I have grown to acknowledge, embrace and celebrate, that some of the best, most beautiful experiences of my life, happen at Target and Jewel-Osco. To be more accurate, I find endless pleasure in people, places and things. I also happen to spend a great deal of time at Target and Jewel.
One year ago, I embarked on a photo series on Facebook – called, “My Beloved Jewel.” It’s a melange of musings… basically, all of the random, peculiarly hilarious items and situations I can find at Jewel. What began in my head as just something that tickled me, ended up being one of the things people ask me most about in my day to day life:
Pam, when are you going to post about Jewel again? It’s been a while!
or, for the perplexed,
Why do you still shop there?
or for the even more perplexed,
Are you insane? I know a really good therapist.
Just last night in Jewel, I was in Pumpkin Spice Hell. It was nearly as anxiety provoking as being unable to find an exit in a Las Vegas Casino. I am quite serious when I state that, I think there’s too much of just about everything, with the exception of love, joy and tolerance. THAT, we could amp up in a big way. Anyhow, my post last night was pretty simple – I’d evolved into “Pampkin Spice.”
Orange you happy I have nothing else to say about this particular story?
After I departed Jewel, I needed a few items at Target. I won’t get into my typical pumpkin spice, salted caramel, “Fresh scent of Febreze,” rant that you might expect.
Last night’s Target story happened in the checkout lane. The cashier was a fine man, about 10 years older than myself. I knew he was chatty based on a few customers in front of me. I love chatty and was happy to be in his line.
Some of my items for purchase, included baby clothes for my daughter’s dolls. We have discovered that buying preemie sizes is not only cuter with a wider selection, but more economically sound.
As the cashier scanned the baby clothes, he said, “Oh wow! When are you due?”
I’m pretty sure my mouth was slightly agape, more than usual. I responded, “I am not pregnant, but thank you for thinking I am young enough to still have a baby!”
But wait. There’s more.
He corrected himself, “Of course! You are having grandchildren!”
My mouth could have caught eight ping pong balls simultaneously.
I said with an enormous smile that I totally owned, “My 10 year old daughter plays with baby dolls, and I wanted to reward her for all of the wonderful things she does in the world. These clothes are for dolls.”
The cashier’s face fell.
“Ma’am, I am so sorry. I feel awful.”
I responded with love and compassion, because that is all I felt, “Please don’t spend one second feeling awful. I could easily be a grandmother! I had my kids pretty late in life. You didn’t insult me whatsoever. Please give yourself a break.”
He looked at me, relieved. He smiled, (and while I was concerned that he was about to ask me out on a date), he looked into my eyes and said, “Do people ever tell you that you look a lot like Sarah Palin? She’s a real looker!”
Pause. Silence. Breathe.
“Why, thank you! I have been told that periodically.”
We finished our transaction, and I left with so much happiness in my heart. Political leanings never trump love. (See what I did there?)
These stories, provide more gifts of joy than I can count. And really, clever musings, love and joy are deeply interwoven into my life. When I state that I live and love for humankind and the greater good, I mean it. It is my primary life’s purpose.
I share it with you, because I love you. In this world, which is complexly fractured and in deep need of resuscitation, I am tirelessly committed to giving you patience, love and tolerance.
I don’t have my head buried in the sand about the world’s challenges, but I do believe that, if each of us can seek and find the funny… the wonderfully peculiar… let our hair down and enjoy life within the storm, we have the keys to a peaceful kingdom.
Call me naive, goofy or just downright nuts. I am happy to own all of it and to share it freely with you.
I love you. YOU are my muse for all of my musings.