Before jamming for Delray, I ran the printer until 3 am making a stack of large limited edition reproductions of my favorite india watercolors. Priced at $75, I figured on moving at least one or two.

I arrived at 6 am and set up for a cold and cloudy first day. Some encouraging comments were forthcoming but no sales. After the show I pointed the truck west for another whirl with the drum circle at Summerland. Stan was there and Ed and Skip of course. Marybeth and I did an oming chanting improv that felt fine. No sign of Peanut.

I spent a few hours sleeping in my truck, then blasted back to Delray, arriving in time for some early morning yoga on the beach. Sunday was warmer, the crowd flowed by but sales persisted in not happening. I witnessed the human river transform into a sort of Bataan death march - mouths hanging open, looking neither left nor right, shuffling ever forward. I clowned with my neighbors - Chip and Bob exhibiting underwater photos and paintings, the two Tonys with stained glass and Juan whose enticing descriptions of Cuba have me yearning for a visit. Most of my adjacent wall artists sold little or nothing at Delray. After imbibing Stan's pertinent wisdom on Saturday evening, I was able to take it all in stride and just have fun.

Wrapping Delray, I rolled back towards Scotsmore. About 10 minutes away from the RV park I had to pull over, delirious with fatigue. For the last 60 hours, I had logged only 4 hours of sleep. I conked for a couple of hours at a rest stop, then finished the trip. I dozed the morning away in a sun drenched tent, then packed and prepared for the long haul to Syracuse, New York.

Good love Peanut, where ever you are.