Wellll, now it’s more like two weekends ago. MY BAD!
Sunday I met up with my sister-in-law Karen. Ok, so technically she isn’t my “sister”-in-law because she married my cousin, but these are just minor details. Karen invited me to go to the Fremont Sunday Market, including a ride. Yeehaw! Driving into Seattle scares me, much like bangs.
We arrived at the market around noon and the sights blew me away. Booth after booth of just about anything you can think of. Vintage lawn gnomes and blown-glass baubles. Re-stored furniture, sanded down and painted bright turquoise for a mere $150. Soaps perfumed with lavender and honey, vintage clothing – some with pit-stains, some without. Welded metal bent into peculiar shapes like Ren & Stimpy or a melted-faced fairy princess.
Food trucks a’plenty, pedaling everything from modestly sized pulled pork sandwiches for $6.50 to elephant ear sized naans, dripping with cilantro and garlic infused butter. Oh yeah, and chocolate-chip-coconut macaroons – j’adore!
We stopped at nearly every booth, save for the one with the giant black metal sculptures of demon-possessed Ravens (yikes!). The artist himself seriously could have walked out of the Nightmare Before Christmas, threw on some leather and rolled around in white talcum powder. He kinda reminded me of the people who worked at Hot Topic when I was a wee lass in high school. Yes, I was scared of that store. I would literally run in and run out, clutching my bag of face glitters and trying to get whatever Marilyn Manson song (or so I thought) out of my head.
We sampled the enormous naan and debated our ability to re-create the carb laden masterpiece in our own kitchens. We laughed at people who look like their dogs and noted how very cute pugs are, despite their incessant out-of-breathness.
After walking by the hula-hoop booth several times and both of us agreeing how impossible this seemingly easy activity should be, I decided to give it a whirl (see what I did there?).
I was instructed to keep one foot in front of the other and move my hips rythmically back and fourth. Despite the fact that this white-girl completely lacks any kind of rhythm, I did decently for my first lesson. Karen stood by, laughing at my sorry attempts and happily snapping pictures along the way.
We were given flyers for a hula-hoop class (hey yo!) and childishly snickered at the large puffs of hair protruding from the hula-hoop gal’s armpits. Funny is funny.
One of the last stops was a retailer of all things toys. With Karen being an educator, she was able to clue me in to the new “it” toy called a Kendama. All the rage with Karen’s classroom, we tried mastering this Japanese game of coordination. As expected, I was terrible. Karen on the other hand was brilliant at it. She haggled with the owner for a few minutes (obviously a Policar) and scored 2 Kendamas at a great price. Oh how I love haggling.
After we had done the martket, we decided to grab a brewsky at one of Karen’s old college haunts, the Red Door. Lots of wedding talk was had and future plans were made. I felt so grateful to have spent this glorious day with Karen. Being a new gal in a big city aint easy and it’s nice to know that she is just a phone call away #imnotastalker.
All for now. Stay tuned for tales of my wisdom teeth, bridal shower preparation and maybe some new reads.