Happy Birthday

After a long, tearful chat to my Sister, Ash and his Mum and I went to the Sunday flea market. Nelson is known for its Saturday market, probably the best in the country. On Saturdays, thousands of people come, you can buy delicious food, all sorts of cool (usually new) stuff, have coffee and see every single person you've ever met in your entire life. It's a bit overwhelming when you just want to get your week's veggies.

The Sunday market (or car boot sale) is the place for bargains. It's on a casual basis, so anyone can show up, pay a small fee and sell whatever the hell they want. You can buy everything from potted plants to antique furniture to who the hell knows? Some things are really expensive, but mostly it's people that just want to get rid of all their crap for fifty cents. Some weeks it's just a few blankets with piles of clothes and old shoes.

The general rule is to limit yourself to $20. Some weeks I spend nothing. That's not true, I always buy something. This week, I blew the budget. Ash and I ended up spending $70 between us. That includes coffee and scones (shut up) for the three of us. The market was big, we were ready. It was overcast and not hot, so we could carry a lot. Evan and Siggy left their house half an hour before we did, so I was worried that the bastards would get all the goods before we got there. The one week they went and we didn't, they scored an old card catalogue drawer, something that I've wanted FOR YEARS.

The best score so far is a brand-new meat mincer that Ash had his eye on for my Christmas present (sexy!). He, being the diligent internetarian that he is, had found out the best kind to buy from a sausage blogger. They retail for about $150, but the one at the market he scored for $8. Finally, I'll be able to make sausages sans lips and assholes. It's like living in a Fairy Tale.

I'll post photos later tonight after I seance the digital camera and perform a colonic on the firewire port. There will be pictures of depression glass! Eiderdown quilts! An old stapler! It'll be like going to Vegas with Brit-Brit and K-Fed before he got all fatherly and boring.

Phew!

It's non-stop around here. My Mom tells me that I've always been a hard worker, and I believe her. However, I think I've usually just done it for show. You know, I always help you move, carry the stacks of folding chairs to the reception site, move piles of bricks from the front of the house to the back. Un-sustained, momentary outbursts of elbow-grease to prove my friendship. And? Masculinity? Who knows, but I definitely filled the in-between times with all-day marathons of Road Rules/Real World "The Gantlet."

Well, Ash, he's indefatigable. Honestly, he wakes up when the alarm goes off at seven and GETS OUT OF BED even though there's no way he's going to get fired for being late and waters the garden. I lay there, in the softest bed part of the day, hoping that he'll discover new and uncharted areas of the yard to water, areas that are at least 17-23 minutes away. But he doesn't. And everyday he asks me, "are you going for a walk today, Laurel?" And I fake awakeness and "you caught me mere seconds from hoping out of bed unpromptedness" and put my "sloppy joes" on as he calls them for our morning walk.

We come home, have breakfast and then work-he in the workshop and me in the office. I join him down in the workshop to do some grunt work until lunch. Eat. He gardens. I walk around trying to figure out how to start gardening. We work and listen to "This American Life" or Jim Moira on the National Program. We talk about dinner. We make dinner. I do more office work. He goes down to the workshop. I have a bath around 9 or 10 and get into bed. He works. And works. If the cricket's on he works some more.

Finally he comes to bed, and then we do it all over again. This pattern will continue while the days are long and the galleries are busy. I don't understand how he does it, but I sure am glad he does. It's fun to be a part of it, I hope it lasts.