this train of thought simply won't travel in a straight line....
I only have a couple of minutes, so here's a highlight:
The heart of the weekend was spent wandering around Troy. We rolled out of bed and headed for the farmer's market, as is our usual pattern, though after we got there it occurred to us that as we are leaving for 10 days at the end of the week, the cornucopia we got from our CSA probably would have sufficed. Nonetheless, we chatted up some regulars, including Cool Rock and Roll Pottery Dude (I meant to tell him that we'd be at the Sixfifteens that night, but since we didn't make it, it's just as well. Our tradition w/ the Sixfifteens seems to be planning to attend shows and never going) and picked up some apples and two almond croissants guaranteed to make a person froth at the mouth with happiness. (Then we promptly forgot about the pastries until Sunday morning - this post is turning into the Story of Missed Opportunities. Except that, to be honest, they were still luscious on Sunday, and as emotionally pleasing as finding a $20 bill in the pocket of your jeans.)
The Neighborhood of Funky Shops has grown, causing me to react to the thought of moving back to the city as if Pavlov had set up a carillon. We ran into Naomi's husband Tom at the Lebanese place (the cause of the forgotten pastries) and he said that it is no longer possible to get a bargain downtown. This saddened us for a few moments, until we realized that we are not brilliant lighting designers who can buy a decrepit, graffiti-covered brownstone, gut and refinish it in-between commissions. We are the folks who come in a couple of years later and pay twice as much for something that is already purty. So, it's cool.
There was so much more, including the start of Neil's hand art collection, but lunch is over.
The heart of the weekend was spent wandering around Troy. We rolled out of bed and headed for the farmer's market, as is our usual pattern, though after we got there it occurred to us that as we are leaving for 10 days at the end of the week, the cornucopia we got from our CSA probably would have sufficed. Nonetheless, we chatted up some regulars, including Cool Rock and Roll Pottery Dude (I meant to tell him that we'd be at the Sixfifteens that night, but since we didn't make it, it's just as well. Our tradition w/ the Sixfifteens seems to be planning to attend shows and never going) and picked up some apples and two almond croissants guaranteed to make a person froth at the mouth with happiness. (Then we promptly forgot about the pastries until Sunday morning - this post is turning into the Story of Missed Opportunities. Except that, to be honest, they were still luscious on Sunday, and as emotionally pleasing as finding a $20 bill in the pocket of your jeans.)
The Neighborhood of Funky Shops has grown, causing me to react to the thought of moving back to the city as if Pavlov had set up a carillon. We ran into Naomi's husband Tom at the Lebanese place (the cause of the forgotten pastries) and he said that it is no longer possible to get a bargain downtown. This saddened us for a few moments, until we realized that we are not brilliant lighting designers who can buy a decrepit, graffiti-covered brownstone, gut and refinish it in-between commissions. We are the folks who come in a couple of years later and pay twice as much for something that is already purty. So, it's cool.
There was so much more, including the start of Neil's hand art collection, but lunch is over.