Goettafest

"All intelligent thoughts have already been thought; what is necessary is only to try to think them again."

--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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Goethe is not goetta. But both are relished with some grilled cheese and toasted bread.

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The Goettafest yesterday claimed the Mainstrasse. So many shops in open boxes erected with sticks and rope and sheets. Faded tables. Wide-eyed artisans selling wares. Lots of objects colored yellow and dark red and blue, sayings painted on wood, tie-dye curtains advertising football teams, local colors.

Teresa bought some butterfly earrings, laminated wings secured with hooks; five bucks a pair. In breezes, they spin on her earlobes like fishing lures.

Bought nothing myself (no cash until July 1) but saw much. Gorged on a "goetta chedda" sandwich, dipping it into a flood of ketchup, and watched dogs subjugate one another despite leashes. While eating, chatted with an old couple dressed in white who said our sandwich looked good. Said it was. Asked about the shops. Said they were interesting. The exchange was halting, sporadic, and altogether cheery, with a valued economy of words, no talk inflation. Old people have mastered silence, bolstered their quips. Measured diction. They're all saints and poets.

It was a Saturday of Saturdays.