I decided to give away all my expensive plates and to keep only my square white ones. I also chose to keep my indigo glasses. Suddenly, I have a spread of blue and white. It looks good and I have eight plates, quite enough for me. I hardly ever have more people than that at any one time anyway. So I gave away the things I intended to as the first step. That happened two weeks ago.
The following week came merrily in and threw me a quizzical look. Okay, what now? She seemed to say. I packed up and brought in all my stuff from Calamba, thus cluttering up my Makati condominium. I could not open the front door, used only my back door. I cancelled my knitting classes because my house had become hot, dusty and untidy, a royal mess. I was cleaning things then pricing them, preparing for the weekend which I was beginning to draw into focus as my back thoughts slowly moved to my mind’s front.
Finally, the instructions. Someone called to give me my tent and table number and what time I should go there to set up. I calmed myself, went to bed early to give myself enough time to awaken and relax. The next morning, the first day of the bazaar, I was very narrowly focused, up at 5 a.m., set up at the site by 7:30 a.m. It was a great, extremely focused day. We – Cynthia and I – sold a lot of things. A friend who was picking up his daughter dropped in and took us out to lunch, then decided to hang out there until it was time to go to the airport. I could leave the two of them in charge of the booth while I went to teach writing. Then I returned and sold some more. We sold madly on the first day. It was exhilarating but at the same time exhausting. At around 7:30 p.m., we packed up, went home to tumble into bed at around 9:30 p.m., to sleep soundly until early the next day.
I left at nine in the morning. It was Sunday, after all, time to relax. I took the books from my coffee table and decided to sell them, too. Sunday was slower than Saturday, but I saw many friends who said hello and met many people who said they read this column. By 6 p.m., we decided to pack up and go home. I told my driver, "Please don’t unpack the car. Leave my things in until I’m ready for them upstairs." By 8 p.m. I was in bed asleep so terribly exhausted I couldn’t make myself dinner. But the second-hand Rose sale had done very well for me. My wallet was bursting. I was not complaining. Did I know how the rest of the event had gone? No, not at all. I simply stayed in my booth and sold until almost sold out.
After the weekend, I was tired but nevertheless tidied up my house for a session of my advanced writing classes. We went out to dinner that night, then dropped in at Bizu for dessert. There, a young lady approached Cynthia and said, "Look, he is so happy with the book I bought from you. Did you sell all your books?" Stunned and smiling, Cynthia reported to me. "They bought one of our books," she said. That felt warm and wonderful.
It is Wednesday and my car is not unpacked. I have had two baskets brought up, but I have not figured out what to do with the things, where to put them, how to keep them until the next sale. How old you have become, I tell myself. How terribly, terribly exhausted but also terribly, terribly happy.
Now is my recovery time. I went to Pilates this morning. Oh my God, what a strain, but the instructor told me I had great form from all my previous absences. Then I came home and began to tidy up, starting with the smallest things. I began to restring the beads I had not sold deliberately because they looked frail. They are strong now. I am taking it easy, sending all of you out there who read me and came my profound thanks for your support. My focus is changing. It is broadening now, moving once again to the back of my brain. I am taking my time, moving back to planning in a vague, big way. Next week surely will be madness once again.