Patience . . . or Not!

The other day a woman walked through the Kokopelli doors closely followed by two teenage boys. I could see a man through the plate glass windows, walking along the porch toward the chairs placed for impatient husbands, so I assumed the foursome was together. I was unsure why, but the song "Purple Haze" by Jimi Hendrix popped into my head. The woman was thirty-something and had a pleasant face. She wore shoulder-length, medium-red hair; gold rimmed glasses; a white knit pullover, short sleeve shirt; Levis' 501 jeans; and simple brown sandals. The boys were good-looking young men, I guessed 15 and 17 years of age. Like their mother, they were of a fair complexion and had striking auburn hair, worn below their ears. The youths were dressed in Levis', running shoes and windbreakers adorned with team logos. I do not recall which team or what sport the jackets represented, because the boys did not stay long. They exited the building, briefly spoke with the man sitting out of sight on the porch and walked towards Twin Rocks Cafe.


Twin Rocks Trading Post Pottery and Jewelry Art

There were a couple other people in the store at the time and Priscilla and I were engaged in running conversations with them as they looked over the merchandise. I greeted the red-headed woman and let her know we were available for show and tell if she wished. She smiled broadly and said she was fascinated with Native American art and wanted to see everything before asking questions. I invited her to take her time and let us know when she was ready with queries. About 10 minutes later I heard a three-toned "Beep, Beep, Beep" from somewhere in the trading post. I looked around the store and no one was reaching for their telephone, so I guessed it was the fax machine in Steve's office. I ignored the sound and struck up a conversation with a brown-eyed woman, looking at earrings near where I stood. The red-headed lady was nearby when I heard a different ring tone . "Is that you?" I asked the woman in front of me, "No." she said, "I don't sound like that."

I laughed at the way the brown-eyed woman indicated it was not her phone. Just then the red-headed woman reached into her back pocket, pulled out her telephone and looked at the screen. Apparently she was not interested in communicating with the caller, because she turned off the phone and replaced it in her pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man on the porch stand up with a phone to his ear, squint through the glass, frown and sit back down. The red-headed woman continued to browse. Shortly thereafter I saw the man pop up again and walk to the Kokopelli doors. Pushing his way into the store he walked in the direction of the red-headed woman.

The man was something to behold, he was on the far side of 30, short in stature; maybe 5' 6" at best. His medium brown hair was not long, but full. Resting on his head at an odd angle was a black baseball cap embroidered with a purple insignia I did not recognize. Covering his eyes was a pair of small round, gold-rimmed, John Lennon style sunglasses of a violet hue. The man's shoulders were narrow, and his ample belly protruded a good 5" over his belt. Draped over his unique torso was a grape-colored, Grateful Dead, Watch Tower, tie-dye t-shirt. He also had on a pair of European Capri trousers; black in color, with dark purple tiger claw slash patterns on the thighs. There was about six inches of pale calf poking out of the bottom of the pants, and his sock-less feet were encased in a dark purple pair of Converse deck shoes. "Dang!", I thought to myself, "I have been caught out in public in some strange outfits in my time, but never intentionally, and never, ever in anything quite like this."

The red-headed woman and the amethystine adventurer were now standing less than 10 feet away from each other. She was looking in on a case full of bracelets, the "Purple People Eater" was staring at her rather expectantly. You could tell he was not a happy monster. Finally, he cleared his voice and spoke, "The boys and I are running out of patience. Let's go!" The red-headed woman was unshaken; she didn't even look up. In a calm voice we could all hear, she said; "You would have had to have some to begin with to have lost it!" The little man blanched and froze, his shoulders hunched as if he had been struck. The brown-eyed woman looked at me, smiled merrily and mouthed, "Touche!" "A public flogging", I thought to myself, "That will leave an emotional scar!" The now "Purple Man" turned on his heel and exited the building, stage left. The red-headed woman rounded the case and looked up; our eyes met. "Ouch!" I said. "Once too often," came her reply as she continued her tour.

With warm regards,
Barry, Steve and The Team

Great New Items! This week's selection of Native American art!

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Enjoy artwork from our many collector friends in Living with the Art!