Sunday Letters — Market Edition (May 2015)

Dear Readers of This Blog:

Yes, I have missed two Sundays. Clean forgot. I suspect no-one noticed, as it's a new practice anyway. But I don't know that. 

I only know for sure who reads these posts if you leave a comment. But I'm not saying you're obliged. 

I know that anonymous readers also exist, because you show up in my stats. I even know where you come from (the more of you there are in any country, the darker green it displays). USA mostly, and quite a lot also from Russia and Germany, ahead of Australia. I have no idea why, unless for the simple reason that those countries have more bloggers than most, who are out and about all over the web.

Dear Readers, I am glad these posts do get looked at, and are not just self-indulgent wanks going into a void! 

It immediately occurs to me that they could be that and still get looked at, briefly and/or contemptuously — but I'll assume the best, because that makes me feel good. And because I think it is better to have some readers than none, and you are entitled to your own opinions. 

I am glad no-one hates my words so much as to leave nasty messages!

Thank you all.

Dear Murwillumbah Showgrounds Market —


I've been coming here nigh on 20 years, on and off. Lately I've missed a couple: once due to a wake for a dead friend, once because I had the flu. And before that you were washed out twice in a row from heavy rains, and before THAT you didn't happen near Xmas; you never do. So it has been five months since I was here last.

You are cold and gloomy, here in the large Pavilion. It is up to us stall-holders to make you warm and bright. Today there are so few of us in here, we don't have much chance to draw anyone in. It's a quiet market anyway, today. However, you have brought me the two customers I need in order to go, however slightly, into profit. 

I asked for a sign today, as to whether I should continue or finally stop coming. You're the only market I still do. I rely on you to augment my Age Pension, which is a frugal living, harder and harder to manage on. But I think it is not good to rely on these earnings; I need to find a more predictable income supplement. 

And this morning it was cold; hard for me to get out of bed early enough, not being a natural morning person anyway.

And now the Goddess Circle meetings have been changed, to coincide with my market day — for quite unconnected reasons, but it means I can't go to Circle any more.

So, yes, it seemed time to ask for a sign.

I got here and the back door I usually bring my stuff through was closed. I saw there was space down the side, and was able to park right by the side door, which is even more convenient for me.

Someone had been incorrectly allocated my stall space — but I got the one next to it, even closer to the main door which the customers come through. I heard that the woman who had this space isn't going to be coming any more; presumably I could have it. (I used to; but one day the overhead light wasn't working and this space is too dark without it, so I switched. I could switch back and bring my LED lamp just in case.)

Well, Market, the signs were ambiguous. 

I did my usual quick reconnoitre to see who else was here, doing the rounds of the stalls outside. My dear friend Heather and I had a hug and a yarn. I saw on her counter a small crystal ball of pale green new jade on a stand; she sold it to me at mates' rates. I'd been wanting one that colour, and I'd been wanting some new jade. Bingo, two in one!

I like to buy something from another stall-holder before I start. It's a little superstition I have. I like to believe this gets the money energy flowing. 

On the way back to my stall, I said hello to another stall-holder who's kind of a pal, we've known each other so long in various contexts. I got a cheery wave and yell in return.

Then my regular first customer, Patsy, turned up. She long ago graduated to friend. She always gets here very early and comes for a reading. I like to think she brings me luck. I had thought she wouldn't be here this time, as she has a house full of guests; but her son-in-law, she told me, got them all up to come to visit you, Market.

Later

Market, you have been quiet today; it's now noon. But I have now had three customers, which, though not as many as usual, leaves me sufficiently better off. And two strangers took my card with a view to consulting me privately. And five friends stopped by for a quick catch-up (everyone knows they can usually find me here). One of the friends came especially to bring me a book she'd finished and thought I'd like. (One of those op shop books you buy cheap, read and pass on.)

Well, Market, are we done for today? I have enjoyed being here in your embrace again, after all. I am resolving to come back. Besides Patsy I had two customers who were dealing with major issues, and they said I helped them. 

And finally, this delightful, articulate 10-year-old just rocked up and took one each of all my give-away leaflets: how to manage anger, a love meditation, a way to calm stress, and so on. 'Run them past your parents,' I said, after ascertaining that she's a good reader (top of her class, as I always was). She assured me her parents were happy for her to get any free stuff. Not quite what I meant, but OK. 

And finally another stranger arrives and promises, as she takes my card, that she'll give me a buzz (just doesn't have time for a reading now). We chat briefly and warm to each other. She has my name, but she's known as Rosie. And she is right, we have run out of time; time to pack up now and go.

Thank you, Market, for another lovely morning. I realise I have enjoyed myself — and didn't even find time for a second cup of coffee. 

See you next time! *Smile.*