Finding the same niche that Time Travelers occupies as dealers in Florida here in New Mexico has taken us a day or two. Flea markets are not the same - the indoor market we looked at was much like a collection of what we'd think of as yard sales, hauled under cover and with high retail price tags. We moved quickly on from there, disappointed. The outdoor flea market, advertised as having hours of 8AM on, didn't actually start that early. We arrived at 8:30, thinking we'd have missed the best deals of the day (as you would have back home), only to find 3 cars in the parking lot and no vendors set up yet. Puzzling to us out-of-towners, but we decided to return later in the day. I thought that maybe 8AM was when vendors were to wake up, and that New Mexico Time is a different thing than Florida time when it comes to Flea Markets. I was right!
Antique stores carry top quality, top dollar merchandise. Where, oh where, were we to find the marvelous items to carry back with us on our adventures? The answer came from a different place than I thought it would - consignment shops and thrift stores. Very good quality items at fair prices abound.
Meanwhile, my nerves were jangling with the stark vistas and beautiful colors of northern New Mexico. I didn't know that I wouldn't be able to competently drive in the strange environment with the non-identifiable accents of the GPS' vocal directions, but I quickly became upset, saying, "What?? What did she say??" at every indication to turn, stay on the same road; you name it. Without Bob behind the wheel, I would not have gone beyond the hotel parking lot on this trip. My patience with myself and the rest of my world has evaporated along with the level of antidepressants in my system.
Our return later in the day to the outdoor flea market rewarded us with many vendors, but not selling what we were expecting. We kind of thought it would be a mix of packaged tube socks from China, yard sale finds, and fresh produce. Instead, it was largely artisan-generated jewelry, bulk beads imported primarily from the Far East, clothing, rugs, and the ever-present beautifully crafted silver jewelry of the area and from Mexico. We were delighted to find a vendor selling fair trade items of all descriptions from many African countries.
I'm finding that I am more sensitive than usual to my laundry list of triggers. It helps to build in some "down time" in the middle of the day to rest, block out the sensory input (some time soaking in the bath tub has been wonderful), and drink more water whenever I can. A visit to the Georgia O'Keefe Museum left me oddly dull, until I saw photographs from which some of her work was derived; I was just about overcome with emotion. (wtf?) A visit to a photography gallery with some truly stunning works (Steiglitz, Ansel Adams, Yosef Karsh; you name the iconic photographer and this gallery had their work represented) had the same effect. Good thing if I close my eyes I can stop seeing the pictures and the tears stop! What an unexpected effect of being without medication. I prefer to be not so very sensitive as this, and look forward to the end of my countdown when I start up on another antidepressant. Oh, and this isn't something that I asked for or wanted; the timing frankly has been awful, but I have been, as Bob says, a "trooper." Gawd, how I hate that word.
I don't currently have the mental facility to post my photos but will catch up when we get back and I'm all drugged up!
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