’s one of these things that I’ll laugh about later. So I started laughing now. At this point the couple who across the aisle run over. What happened? I hit my tit, I laughed between painful groans while rolling around on the floor clutching the area of pain. I looked up at the three of them and they’re all standing there groaning and laughing in sympathy, and holding the same body area that I am.
I ended up with two bruises the same size and shape as the booth feet. One green one black. Now you know why I can’t post a picture.
Just in case you were wondering, there are actually a lot more sonnets being written than I post here, but I thought I’d put this one up as I was reading it to D yesterday and we had a good laugh.
Flip flops are such a comfy thing to wear,
the shoe with a relaxing attitude.
Slip on vacation hooves and then you’re there –
Flip from a boss into a cool dude.
Your toes feel freedom, something that’s so right.
No more stuffy socks inside the thong!
They’ll fit feet that are narrow, deep or wide,
and waterproof! You really can’t go wrong.
If it’s too cold for flip flops, stay inside
and flip around the house until it warms,
then hit the beach and dip them in the tide
,the sand won’t chafe your heels, you won’t get corns.
And when you crave a lazy day that’s tops,
kick off the pumps and slip into flip flops.
Well, well, well. Seems like spelling is not a prerequisite for the City of Calabasas! This trash can was at the back of my booth on the weekend.
Here’s my monthly mailing newsletter – reaching out to everyone with whom I cannot reach out face to face.