My young companions think its called a flea market because of all the puppies for sale. We spent some time in a section of the market where an elderly man sells tchotchkes. He’s been there for over 10 years and has never been particularly chatty, but today he was charming. I think the kids brought out his puckishness. I coaxed some personal information out of him. He’s originally from La Porte. He worked for Gates Chevy in Mishawaka for years. His name is Shoemaker. He lived in Reverewood. He said he misses springtime in St. Joe County, and so do I, but I miss autumn more.
It’s hotter nearly everywhere else right now than it is here in Florida. The flea market, shaped like a wheel, used to have air-conditioning in the hub, but it’s hard times, and now there are only fans. I suspect it was over 100 degrees in some of the “spokes.” Beside Mr. Shoemaker, we met a young man who propagates and sells plumeria (Their slogan is “Just Smell It.”) We also met a couple who sell deliciously scented soaps. One of my companions liked the chocolate coconut soap, so I jotted that down on the back of the soapmakers’ business card. The woman told me she doesn’t recommend the basil eucalyptus scented soap as a bath soap because it makes her “private bits tingle.” If you are on my Christmas list, you may get one of their soaps, but not basil eucalyptus, unless you request it, of course.
I bought an oil portrait of a darkly handsome man for $2.00. Some of us were disturbed by the skull in the background. I paid too much for an antique leather-bound album for cartes de visite with no cartes and in poor condition, because it had a printed card from Bazar Bel Bacha, Casablanca, “vous offre une selection d’objets d’art marocain” tucked inside, along with a tiny fan-shaped calling card with the name Fred A. Dorn engraved on it. I also bought a leather carrying case full of mismatched playing cards, some of which have an advert for “La Cage” at the Riviera in Las Vegas, featuring Frank Marino as Joan Rivers.
