First things first, I am tickled to finally get a photo of Leland with a bike, his second one in fact, recently put together for him by his brother Lamont. Y'all remember Lamont's orange bicycle in the picture in our building's lobby, right? If not, you can see it by clicking on February 2007 and scrolling down to Feb. 5. These guys are so much like their dearly departed Daddy, able to cook, to put things together, to fix things, to treat people right, to enjoy being together, to make their Mama proud.
I digress, happily.
The prospect of perfect weather and setting up on the same spot at the corner of NE 28th and Alberta made me feel good about this Last Thursday. The sweet couple in the Ethiopian grocery/restaurant we're in front of seem to approve of our returning each month, which makes us feel good. So, it took some time to get all of our stuff out and clipped or taped down to sort of counteract the fantabulous breeze and/or gusts.
Here's how it ended up, which must have been more appealing to potential customers because I actually sold some stuff. And got to talk to lots and lots of people. I met several other transplanted Southerners--a guy from Greenwood, Miss., and women from Arkansas and Baton Rouge, plus a guy who'd moved here 13 years ago from Florida. (I apologize for forgetting to take a picture of Lindsay's stuff. She did very well in the selling department as well.)
Don't you just love this woman's homemade gigantic googly eyes' headband? I do. Are you wondering what that is floating above my own head? It's the black-and-white maribou feather headband that my sister-in-law Vanessa bought me for my birthday from her and my brother. We found it a few Decembers ago, in Jackson at the Mistletoe Marketplace. It's so me. Thanks, Vanessa and Howard!
I know you won't have any trouble understanding that the maribou feathers attracted a whole lot of glances, etc. So, I wasn't surprised when I heard this guy pictured below say, "I love your hair!" and he answered, "I love your hat. Will you do something with me?" Turns out he's Michael Rockstar, a musical comedian and he wanted me to sign along with him, on camera no less, for PDX 49. Naturally I said yes. Who wouldn't want to possibly be heard and seen singing a TV station's ID along with a guy with those great curls? Naturally, I hammed it up as much as possible, extremely pleased that I couldn't see myself and thinking I'll never be at home when the spots run anyway, so I agreed to finish by saying "We're Portland!" with Rockstar and then happily signed the release one of the station ladies handed to me. As they turned to leave, I piped up, "I've done karaoke. Could ya tell?" They grinned, and he agreed to the photo. I was on roll, I'm tellin' ya! (For more on Rockstar, please read Amy McCullough's Feb. 21, 2007, Q&A with Rockstar at the Willamette Week's Local Cut, http://localcut.wweek.com/2007/02/21/qa-michael-rockstar-on-the-life-of-a-musical-comedian/.)
Picture this: I notice every once in a while that a small crowd gathers around the shop window to the west of the grocery, looking at something out of my line of sight. Finally, I can't stand it any longer, especially when I overhear someone say, "I wonder how she can do that without moving." She just does. Here's the proof, in living color. I don't know how she does it, but I will tell you that when I checked this first photo on my camera view screen, looked up and her and gave her the thumbs up, she quickly stuck the tip of her tongue out at me, grinned and was back in her pose in a flash. In a flash!
Not long after I took the photo below, the Open sign was turned off, and she walked down the sidewalk to my left, pushing a bicyle without any hint that she'd been using her muscles in any way other than normal. Wow. Would you call her a live mannequin?
Just before we started to pack up, the parking spot directly behind my chair opened, so Leland took the keys to move the car. While I'm standing in the space to save it--"You've gotta stand there and save it, Mom," I'd been instructed--here came the Good Humor Man! That sweet guy dug to the bottom of his freezer compartment, surely as deep as the word "Children," to retrieve a box of popsicles for little-ol'-lactose-intolerant me. I had a sky blue one. Sweet.