Farmers Market

Mimi and I went to the farmers market this morning - our Saturday tradition from May to November when we are both in town. It was loaded with heavy vegetables today - giant zucchini, pumpkins, butternut, broccoli heads, and a motherlode of tomatoes, peppers, cukes, and onions. This time of year, you can arrive late and not miss anything, unlike April and May, when you have to be early to get the asparagus. We never fight over the last of anything; for one thing, she is fast and strategic, and for another, I am not as driven. She is better at picking out the best stand for things - finding the sweetest cherry tomatoes or tenderest beans. I generally look for the cheapest organic stuff.

A wonderful part of the tradition is coffee and conversation afterward. We used to go to local indigenous coffee shops like the Daily Grind or Runcible Spoon, but we have devolved to Starbucks - both because it has driven out others and because her kids like it. She routinely brings home a tray full of elaborate drinks for the boys. Mine drink tea that I import mail order through British Express.

Today, she observed that our fifties are like our twenties in some ways. She said we look around and are more open, exploring the world and our place in it. In our twenties, we think about how we will make our mark; in our fifties, we think about whether we have and if there is still time to. This seemed to connect to Victoria's last post.

My own time line had the premature focus on law school and law practice in my twenties and thirties. I did explore things in my late thirties when we moved here, and Mimi is right about my experience of our fifties. Part of the pattern may be the enforced focus on children for those of us who have them. As they leave, we are free again to think more about ourselves as agents in the world and less as serving needs at home. Her metaphor was head down contrasted with head up, and that also feels right.

Love, Lisa