Back To The Market

Back To The Market - 1

The Farmer's Market in St. Pete is a nice place to visit first thing on Saturday before you go onto other things. It is often full of people - crowded but not too bad. Mackenzie wanted to go so off we went. Today, however, the place was packed. It was so packed I started to get a physiological thing going, but more on that later. It was so packed we couldn't find parking in the usual places and had to fork over for a parking garage. But I'm nothing if not a good trooper in the cause of familial weekend pursuits.

A view from the garage. That's the old Al Lang stadium, former home of the New York Met's spring training facilities. Now it is home to the Tampa Bay Rowdies, a soccer team. Imagine paying $25 to see soccer.

This guy was blowing into a didgeridoo and banging on a metal drum, and sounded like it. Must be an acquired taste. I didn't get it, but then the crowd was starting to affect my outlook on things.

Spotted from the garage was this cool looking '54 Mercury.

As you can see, apparently everyone in the area had no where else to go. The worry quotient escalated because Norah and Alfred had to be watched and accounted for.

Here, Norah takes possession of a balloon dog. Sadly, it did not survive the day.

How nice would it be to have the uppermost apartment in that building?

Veggies were the main reason for attending the market, but the place has just about anything one would want. Hats, metal works, artworks, bulk meat sales, and Greek, Mexican, organic, you name it foods.

Peppers. I feel a Bloody Mary with pepper vodka calling. But I think I'll wait till I get to Northlandia - I have several options there, and likely to have company when I do.

The Market is fun, but less so when it is ungodly crowded. I could feel myself starting to react to the crowd and yearning to flee. This was further exasperated by my having Alfred and I wandered off in search of space, found none, and she was fussy. These things happen, and of course if the posse wanted to do it again I'd go. But I usually have a pretty good sense of what I want/can handle and I'll have to pack a flask with a couple shots of Rum Chata next time. Just for medicinal purposes, of course.

We aren't quite done at the Market so one of these days I'll post the rest. But that'll do for today to get us going for the week.

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Flashback Friday

Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless. Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001. It was one of those things that can generate crime: two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job. Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things. Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold. But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find. His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead. He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds. He will be paralyzed for life. None of this is pleasant. Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant

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Existing In BFE

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