The Market Itself

My old Nissan, fondly nicknamed "the Snot Comet" (don't ask), finally took a nose dive. I am between cars. This temporarily makes me and John a one-car family, which wouldn't be difficult anywhere but here in soCal.

I enjoy a good walk for local errands. We have the ARTS bus for getting around town if I need to go further afield. The Gold Line will be getting us to and from Azusa within a mere four years. (Of course most of my driving takes me in the other direction and public transportation takes a tad less than four years to get me where I need to go, but only a tad.)

John and I have been taking turns with the car. It's working out. (Good thing it's temporary.)

But

One thing I keep having to miss, schedule-wise, is the Saturday Farmer's Market. This is a horrible, terrible, dire problem. Grocery store fruits and vegetables are not the same. I don't care what store you get them from, they're not as good. We've managed without them, but we suffer. I am not managing, however, without granola from The Sconeage. Lionel's company makes such superb granola that I've become addicted to it. I am miserable without it.

My stash had run out. Last week I was craving my granola and lo and behold! Friend Bellis called from the Farmer's Market and offered to pick up four containers to tide me over! Bless her!

I still owe her five bucks.

Now that I've found The Sconeage website I realize I can order online, but that is beside the point.