My grandfather used to and may still go to the Sale every Thursday. I remember going with my dad a couple times, mostly to go to the sales barn. We didn’t go often, but I remember the excitement and the crowds. The magic of it is lost some I think. It’s not quite as colourful, it’s too hot, too crowded. But I still find myself drawn there, if only once a year.
M and I went this past weekend. We didn’t buy much: me a box of cherries, M, three boxes of plums.
We tried to find the sales barn, but I had no memory of the outside, just the inside. I had no idea if we’d even be let in to watch without a bidding number if there were any auctions on at the time. People worry more about biohazards now than they did ten years ago and I had no idea if the rules have changed since the time I sat with my dad watching the animals come into the ring, listening to the auctioneer’s spiel.
I ended up with a dehydration headache by the evening. I didn’t drink enough water despite the heat. But it was a nice day and the weekend is turning into exactly what I want. I’ve been having such a busy summer, I felt like I needed a weekend completely to myself, doing nothing but what I wanted to do, feeling obligated to nothing and no one. Every so often you just need a weekend for yourself, you know?
Now, I think I’m ready for three more summer weddings, a family reunion and potentially a visit to a cottage.