...And that's what I like to call "humility"

This past weekend (was Easter, yes, but also) was our town's annual blossom festival, where tourists come from all over the place to buy crafts and plants and take pictures of the trees in bloom.

Like this:

Mt. Hood was a little hazy, but anyway, this is what was going on
across the street. I know, I can't believe we live here either.

Whenever these festivals hit the valley (and Lord, there are a ton of them, because we are all about the tourists), the newspaper sends staff out to take pictures of whatnots so we can have a photo collage in the next issue. So that's what I did: I went to a nearby craft bazaar and tried to find something worthy of my camera.

(That is kind of a joke because my camera is kind of a joke, but whatever. Ever undaunted, I continue on.)

I can never remember to bring a pen along to write down names when I take pictures for the paper, so I gravitated towards people I already know. That's how you solve THAT dilemma. Also: Unbiased journalism! Also: Since it was Easter Sunday, the masses were not out enjoying the craft bazaar. It was sort of depressing, but also not surprising.

Anyway, I decided to walk though this out-building of sorts, where sometimes the middle school teachers sell plant bulbs, thinking that might be a good photo op. Instead, I was quickly herded into the senior center booth, where I got entered into two free raffles (I can't even remember the prizes, the whole thing was kind of against my will) by a woman who also wanted me to volunteer to drive for Meals on Wheels. Which is an admirable program and one I would support if not for my day job. But she was persistant. She was all, if you're a teacher, you can drive just during the summer! And I was like, um, I am not a teacher, actually, and she was all, well, you look like a teacher, and I was like, no, actually I work for the paper. And silence. And then she looks at my ticket stubs and is like, you're Trisha Walker? 

And honestly, I got a little vain. I thought, here we go, because I write a weekly column featuring someone from the community (this month's theme is teachers, last month was people over 80, which was really awesome) and I get a lot of comments on that, as well as a lot of suggestions on who to cover next. It's a little odd to be recognized by people you don't know, but I'm getting used to it. Mostly it's nice. I mean, having your words appreciated? That's just cool.

But instead of going on about my articles, the lady says, Eric was just here! You're brother, Eric Walker!

And I was like, yeah, no, not my brother.

So this was a lesson in humility is what I'm saying. Or maybe humiliation. Well, either way, the moral of this story is: Stay away from the senior center booth if you want to keep your misplaced self-importance in tact.

The end.