it’s my party

Saturday morning at the farmer’s market – chilly, nearly drizzly, clouded-in gray – I heard myself singing Lesley Gore’s “You Don’t Own Me.”

Who can say why things go the way they go?

I’m pretty sure I’m generally at my better when I’m not trying to understand any of the yes this’s and no that’s. Why they say, “Don’t push the river,” “Don’t bother the traffic.”

Breathe.

Lesley. The Clash. Martha and The Vandellas. I appreciate the company. The zucchini, the squash, and me.