What a day for a festival. I’d planned to whip up a batch of lye soap (I bought a book on how to do it) then heard about the Cotton District Arts Festival. It’s been growing each year into a major attraction for my region. The weather was perfect – the low 70s. It demanded a sojourn outdoors after weeks of inclement weather.
Several of my “boomer” friends and I ventured to the festival, intent upon staying no more than 30 minutes. Five hours and 15 mintues later, we returned home carrying bags of interesting objects d’art and wiped out from too much sun and fabulous food. The music and art (all bonafide originals – no kit made anything to be seen) were superb.
We spent an inordinate amount of time in the kid’s village since we had one boomer’s grandson with us. The interactive percussion corner was a big draw for us as we admitted to each other we had always dreamed of playing the drums. The organizers finally had to run us off so the four-year olds could play.
My friends Barbara (at left) and Marie (right) discovered they had hidden talent.