We had attended church this fine, blustery Sunday morning and then unanimously decided to take a crack at the open air market in Fremont to grab a late breakfast.
Kelsey, Shae and I went strolling through all the booths, enjoying the aroma of many foods cooking, taking peeks at the variety of wares for sale and yes, spending our hard earned cash on an ecclectic array of goods. The people watching in this place was incredible. Very vegan, many dreads, kick back to the sixties types very granola. So we scored vintage tee shirts and jewelry and I even absconded with a fabulous tribal poncho.
We found a quaint little eatery and sauntered in, sat down and looked the meno over. We placed our order and as my eyes took inventory of this cozy cottage I caught an array of photographs containing dogs. All kinds of dogs. All kinds dogs that had passed on. It was some kind of shrine to canines past. Dates accompanied each picture and as I pulled on my earring, which I am known to do while in deep thought. My hand slowly searched for my other earring . . . all I caught was lobe. Had I forgotten to put the other in that morning before we left? Why hadn't the girls told me about this? Did I lose it somewhere during our journey? What was to become of my lopsided head?
As soon as I had made my discovery I immediately asked the girls all of those questions. They replied "We thought you were just being you Mom and trying out something nuts. You know living in the moment that is Fremont."
Oh how I love my girls.
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