In an ideal world, I would have written a follow-up post to tell you that Sunday's pottery festival was great, grand fun and fairly successful, too. Now, sitting in a hotel room in Baltimore anticipating the return home this afternoon, and the ordering of the to-do list that will follow, I thought I'd check in and share some tidbits from my week.
Having successfully (and gratefully,) enticed a friend to come to the festival an hour and a half before its end to take over the (wo-)manning of my booth, since it's bad form to close up early, we'll pick up at the end of my time at this festival. That she did this (thank you Rebecca,) allowed me to rush home, freshen up, and be in a vehicle with 4 other friends headed to Raleigh long before the festival ended.
In Raleigh, the music of Eric Clapton made me cry more than once. Of course some of it just made me dance and laugh with glee while I sang aloud with thousands of others the songs that connect a mass of otherwise strangers.
I want to be this vital when I'm 61. From my perspective overlooking the stage, Clapton has most certainly not lost it. And what talent he surrounds himself with...up and coming guitarists on stage with him assured us all that quality guitar playing is not a lost art. In spite of what our radios might sometimes tell us.
Then when I arrived home at 12:30am, I made the exhausted decision to pack in the morning. Because I also had some unfinished, high-priority, paperwork without which I couldn't leave home, I set the alarm for 3:30. You do the math on my slumber. (And I'm not one of these people who oft-declare that "sleep is overrated.")
At 5:20am, Monday, I was in a dark, exceedingly-packed car, headed for Baltimore. And by noon, we had nearly settled into a fairly cushy room in the hotel district by the airport.
Yesterday was filled with seeing friends (new and old,) the kind of rain that makes you question your intelligence at lugging a baby in his stroller with accoutrements down to the Harbor District so you can selfishly see a bit of evidence that you're actually in Baltimore and eat crab cakes, and lots of laughter. More on that later.
Now baby sleeps and I should make myself presentable for the world before he wakes. The rain has gone and, well-rested in an exceedingly comfy bed, I'm not as hesitant to take him back out into the crisp air of A City In Which I Do Not Live.