I had high expectations for yesterday afternoon - so much so that I pretty much wrote my blog before I even experienced the subject matter of my blog - which was going to be about how wonderful a day trip it is to picnic at a Farmer's Market with your baby.
I was going to write about how much I would have loved to be a parent in 1968 with all the groovy music, peace n' love vibes, and lo-fi expectations in terms of children's entertainment and...ermm hair products... and how going to a Farmer's Market as a destination fed into that deep routed desire.
I was going to show you super cute pictures of Archer frolicking on a picnic blanket with other children at said Farmer's Market while listening to local musicians singing uncontroversial political diddies about the HST and light rail transit.
It was a lovely piece. Really, it was.
But the piece (in my head, that is) started to take a gloomy turn as the barometer inched a little higher on the temperature scale (as if 27 degrees wasn't hot enough) and as the humidity rivaled a large tropical forest somewhere near the equator (I don't even know if there are tropical forests near the equator but if there are I imagine them to be quite humid... work with me people).
And on top of this, it should come as no surprise to regular readers of this blog, yesterday Archer declared it to be a no-nap sorta day. He's unpredictable like that. So you might imagine by 4pm, nevermind how tuckered he was, having 37 years on him, I was completely zombie-like.
So you'd think my being a rational person and all I'd postpone our big Utopian adventure?? Nooooo... stubborn me has to pack everyone up, tired and all, with a blanket for said picnicking, umbrellas (just in case), a pocket full of change for the yummy eats we would be eating, water, diapers, toys and head on down to Sorauren Park for its regular Monday Farmer's Market. We were going to have fun and lot's of it, gosh darnit!
Best laid plans.
It started off ok, I guess. It was lightly raining. Spitting really. It coulda gone either way. And we found a nice little spot, with potential for shelter under a nearby tent, near the music and in close distance to all of the wonderful little food vendors offering their amazing local organic wares.
We tried Tibetan Momos. A dumpling kinda a thing that was yummy and at a $1 a momo, it couldn't be beat. And there was the extra fun of saying momo to Archer numerous times.
Funny thing was, he wasn't laughing. Indeed, from the get go, if I even threatened to get up, he'd start whimpering. Not an all out cry, but I'm not sure what's more worse. Not even the funny little girl with the bright pink cast could crack a smile from him (although as I think back I'm not sure there's anything funny about a little girl with a cast at all - Archer is a wise soul, he is).
And then although we were trying to be cool with the whole thing, we started getting mildly uncomfortable with the fact that we had to eat our picnic food off of shared communal plates. And while in theory I think this is a great green idea, the whole concept had too many unanswered questions...who was washing the dishes? where were they doing this (it being in the middle of a park and all)? what if you wanted seconds? was it like a buffet where you start with a new plate or will the environmentalists judge you for not reusing your own momo-infused plate? Dude, it stressed us out.
Then there was the whole problem with the music. In addition to being a little too close to the impromptu stage for the little tired Archer, as it happens, neither Bob Dylan nor a member of the Arcade Fire were the entertainment of the day. And with all due respect to the lovely people who I'm sure volunteer their time and talents to the Farmer's Market, I still have in my head going around and around in an annoying loop (intermixed with the theme to Rory the Racing Car btw) a song that went along the lines of this "There are big maple trees...in Toronto Municipal Gardens, lalalala....there are little dandelions...in Toronto Municipal Gardens, lalalala...". People, the song seemed to go on for days.
And finally, there was the question of my hair. I think this is where me and and 1968 must completely part ways. I would not have had good hair in 1968. The technology just didn't exist to tame the wild beast that lies within my follicles. Yes, I am a vain, vain woman. Actually I'm a really insecure woman in all things hair which is why I spend an inordinate amount of time and money on it. And so when the little drizzle that I could live with hair-wise turned into a full-on rain (although not quite downpour), it was like all bets were off.
Save the hair!!
I ordered my dear hubby to quickly finish eating his organic but super yummy free range local pork sausage on whole wheat bun toute suite, packed up the blanket, and the toys and the water, quickly returned our shared communal plates to the communal plastic bin for the mysterious people to take the dirty dishes to a mysterious place to wash them (see, there are questions!) and up went the umbrellas and we were outta there faster and home in our lovely air conditioned condo faster than it took me to write that last sentence...
This all being said, in theory, this could have been the nicest afternoon *ever. And for that very reason, I encourage you to try it at your own local Farmer's Market before the summer's up.
Just bring an umbrella. Your hair will thank you in the end.
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