Sunday morning I awoke to the sound of rain against the windowpane. (I hate rain)Sunday morning I wanted to stay in bed underneath the warmth of my covers. (I hate cold)
Sunday morning I wanted just a few more hours sleep. (I hate being overtired)
But Sunday morning had other plans for me... Fry bread and the Native American Marketplace at the Autry Museum in Los Angeles.
Oh fry bread oh fry bread how I love thee!
So I dragged my weary ass out of bed and put on layers of clothing and ventured into the cold and rainy morning for the love of fry bread.
The marketplace was full of Native American artisans selling their paintings, handmade jewelry, blankets, pottery, and sculptures. I stood in awe at everything that surrounded me. America the beautiful beats in the heart of Native Americans.
I talked with painters about inspiration. I chatted with a woman who creates the more glorious blankets and afghans. I bought myself a beautiful silver feather pendant created by the talented New Mexican silversmith Mark Calladitto.
I could have wandered and talked forever but “it” was in the air. So I followed “it” to Auntie’s Fry Bread truck and ordered myself fry bread topped with shredded beef and cabbage. I was dizzy with desire as I held the precious fry bread in my hand. It was almost too beautiful to eat.I savored every bite, every morsel of that fry bread. I could’ve eaten more but I knew a second fry bread might fill my tummy too much and I didn’t want that overstuffed feeling where I’d regret having more than one.
One was enough. It keeps me hungry for the next time.
Fry bread and me. The perfect Sunday experience.
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