Priscilla - a Twin Rocks Team member.
The women at the door was seventy-something, with a pleasant face and demeanor. Resting at the end of her nose was a funky pair of multi-colored, horn-rimmed bi-focals She wore a pair of teal blue, calf length polyester capris and matching canvas boat shoes. A fashion t-shirt of a lighter shade of teal graced her upper torso. Draped about her neck was a nice set of bluish-green turquoise beads, and on each wrist was a matching pair of similarly colored cluster bracelets. She was now in search of earrings and/or a ring that would match her ensemble.
As the lady and I began exploring possibilities, an elderly gentlemen, who reminded me of the late, great Colonel Sanders, strode purposely into the store. His full, carefully combed head of hair was as clean and white as the Datura blossoms outside our front door, as were his carefully trimmed, matching mustache and goatee. Instead of a fine white linen suit, the gentlemen wore a Khaki colored, square tailed, button down camp shirt. The garment was far too large for his thinly spaced, bony shoulders, but fit the girth of his ponderous ponch rather well. The shirt hung over a pair of off-white cargo shorts in an umbrella like fashion. Sticking out of the shorts were a knobby, relatively unused looking pair of pasty white legs that must not have known the sun for several decades. To add insult to injury, our hero had donned a pair of white, plastic Crocs to his sock less feet.
The man's outrageous outfit and form were truly unusual, but when he spoke the sound emitted from deep in his throat caused me to sit-up and take notice. He shook his head at the woman, and spoke to her in a voice that did not match his character. His voice was deep and rumbling, sounding something like the echo of heavy thunder in the distance, or maybe gravel being tumbled in a large, wooden whiskey barrel. I had been expecting a Truman Capote like emission from such a cartoon looking character.
The vision, in shades of white, rumbled deep in his throat, and began a tirade about how their time frame was now disrupted because his lady friend could not refrain from stopping into each and every Native American gallery and roadside stand in an attempt to complete a matching set of turquoise jewelry. He fussed and complained until the woman turned on him and gave him "The look!" You know the one. After years of marriage, your spouse can send you a sweltering message with just a momentary "look!" "I will be right out Bobby," the woman said to emphasize her point.
Well, Bobby took immediate offense to the "look" and dismissal; his face . . . no, every surface of exposed skin, instantly turned a frightful shade of red. He looked like a torch. A rumbling grew deep within his throat, and erupted when he said with emotion, "These pesky Red Skin trinkets are the bain of my existence!" The woman wheeled around, and, with a great deal of emotion, said, "Bobby Button that was one of the most thoughtless and disagreeable statements you have made in your life."
Rosita - a Twin Rocks Team member.
Bobby Button knew immediately that he had made a grevious error. He stammered, tugged on his shirt tails and shifted uncomfortably in his Crocs. The woman rejoined, "I will be right out!" Bobby turned on his plastic heels and exited the building. Turning back to me, the woman said, "He's usually quite pleasant, but sometimes he doesn't think before he speaks; this time he has certainly spoken out of turn." "I understand completely;" I said to the woman, "my wife often says the same of me."
A half hour later, the color-conscious woman and I had identified both earrings and ring to match her previous acquisitions. She was extremely happy about the experience, as was I. As I boxed her purchases, the woman smiled sweetly and said, "I love these pesky Red Skin trinkets!" We had a good laugh, and I told her I knew exactly what she meant. A passion for the art, the people and the land are essential when one is, "Tied to the Post". The opportunities, characters and humor we encounter on a daily basis are simply a residual benefit.
As the lady left and I was returning to my lunch, the door reopened and there appeared Mr. Bobby Button. He stood for a moment, then rumbled deep within his throat once again. In that incredibly deep voice, and with arms gesturing for emphasis, he sincerely apologized for his inappropriate remark. The door chimes picked up his gyrations, and began to ring like crazy. I stood there, taking in the scene with a great deal of humorous appreciation. I finally put the poor man out his misery by accepting his apology, and Mr. Bobby Button gratefully left the scene. As I returned to the office to finish my salad, Priscilla was just finishing. She looked up at me and asked what all the commotion was about. "Just the floor show" I said pleasantly; "all is well!"
With warm regards,
Barry, Steve and the Team.
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