breaking with tradition

Christkindle Market, Canandaigua, NY

You have to keep trying new shows every year because you never know if the next one will be the great one. I usually try for one that I think might be "over my head" and often I am surprised to get in. Other times, you go for a show that a lot of your peers do which means it can't be too bad.

This weekend I did the latter. A pretty Christmas show that a lot of people I know do and they speak in glowing terms about the organizers and the venue. The rest is up to us.

A Christkindle Market is a German tradition which explains all the German Food in the food tent. That took me a while. Sad, eh? The show was held in Camelot tents that promised to be heated and cozy. Well, they were cozy. And pretty.



The volunteers were awesome, dashing about with their Santa caps and offering help. There wasn't much more they could have done. The event was promoted well and run beautifully, but people just didn't spend enough to make it good for us. So be it. I had fun. A good friend across the aisle, another close by. Many art buddies in the house. DInner at a cozy Italian place with friends on Saturday. It was really OK. And then Sunday happened.

We tried to find a nice place for breakfast in town but it was getting late and I suggested we just go to the venue and get food there. The Strudel place had a breakfast sandwich.

And that's what I was looking for when it happened. Staring at the booth as we walked along the sidewalk, I neglected to see the drop off from path to gravel to sunken grass and, before I knew it, the ground was coming up to meet me. People came running, brushing off my black cords which caused serious discomfort to my bruised leg until I yelled "stop it!" I've fallen before
so I knew I'd be sore tomorrow but when I took a step, I knew there was going to be more. That foot felt broken, baby. $%^&*#

I hobbled to my spot with help from Russell (the show must go on) and proceeded to get tended to by so many artists and volunteers I felt like a queen. Or a pathetic broken person. Pick it. I sort of went back and forth about that all day. They brought me ice and an ace bandage and a blanket and more ice and juice and aspirin. They hugged me and cooed over me. All. Day.

I was too tired to stop to have it looked at at the end of the show and I had chemo the next day so I wanted to be rested. We were chatting with Karen, my PA, before my appointment and she said we should look at the foot which she did and we all saw the same thing. A fat, blue, swollen ham hanging off the end of my ankle. Oops. OK, she says, we are gonna xray that thing, which they did.

The xray tech said that nothing "jumped out at" her as broken, so I was surprised when Karen popped her head in my chemo room, announcing gayly "You broke your tootsie, Tootsie" But, she assured me, it didn't look bad enough for a cast or anything, but she wanted me to see an Orthopedic person to have it evaluated and followed up on to make sure it healed.

So off we went this afternoon to yet another doctor ( I have been healthy and doctor free for decades. Now I'm a groupie) and just to prove the point that only the experts can really tell you what the scoop is, I walked out of there wearing this charming baby:



So, I came, I saw, I stumbled. Had I stayed in the neighborhood, done my usual show (Women's Gifts) I would have made more money and my foot would be whole.

Of course I would be without the charming "ski boot" that seems to make people in crowded places more polite than usual. I love being an object of pity.

This weekend is Kenan Christmas. Always a good one for me. No hotels. No huge gas expense. No broken sidewalks.

Of course, if I've learned anything lately, it is to not take anything for granted. I haven't checked the weather report for this weekend yet. Do they predict locusts?