I woke up to find the dog’s nose a half inch from my mouth. I don’t know if he was enamored with my morning breath, if he was checking to see if I was still alive or if he was looking for a new place to park one of his treasures. He hides bits of bark from the landscaping in the strangest places but that’s a story for another day. I had taken a sleeping pill last night and overslept this morning so maybe the dog’s other tricks for waking me didn’t work. Whatever the case, I bounced out of bed knowing I had places to go and things to do that included a trip to the farmer’s market in a near-by tourist town where Don grew up.
This farmer’s market is one I hadn’t shopped since Don died and
we used to go there every Saturday morning. Last summer I couldn’t bear the
thought of all the vendors asking about Don’s absence so I switched to a
different, less interesting market. My favorite market hadn’t changed since my last visit. Dogs,
kids in strollers and people of all description milling over produce, flowers,
baked goods and plants were every where. The dog bakery vendor was especially
busy when I stopped by to buy Levi a treat. I’ve never taken him to the market
and I never will because he’s been trail trained to sit whenever a walker, jogger or
bike goes by which he now does automatically even when I don’t want him to. At the
farmer’s market he’d probably park is little butt down at the entry way and
never get an opportunity to advance forward. He’s a polite little bugger if
nothing else. I can see me pleating with him, “Levi, the dog treat booth is down this row if you’d just move!”
While shopping the market I ran across a booth trying to
drum up interest in a new museum that is opening soon in town. I have a
bunch of Don’s old high school year books and I wanted to know if they’d be
interested in having them, so I stopped. “Yes!”
they told me and we made arrangements for me to drop them off. Then the man said, “Would you be interested in volunteering at
the museum?” If you’ve been following this blog you know I’ve been feeling
like the whole universe is nagging me to find a volunteer job. But for the
first time, a volunteer situation actually peaks my interest. Since the museum
is just now building shelving I can picture myself filling those shelves and
setting up exhibits. With my background in art, my experience creating
displays in the various antique booths Don and I rented over the years, and my interest in history I’d be a
natural at that job. I took their application for volunteering and I just may
drop it off with the year books. Ya, I know, if I do that I’m going to have to listen to a
lot of people say, “I told you so! Volunteering will help you make
friends.”
After the farmer’s market I decided to climb another
widowhood mountain---going to a restaurant all by myself. In the past when Don
and I would go to the farmer’s market we’d also go to a breakfast only café
that seats 100 people and they are always so busy you usually have to wait at
least a half hour to get seated. It’s a fun place to people watch so we looked
forward to the wait as much as the food, and the people who worked there
treated Don like gold even though his wheelchair made their jobs more difficult---they
pack customers in like sardines. This time I took a stool at the counter with
twelve other loners and I got a wonderful view of the four line cooks and ten
waitresses as they raced around and shouted out orders. It’s a noisy place and
as I sat there I decided I could and would do this again. What’s not to love? The food is
delicious and entertainment value is right up there with watching Diners, Drive-in and Dives with Guy
Fieri on the Food Network. And sitting at the counter instead of a table...well, it made me feel part of a group instead of someone whose other half was missing.
After my morning of proud widow-on-the-move accomplishments I went
home to Levi who smelled every square inch of my pants before I gave him his
farmer’s market treat. I could almost hear him say, “It’s about time you went back to the place with all the smelly dogs
again!” ©
