Saluda, NC has its own unique style.  I’ve posted before.  On a recent trip, I spotted this chair, which is so comely that it is actually chained to the gate of the store, but even the chain added to the swirly metallic composition.  Life is art, art is life.

Took the carousel pics and did something with a science fiction twist. I can slave over something for days and come up empty, and then I do something like this and it just comes together by itself.

I generally like flea markets, shlepping around under hot sun, meeting the vendors, trading stories with them about their treasures … recently went to the Saturday Smiley’s Flea in Fletcher, NC. I must say, I didn’t have the same experience there. It just made me deeply sad. People (trying to) sell crates of past-date personal care products that had been baking in the sun for hours … tables piled up with old shoes … moldy CDs and VCR moves. Cases and cases of moldy rotten clothes. However, I did find things worth taking pictures of. The box of dolls was a once in a lifetime shot, but the rest – just sad. OVERHEARD: “My grandpa could chew steak – without any teeth at all!” Said with great pride.

I love how time imparts a patina to objects. I don’t always appreciate it when I acquire patina, but iron becomes positively sculptural the older it gets. Recently saw this kettle outside an antique store in West Asheville.

Since coffee is a passion, I always have to try every local coffee shop/patisserie/brew shop. Lately I’ve been unafraid of sticking a camera in the face of the barista making my brew. Maybe everyone does this, since they never bat an eyelash as they dump out the espresso and reload it. A couple of recents:

I challenged myself to write a 200-word story in ten minutes. Voila.

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The pretty young woman had to walk past the fortune teller’s door 3 times before she got up her nerve. She paid her $20 and sat across the table from the gypsy, a woman still young but haggard, worn down by the world. Too many children, too little money, too many predictions of love for others.

Together they gazed into the depths of a citrine crystal on the blue cloth covering the round table. The gypsy murmured chants and incantations, and images began to form in the golden depths of the crystal. The young woman gasped as she saw herself, in the arms of a loving husband, two happy and healthy children scampering at their feet. She felt that a blissful destiny was a missile hurtling towards her.

The images faded and she chattered happily, leaning over the retrieve her handbag. Strong, dark and sexy, can’t wait until I meet him, she chirped. I’m going to have him buy me a citrine engagement ring!

So caught up was she that she didn’t see the pistol. Her last sound before death was a rasp of surprise.

Through her gritted teeth, the gypsy woman breathed: that was MY husband.

Two windows on North Lexington.  Where else can you find such a wide spectrum of all tastes, points of view, priorities, and passions?  Barbecue, Vegetarianism, Anarchist book festival, punk rock, and … flower arranging.  Not to mention graffiti and an outcry against genital mutilation.  It’s not all ganja and tie-die here, folks. This is some serious stuff. Get involved.  Get passionate.  Get your point of view out there. You have to CARE about something. Believe in it. Be willing to express yourself.  It’s always a risk but what’s the alternative? Letting someone else be the one heard and you being silenced.