drainedSo, I lugged in all my heavy pottery, my 60-lb granite metate, and set up back of the Castro-Breen adobe in the kitchen area. I did my tamale-making demo, from grinding corn to tying them, then toted them out to use Larry's campfire at his encampment on the plaza to steam them, since we were getting utterly zip traffic back there, by then. For the remainder of the day, I hung out, socialized, and at at the Mountain Man potluck. By 7pm, I was glad I hadn't gotten a ticket to the grand ball, because I was BEAT. I packed up the rest of my gear and headed home.
But this was not without challenge. I had parked on a back street near the Faultline restaurant. I had been parked in by two Ferraris. I was sweating bb's trying to jockey out of there without touching paint with their fenders. Fortunately, someone came by and gave me hand-signals on how I was doing. There seemed to be a collection of muscle cars parked back there. Some of the elite of Silcon Valley must have been dining at the Faultline. (One of the Ferrari's had Apple plate holders and said "IPOD.")
