1. it’s sunday.
So today is Sunday and I’m writing. I’m writing because I won’t let myself leave the house. I won’t let myself leave the house because the only place I wanna be right now is the melrose trading post flea market / farmer’s market / concert venue / chill spot and I can’t go there right now. I won’t let myself. I’m too embarrassed.
A few weeks ago, about 4 at the point that I’m writing this, I went there and fell in love. I fell in love with the whole place, the whole experience and everyone there.
It was poppin’ off on a sunday, baby!
I thought, “now this... this... is living.”
Everyone there was so cool and the ones that weren’t I just ignored. A lot of the shop owners and artists there seem really sad and depressed. They lack confidence. As much as they ‘created’ and ‘followed their passion’ it didn’t seem like they enjoyed selling their stuff. I don’t know why. Maybe they liked making art but hated selling it themselves. Maybe they hated making art but that was the only thing they were good at so they did it for money but not because they liked it. Maybe some of them never learned to like themselves. I’m not sure what the reason is but some of them had bad vibes.
Walking around a place with a bunch of offerings is my dream. I love walking around super critical, checking the merchandise for quality and interest, checking the workers for vibes and inspiration. I loved making judgements about random sellings and sales people, seeing how they did it. Who did it the best. Who was born with the natural talent and who had to work for it. Plus, clothes were pretty and I didn’t mind sifting my fingers through some merchandise and judging the creation of it, too.
I made spaces like this my little beehive of teachings and learnings. I used to do this in school. I sunk my feet into the atmosphere of every room and square inch of that place. I was checking out the vibes, EVERYWHERE. I waited for doors to open, I kicked in others. And sometimes the door opened on my face but I was always learning. I was observing more than I was participating and I participated a lot. I liked seeing what people would do when I had different vibes. I liked exploring other people’s different vibes. It was fun!
As many times as I’ve been hurt, I’ve had sooo much fun getting to know people. It’s my favorite thing. I know I’ve said this before but it’s worth reiterating. I love getting to know people.
And I absolutely love gossiping. But I understand boundaries and sacredness. That always came intuitively to me. The only time I let things slip is when I think divine intervention needs to be delivered. Otherwise I’m usually pretty happy just recieving the information. So many people tell me so many things a lot of times I forget what I’ve even been told. It only comes up when there’s some sort of recall which is nice because it’s usually when I remember someone else’s story that’s similar to a story I’m being told and could be used as a mirror to find the understanding that’s being sought.
So anyway, a few weeks ago I’m at the melrose trading post and I’m making my rounds, getting to know all the shops and shop owners. Picking up and putting down vibes, seeing who sticks and who sucks. I find a few places I really like orbiting within.
A young latina woman who brings a small van to the market and a few racks out infront. Her clothes are girly, colorful but light. She had some really cool exercise tops from the 80s I wanted to buy but didn’t have the money.
Then we got the young black guy a few shops down. He brings a tent and has mostly button downs from 80/90s. We talked about how the one thing you can never take away from americans is our style in the 90s. No one did clothes better than america back then. We were trendsetters in fashion back then. He’s super cool. I find a few button downs I like and tell him I’m gonna wear them to malibu over my swimsuit this summer. I told him I didn’t have the money today but would be back next weekend with some.
Around the corner from him was a young white woman, blonde hair, from the UK running a half vintage, half remixed and resold clothing she’s designed. She’s a stylist when she’s not selling at the trading post. She had such nice things. All super girly, lingerie and sleepwear. My ideal department to shop in. I tell her how gorgeous these silk pajama pants are and she tells me she wears them out on the weekends like lounge wear and I tell her that’s fantastic, I wanna do that. I say I’m coming back next weekend and if they’re still here I’m gonna get them.
I keep walking. I pass a small shop front, tented but only 3 racks and see an amazing vintage tommy hilfiger denim jacket. The shop owner is on a chair in the back talking to the shop owner next door. I wanna tell him how much I love the jacket but he’s deep in conversation so I just listen. He’s telling the other guy how all his musician buddies are sober now. How they lost too many of the greats to drugs and alcohol. They don’t wanna die anymore, they just wanna play the music. I think this is so cool and interesting to overhear. I’m so happy for them.
A few blocks down an older hispanic (i think) woman sells some clothes I think are cool but not the greatest. Next to her was a guy remixing denim jackets. He was making some as he sat there selling. I give him credit for the idea, it seems like some people are purchasing them but it’s not my style. I don’t tell him this. I give him a few compliments to keep his confidence up but don’t engage.
Then I found a black owned book shop. It was a small store front. One full rack of books and a shelf with some coffee products. An older african man is running this place. He tells me his does the stand with his wife but she’s off doing something. I pick up a few of the books and somehow we start talking about religion and how sick americans are right now. How unaware we are of what’s really going on in the world. How threatening catholicism is. I tell him I’m very religious but I don’t like labels. I don’t even really like to say I believe in “spirituality” I just am a spirit. His wife comes back, she gives out a smile. I can tell her husband loves to discuss ideas but doesn’t usually find any white americans worth discussing his ideas with. She’s happy to see him in conversation. She doesn’t interupt but it’s time for me to glide away. I tell him I’ll see him next weekend.
I find a long tent covering columns of plastic tables that lead to the back of a moving truck. It’s a hispanic family running it but it’s clear this is the father’s operation. He’s shining some statue in the back. He has old black and white photos on the table that intrigue me. I don’t know any of the people in the photos but I can feel them and their stories based on their images alone. I’m starting to feel things for them. I don’t buy any but there were a bunch I would’ve like to have. I walk down the line and find a book about the universe that looks super interesting. The cover is a great design. I ask him how much for the book. He says $30 and I nod. I walk back towards the photo boxes. I ask him where he got all these photos. He said estate sales. I say oh, wow I’ve been meaning to check those out. He comes over and points to the statue in the back he says, some guy came over right before you and bought that for $10k. He takes out the corner of an envelope from his pant pocket and repeats “$10k!” I wonder why he’s telling me he has an evelope of cash in his pants, with a lot of money in it but I just tell him that’s so awesome. I’m happy for him. I wonder who the guy was that bought it and if I passed him on my way up. He said it just happened. He walks back towards the truck and we naturally part ways.
There were a few more shops I liked on the otherside but by then I was pretty tired of talking to people. I look at some of the offerings and take some pics of the things I like but didn’t buy and keep moving. The only other person I chatted with was this guy whom I believe had some sort of forgeign accent but I forget. He was selling clocks made out of books. He takes books, carves out the inside and constructs a clock hand to move around the cover, using the book’s cover as a backdrop. I like the idea. Some of the book covers were chosen well but some didn’t make sense. I think he priced them close to $100, maybe $75 and I thought that was really expensive for the product. It was just a book, carved out on the inside so a portable charger could sit with two batteries inside it, ticking the big and little hand on the front cover. I don’t know... I didn’t think it should be valued at almost $100. The price changed my perception of him.
So yeah, I really wanna go back but the money I thought was coming hasn’t and I don’t wanna go back until I can buy some things! I really miss the young latina woman, the young black man, the british blonde and the older african man. I can’t wait to see them soon!! I’m going to ask if I can draw their charts when I do <3