Thinking Out Loud

By Gerard Meister

My constant readers know that I seldom miss a chance to go shopping – supermarket, butcher, farmers’ market, or where ever – for our everyday household needs. And it’s not that my better half says go here and get this or that, it’s that these are the best places to catch a real time slice-of- life. I caught one of those compelling vignettes last week while browsing the household/kitchenware aisle at a local supermarket.

A young couple – I thought they were teenagers, but both were wearing wedding bands – had a long list and a wagon full of kitchen utensils, pots, pans and etc. The girl also had a pocket calculator and was keeping a running total of what they were spending. The boy browsing ahead of her came back with what looked to me to be some sort of skillet. The girl checked the price on her calculator and said, “honey, this is over five dollars, I don’t know if we can afford it.”

“Take it, darling,” he said softly. “Please,” he said, touching her shoulder, “it’ll make things easier for you”

“Okay, If you think we should,” she said, touching him back and exchanging eyes.

The kids were playing “Gift Of the Magi.” I thought to myself. Maybe they didn’t know it, but they were.

I had another rare moment – sort of an epiphany – while shopping at my usual supermarket the other day. When I got to the checkout counter there was a senior gentleman in front of me and while waiting for the line to move, I coughed a few times. The chap turned around to see who was coughing and then turned back to face the line (he was next).

Then I coughed a few more times, not a paroxysm, but definitely a coughing spell. “Hey!” the man said as he turned around and looking me in the eye said, “you really ought to take care of that cough. It could be something.”

“No, not really,” I explained. “I’ve had a post-nasal drip for years so all I need is a sip of water (I had a bottle, but it was in the car) or a cough drop. I’ll be fine,” I assured him.

“Well, you got to take care of yourself, you know. I’m ninety-years old and I lost my wife four months ago. We were together over sixty years, now I have to do everything myself: cook, shop, take my medicines and remember all my doctors’ appointments. It’s not easy, believe me – not easy.”

I turned away slightly and pretended to cough, so he wouldn’t see how shaken I was with so poignant a brush with my mortality. He left without further incident, but when I got home I gave my wife a long hug, without saying a word.

“Are you okay?” she said, as she broke free

“Sure!” I said, looking away. “I am now”.