Today is Saturday, market day in the local town of Solothurn. I have not been to this market on Saturday morning for probably at least five years. I was still working and never had the time or energy. Now I am not working, at least not in a paid job, but it still took time to decide yes, let’s go to the market. I remember so well my Swiss mother-in-law. Market Saturday in Solothurn was her day of the week. She was always nicely dressed, but she had her wardrobe for Saturday morning. She would meet neighbours, acquaintances and enjoyed the morning thoroughly on the market, knowing most, if not all, of the stall holders.
Today Mr. Swiss was otherwise engaged, shifting a set of drums from a rehearsal room to the place where he will be playing tomorrow afternoon with the other golden oldies in his jazz (modern) band. I am looking forward to the concert, takes place in a small village in a sort of renovated farm house where a good colleague of ours lives (also a very good jazz pianist). Being a straw widow for a morning I decided to give myself a push and go to the fruit and vegetable market.
My starting point was the village railway station. Of course I met a neighbour from the village so we talked our way for five minutes on the train until we reached Solothurn. She had a meeting with a colleague and I made my way into town, armed with my point and shoot camera, of course. You never know. I quite enjoyed my walk through town, seeing what was on offer. The flower displays on the gardening stalls were really so colourful as well as the fruits on offer. I snapped my way with the camera to the other side of town. I did have a quest, to buy a salad as we had forgotten it yesterday in the Friday hunting marathon. I also made a few photos of our buses and trains on the way for a weekly photo challenge as I noticed my supply of transport means was no longer enough.
Eventually I made my way back to the train station, meeting another neighbour from the village. You are never really alone if you live in a village with about one thousand inhabitants only. I arrived home tired but not unhappy to find Mr. Swiss had not yet arrived, which gave me time to cook something for lunch. We have an exceptional situation at the moment and are really alone. One a year my autistic son goes on a two week holiday to Italy. He is very independent, and absolutely no stress, but I suppose one less mouth to feed.