Grocery Store Run
It is a gift to find universal glory in the mundane.
A retiree in an electric cart passes me as I muscle 40 pounds in my arms—too stubborn to grab a cart. I wonder how long ago he was the dummy too busy to bother.
Now he struggles even to walk. I should relish this strength while I have it. I think I do. I'm not wasting it by any means. But maybe I'm not as aware of my gifts as I could be. There are four electric scooters busing around the store today. An eventuality for man, I suppose.
A tired grandmother buys candy for the toddler she is looking after while mom and dad are at work. This makes me think of what my introduction to sugar was like. Did my grandmother want to treat me? It was an addiction for most of fifty years. Don't do it grandma! Don't do it!
I see tired mothers and grandmothers everywhere this afternoon. Women whose countenance is pure exhaustion. This time of day should be buoyant and full. I wonder if they are night workers or there are other expectations of them that just drain them of energy. It could be the processed foods they're eating. Much of what we are eating doesn't do our bodies any favors.
This grocery store still has human checkers and baggers. It's one of the reasons I like shopping here. The machines can keep their sterile efficiency. I want the flawed humanity.
The bagger today is a gregarious Spanish fellow my own age. He is one of my favorites because he has very good conversational skills. Today we talk about the song drifting eagerly out of the store speakers. I recall it as 'Fly' but can't name the band. I'm guessing Goo-goo dolls or Sublime. Both wrong... but my peer knows it. He excitedly snaps his fingers and looks up in that universal body language that says 'I'm recalling from deep memory'.
“SUGAR RAY!”
We both cheer that he's nailed it.
We laugh as I collect my bags and turn to leave the store and wonder what circumstances has a man in his 50's bagging groceries at my supermarket. He doesn't see it as a demeaning role. His attitude is so energetic and positive.
And I wonder if I could get a job here.
On the way home, I decide to listen to a few of Sugar Ray's big hits:
Every Morning
Someday
Fly
When it's Over
...but things go harder than I expect after we drift from their successful singles. Catchy tunes, those, but not very deep. Most modern culture seems devoid of the kind of depth we as a species used to put in to our record and entertainment generation.
A good example is the mine of thought Halliburton put into The Road to Romance that I am recording as an audiobook. There are single paragraphs that contain enough material from which one could generate entire chapters.
Production is going well. We're at chapter 10 published. Only twenty seven chapters to go.
Chapter ten, The Jails of Gibraltar literally brought me to tears as I read aloud Dick's description of Gibraltar and the night. It is EXACTLY the kind of writing I want to produce. Unfortunately, I don't think most people today want to read prose that dense.
Good thing I don't write for most people.
Stunning stuff. Particularly I was left breathless by his dialog about standing on the gun and feeling as if he could launch into the starry sky. And his observations on the Atlantic and Mediterranean. Perfection!
Speaking of breathlessness, I'd better get to the business of the evening. A group of people is counting on me for a word of encouragement. Tonight we are discussing the Apostle Paul's shipwreck about 1500 miles east of Gibraltar.
I'd better not tarry.
WIWL
#essay #journaling #randomthoughts
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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