Beginning a post, I feel constantly overwhelmed by what to lead with - the farmer's market, the amazing lunch that followed, the fact that *most* of the books have homes, pumpkin muffins, mexican chiapas coffee, bike rides? I feel an powerful surge of I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS RIGHT NOW and HOW CAN I CONVEY ALL THESE NEW EXPERIENCES AT ONCE?! It's almost, dare I say, too much, but maybe too much in the best possible way, if there is such a thing.
Yesterday we biked to the market and before I could lock my bike to the rack I felt a sense of excitement paired with the kind of nausea I remember from my early birthday parties when everyone started to sing and I would run and hide. There were multitudes of vendors - farmers, artisans, cheese makers, coffee roasters, bakers, chefs, musicians - you name it, they were there. There were jugglers next to organic greens and a twelve year old cellist nestled in between a booth dedicated to local wild mushrooms and a man on stilts.
We took home a pound of coffee, four ears of corn, three tomatoes, four crisp, tart apples, two pears, a mixed bag of sautéing greens, a demi baguette, and a bunch of fresh basil. At the market we consumed one vegetable samosa, a cup of strawberry lemonade, a mini pumpkin cupcake, and a variety of cheese, coffee, and fruit samples. People, I could have stayed all day.
For lunch I warmed a few bowls of left over vegetable soup and sliced a few tomatoes for a caprese salad to use some of our fresh basil while Andrew biked down to Trader Joe's for some mozzarella cheese. Sitting at the table with our fresh fare and a few pieces of torn baguette, I might have though we found heaven.
We were very good and diligent the rest of the day, putting the couch in its place, bookshelves in their homes with books intact, and the little nook that was once to be the table's resting place, it's most comfortably now my own little office of sorts with my desk unfurling more each day. It almost looks as if someone lives here - the whole here- not just in the kitchen.
This morning we woke up and Andrew fiddled with the radio until we heard the familiar hum of voices on NPR as I fumbled around in the kitchen whisking flour and pumpkin puree into tiny golden muffins. Needless to say friends, the oven and I made peace this morning at around 9:30 AM pacific. It was beautiful, as were the first bites of pumpkin muffins spread with cream cheese, washed down by our favorite coffee, and enjoyed on the couch, books in hand, in the middle of what has proved to be a very slow sort of Fall weekend morning.
Yesterday while we unpacked a couple below us on the street was unpacking their truck into what looked like the apartment below us, I can't really be sure if they were moving in with those already there or just dropping things off. Midway through their unloading the guy pulled a guitar from the back, sat down and started to play a few bits of songs. The girl came out, chastised him a bit for playing and very quickly began to join in singing along. In the time it took me to move a box of books from the window in my office facing that street to the living room, the two had become four, with two guitars, two guys, two girls, and a handful of recognizable songs. By the time the sun started to set I heard a chorus of voices belting out "Yellow Submarine" into the red and pink sky. While I myself am not one to go down and sit on the curb and sing with strangers, I appreciate those who will, and do, and I felt privileged to
be enjoying their spontaneous concert.
It's almost noon here and we're still couch and book bound, but our tummies our starting to rumble in unison, so I think I'm going to step away for a bit and use some of those fresh veggies to make up a quick lunch.