The Gouda Argument Was Not My Business

November seventeenth. I went for the honey. That was the whole plan, stop at the Sunday market two blocks over from the usual route, find whoever was selling the dark buckwheat variety I'd seen there in October, buy one jar, leave. I was back in my coat before I'd even crossed the street. The plan was airtight.

Somewhere between the honey table and the cheese stall I lost twenty minutes to an argument I had no stake in. A woman in a green parka was making a very earnest case to the cheese vendor that aged gouda, specifically aged gouda, she was careful about this, constitutes a legitimate breakfast food, not a 'special occasion' food, and the vendor was holding his ground with the patient energy of someone who has had this argument before and finds it genuinely enjoyable. I did not intervene. I had opinions. I kept them. I bought a small wedge of something the vendor described only as 'good with coffee' and I did not ask follow-up questions.

the honey decision was harder than it needed to be

I've been thinking about the maker's market Simone mentioned at the end of last Tuesday's session, one line, nothing more, the community center, sometime in November. I haven't decided anything about it. But I walked through the market this morning and thought about what it would feel like to be on the other side of one of those tables, which is a thought I immediately did not do anything with. I bought the buckwheat honey. I bought the cheese. I stayed longer than I meant to, which is, historically, what happens when I go somewhere I wasn't planning to stay.

leaving with more than I came for, as always

The tote was heavier on the way home. I counted that as a win.