Saturday in the Park

May 23, 2015

There was the usual loveliness of time spent on a bench in the plaza at Central Park during the Farmer’s Market, drinking our respective caffeinated drinks, shooting the breeze with people we know.. while watching these guys in an adjacent sycamore tree:


And then there was this:


Sometime during this past week, I reached into my purse for some money and realized I was missing my little Nepalese coin purse.

Hmmm… not sure where it could have gone.

I’m 59, so I looked in the freezer, in my underwear drawer, in the bathroom… and patted down numerous canvas grocery bags stored in various places around the house and in the car. No luck. I started working backward–trying to remember when I’d last had it–but, didn’t come up with anything conclusive. I thought there was a chance I might have left it at one of the vendors I visited last weekend at Farmer’s Market. So today, a week later, I planned to return to the cherry, strawberry, bread, and fresh cut flower guys to see if I’d left it sitting on some mountain of fruit or something dumb like that.

You know, of course, the market is open for like six hours on Saturday mornings, with thousands of visitors slowly making their way through a crowded walkway, each stall crammed with people shoulder to shoulder thrusting goods in front of busy vendors for weighing and bagging.

A tiny coin purse maybe left behind a week ago?

The cherry people said to try the office; they said vendors are likely to turn into the office anything left behind at their stalls. I did. I was asked by one of the staffers to describe it, and as I was looking down and shaping my fingers into a small square, describing a bright blue fabric purse with a purple om sign on it, a second staffer pulled my coin purse out from some box and handed it to me. Just like that.

Stuffed to the gills with bills.

All I could do was smile. We all just smiled.

It’s not like it was a lot of money (it wasn’t) nor a terribly sentimental souvenir (it wasn’t that either), it’s just the surprise of finding such a small thing in such a big place a week later when I really didn’t know where or when I’d actually lost it. Or if I had lost it.

I hadn’t even looked in the mailbox or silverware drawer yet.

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