can't see the fork for the tree

I was the next person in line at the food truck when one of the men preparing the gourmet crepes and noodle dishes with the enticing aromas for those who had already ordered, said everything was sold out. 86'd. Fini. The food truck was out of commission for the day.

This was not what I needed to hear at a quarter to two when the only sustenance I had up until that point had been a mango smoothie purchased at the other food truck hours earlier. Because I am the only person at my table, whether it is a regular Saturday morning at the Farmers' Market or a special arts and crafts show, I depend on food to be available since I am unable to leave. On Saturday mornings food is abundant; at the arts and crafts shows--not so much.

Food vendors generally are not part of the art crowd though there is the occasional pound cake, cookie and candy, or barbeque sauce maker. With a pounding head and hours remaining for the show, I located a small loaf of pumpkin bread and a bar of some kind to go along with a very large cup of coffee. I would regret that decision 20 minutes later as the sugar and caffeine took over, making it difficult for me to continue my methodical sewing. Flying around the room seemed more likely.

As the crowds were beginning to wane on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I went to talk to some artist friends who had some down time as well. They were eating Japanese food out of plastic bowls; a large bag containing styrofoam to-go boxes remained on the table beside them. Perhaps catching me eyeing her food, my friend offered to give me an entire box of it! She said way too much was ordered. Making sure there was enough beef and chicken in the box for me, as if I would not have done the happy dance for vegetables alone, she sent me back to my table with lunch in hand. The only thing standing in my way, was the lack of a fork. I told her I am comfortable using chopsticks, but there were none of those either.

I looked around the building and asked at the desk. Someone could find one for me if I could just locate the person with the key to the back office. As I looked for this person I tried to notice whether or not any of the vendors with food samples would have something for me to use. I came up empty-handed.

Back at my table with my box of food, I started eating with my fingers. The artists next to me looked away in shame. I should have cared. I did not.

I wondered about making my own chopsticks. Would a couple of pens work?  Too rounded and slippery. I just needed something to lift the rice to my mouth without completely wearing it. Something . . . like a card, folded and curved. Using my makeshift utensil I successfully emptied the entire box of rice into my mouth without as much as a grain of it falling to the floor, or at least none that I noticed. When the card would get too soggy from the soy sauce, I would rip off that section and keep on going with the freshly folded card stock scoop. My head stopped throbbing. A sense of well-being returned.

Basking in the afterglow of this wonderful gift of food, my eyes rested on my table display as I contemplated the day. I was using my bed springs tree as a base to show off the birds I had sewn by hand using upholstery fabric, beads and wire. And though I have used this display before, I had not noticed it like I did now. Inches from where I had unceremoniously shoveled food into my mouth with a piece of paper, sat each bird perched delicately on a spatula, small measuring cup, a variety of stirring utensils, spoons, and even a fork.