Slightly Off Center

First time out for the little saw-whet owl dessert plate, and I'm noticing just how many owls there are in this booth. Barn owl and saw-whet on dessert plates, spotted owl on tall mugs and tumblers, snowy on pilsners and baking dishes. And that doesn't even count the great horned owl covered pitcher. I expect cute little s-weety to go first, but in fact, I sell the barn owl plate to a lady who has roosting one in her barn. The other goes soon after, though.


In fact, it seems everything goes soon after; it was a busy day. I sent Denise this picture of our sales tally and peeled stickers at 11:19 am. At that, it's deceptive, because it doesn't show three more transactions on the other side of the page. I fill up another page and three-quarters by the end of the day.

People are masked, polite, generally patient, but they're not super good on distancing, and they're generally crap on sanitizing before picking up the pots. The couple who are careful, I make a point of spritzing my fingers before swiping their credit cards. It's only courtesy.

Favorite moments: mom, dad, boy toddler and girl 8 or 9-year-old, spot the dinosaur banks first. While folks are trying to interest boy in dinos, girl is exploring the rest of the offerings, and tugs on dad's sleeve. She points to a black bear soup bowl, Can I buy that one? Are you sure, he asks, and she nods like a bobblehead. And solemnly hands me her $25.

There's a family, all in sea otter masks, that comes in. I point out the otter pie plate, then dad speaks and I realize he's the guy who asked me to bring in the otter tall mug last week. So I show that to mom, who hems and haws, and finally decides she'll take the otter pitcher and two different tall mugs, fox and raccoon.

Ten minutes later, dad is back, alone. I know her, he says, and buys the otter mug as well.

Later come in two nice young college women, telling a story on a friend. She always comes in a looks at the stuff, and always says she's going to come back and buy something, but she never does, they complain. So this year, we're getting it for her. (Bunnies serving bowl and also a spotted lop card from Denise.)

You know what that's called, I ask as I wrap? Dropping a hint. They both laugh.

Another young man comes in specifically for cards. Well, there's grandma, and aunt so-and-so and... turns to partner, Who else? I loan him a pen and a scrap of newsprint, and eventually he comes up with five, another $20 for Denise.

I sell a bunch of pie plates, painted mugs, tall mugs. Two each honey jars and stick butter dishes, and I run out of bear bowls, chickadee bowls and chickadee mugs. (Don't worry, there's more at home.)

For some reason, the middle of the tall mug shelf is the hot spot. Five out of six mugs came from that location (the sixth sold straight out of the restock box). So as an experiment, I put out the walrus mug, which has been in the box all summer.

What a cute walrus, says the next customer in the booth, and she carries it around for a while, before ultimately choosing something else. Almost. Almost.

It's chilly but bright most of the day, but around 2:30 clouds roll in, and I begin to wonder if I'm gonna get rained on loading out. The weather holds, though, and its still dry though dark and threatening when I slam the van doors at 4:45.

All through load-out, I can vaguely hear the sound of someone with a bull horn, over on Free Speech Plaza. I think I hear "Holiday Market" in the mix, and briefly wonder if Kiersten is making a thanks-and-goodnight announcement, traditional at the fairgrounds. JJ later tells me it's a political guy, bumpers stickers condemning billionaires and corrupt politicians. He's quite fond of us, though, until our security crew tells him he needs to wear a mask, then he lumps us in with the billionaires.

If only! On the other hand, I sell nearly $1300 in five hours, outdoors on a chilly downtown street. I'm not complaining.