Saturday, time to try and unload some of the countless crystals & rocks I've collected. Chris comes along, for wherever I've picked up one he seems to find 2, and he as well wants to get rid of some.
The Stall:
Made the sign myself. The big crystals in the back and in the egg trays are Chris's, he got into the glory-hole of fucking pockets.
Now - I know, I know. It needs a lot of work, lights, signage, colored new-age blankets, candles, etc. And probably I should do it but I have a suspicion - long weekend be damned - that this, during the pandemic - is an exercise in futility.
Which it is. Over 5 hours we manage to sell a couple of crystals, Chris a pendant, covering the costs but nothing else. There are people, for sure, but they're staying in their cars, nothing is open on the landing, not the ice-cream shop, the chip truck, not the restaurant, or the bakery, nada...and so my effort anticipated, not generated, the return.
But - for the few that stopped by, an impressed geologist who begins to tell us of the crystals he found in Northern BC and then tapers off as he sees Chris's behemoth in the back. And a young girl who tells us she collects them with her boyfriend, won't say where, but clearly they're not finding anything like this, she buys a crystal.
Play crib, shoot the shit, fold it all up. Another day. Maybe the next long weekend, but I'm pretty sure my time is better spent digging and finding than sitting on my ass and selling so I might have to cut a deal with one of the local consignment shops or jewelers.
***
Sunday, Easter Dinner. Stormy, a pain as always, completely unwashed, smelly from 10 feet away, he's losing it, slowly slipping away, I compare him to my Father, Dagmar, the same age but infinitely more vigorous, he's not got long left. And he's annoyed I've invited Chris as well, some days I have more patience than others.