Tuesday, April 29, 2014


So, this happened...

I had finally coaxed my ratchety grocery cart from the automatic door of the Major Market across the parking lot to my car. The cart was loaded to the tune of 'this is the only day in nearly two weeks in which I have been able to make it to a store and the next ten days aren't looking too promising either'.
The bag boy had completed a small architectural miracle with his artful stacking.

This was a very full cart.

As I opened the trunk and prepared to load my retirement account in the car, a woman approached. She was nicely dressed, late fifties to early sixties. She paused beside my car and said. "You have the nicest looking grocery cart I have ever seen."

I looked from her to my cart and back again.
She smiled.
I smiled.
My head spun.

Could she really be complimenting this load of food?
It was a colorful array of reusable bags. (Which has taken five years for me to finally get use to carrying them. You're welcome Earth.)
Perhaps she had followed me through the grocery and noticed my 'perimeter only' purchases: huge green watermelon, a rainbow of fresh vegetables, carefully chosen organic meat, locally cultured yogurt, a huge bouquet of brightly colored daisies. (Okay, the meat may have been from the $5 meat rack and I am pretty sure the daisies were totally GMOed. Those colors don't exist outside of the Crayola factory. She would have appreciated the carefully chosen bottle of wine but it was buried under three bags of chips which were crushed hidden under the watermelon.)

She smiled again and began to walk away and I realized it did not matter the reason for the compliment. I felt a ridiculous sense of accomplishment. My mood had been bolstered by her kind words. I smiled back and with a gracious yet questioning 'thank you' I took credit for it all – the bags, the contents, the arrangement, the craftsmanship of the cart maker.

As I proudly related the story to my family, it was pointed out that perhaps, she was the bag-boy's mother. After all, it was really his handywork which so carefully filled and stacked the bags.

I waved the naysayers off with a tip of my wine glass and took my crushed bag of chips to the deck.
You haters can't bring me down.

It really is a delightful haul.

 (I was so surprised by this incident that I didn't even think to take a picture of the stacked cart. I did, however, unload everything and arrange it in a pleasing manner just for the photo for this post. I probably should have put away the ice cream first.)

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