Chance Meeting

I paid more than I should have to attend the Nutcracker Market last Friday. It's a fundraiser for the Houston Ballet. Vendors from all over the United States converge on Reliant Center and set up booths of trinkets, treasures and things I definitely don't need. Admission is charged for the right to shop in cramped aisles for things that are not necessary and in this economy, I was tempted to spend, but held firm to my conviction to take care with my dollars. I bought spaghetti sauce, tasted lots of toffee, and petted the cashmere wraps but stopped short of breaking my budget. I enjoyed the holiday music and the company of my friend as we fondled earrings and necklaces and decided we could make them for a fraction of the asking price.

I was stunned to see that Hendley Market had a booth. They had a limited supply of goods for sale. I stopped to talk with the owner and the workers in the booth. I told them about the story below. We all had tears in our eyes as I left. I am so moved by their determination to reopen and I am awed by their strength. I look forward to getting back to The Strand.



There's A Pig In My Pocket. October 17, 2008

I've had a tiny plastic pig in my pocket since December of last year. It's as long as the diameter of a nickel. I know because I find myself reaching into the right pocket of my labcoat in search of the little piggy several times a day. I like to know he's there. He hangs out with my loose change and a couple paperclips.

I bought him when a group of us went to Dickens On The Strand. It's a wonderful festival in Galveston, coordinated by the Galveston Historical Foundation. I have a friend who plays in a pipe and drum band. That sunny Saturday her faithful corps of groupies and hangers-on lined the streets to cheer her as she passed (looking smashing in her knee socks and kilt), then we all hit the pub, quenched our collective thirst and decided to check out the shops on The Strand.

We found a fascinating gift shop, Hendley Market, where we browsed, laughed and contributed our fair share to the local economy. I found medical antiques which is almost as good for me as finding an attractive man with a job - absent a wife, girlfriend, loan shark or bookie. Hendley Market had baskets and baskets of teeny, tiny plastic figures. I bought several of each. I bought ninjas and babies and flying cats. I had to have the miniature rubber chickens. Who wouldn't? I bought the plastic pigs. I bought those things by the dozens.

On returning to work the following week I paid close attention to my colleagues. If someone seemed a little down or in need of something I gave them a little present. I didn't tell them why, I just asked them to give me their hand and I placed the tiny wonder in their palm. And I smiled at them. I have only two remaining. My pig in my pocket and a flying cat that balances on the nose of a labrador retriever that stays on my desk to remind me of my lost Maggie.

Galveston isn't the same. I saw a shot of Hendley Market for a brief moment on television and I turned off my set. I don't want to see it now, but here's the fun part. Sometimes I walk past a computer in the hospital and I see a little rubber chicken taped to the monitor. I've seen a ninja on a name badge and someone I didn't know asked me if I was that "flying cat" lady. I am.