The Oklahoma City farmer’s market is a bit raucous compared to Santa Fe’s. That is, folks hawk their samples–taste this cheesecake! Try some sauce!
A tall gentleman with an American flag motif pull up mask offered me some bar-b-que spices and then startled me by asking: “Are you Jesse James?”
For fourteen months I’ve been wearing my bandanas–purple, pink, black–instead of a conventional mask somewhat to the disgust of my cohort who find it informal, perhaps not efficient. But I like my bandana. Instead of making me feel like I’m in a medical setting, I tell myself I just might hold up a bank and I hum a few lines of “Pretty Boy Floyd.” (Oklahoma knew him well…).
“No,” I told the guy.” I’m Jesse James’ grandma,” I said.
He laughed. “Amazing what a gene pool can do,” he batted back.
A witty friendly guy. How I’ve missed this kind of interaction with strangers. The vaccine has given it back.
And finally, someone saw me for who I am, with my bandana. I’m an outlaw, a free spirit, but a conscientious one. I’m practical–the bandana has other uses. I’m colorful–it might even clash.
And I’m glad to be here.