Fall is here, and with it, the impending end of Coras weekly morning treat. She loves the farm market. On Thursday our local community has a small farmers market in the parking lot next to where my husbands office building is located. Cora lives for this event.
"What do you want to do today?" is usually followed by a hopeful "Farm market?" The notion of a weekly event is hard for someone who can not wait ten minutes without getting bored. She really does think that I can waive my hand and make the kind vendors appear in the parking lot, ready to tolerate her stomach fueled kleptomania. She eats her way from booth to booth, a green bean here, a strawberry there, a cherry tomato at TA, and OOOh! Her body wiggles with excitement at the site of black berries. I pull out some cash. She'll scarf an entire bundle of those.
Unfortunately, once the snow flies, or November's cold sets in, the resident farm market peoples pack up their Thursday get together for good. I know it will be back in May, but I have a feeling Cora will not be comforted by its return in six months. What I'll do when the tears start flying I have no idea, maybe I'll just pretend there are no Thursdays in November or December.
Oh wait, Thanksgiving.
And Christmas this year too, both on Thursdays.
That won't work at all. Perhaps I should find some enrichment course, or kleptomania therapy for her.