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Archive for December, 2024

Christmas Shopping Perils

Posted in Humor, tagged , , , , , , on December 20, 2024| Leave a Comment »

Heaving and Lurching to the Holidays (but not in the way you think)!

With Christmas only days away, I made a dashing trip to the store to get a head start on all the holiday shopping and preparations. I had my list and my good humor. All was well as I wheeled into the parking lot, found a parking space a moderate distance from the door, and strolled past the bell-ringers, with the good intention of giving something on my way out, of course. (Hint to bell-ringers:  people have a higher proclivity for giving on their way in the store than on their way out). 

I pulled a cart from the line and plopped my purse in the child seat. I smiled at the cheery Christmas music playing over the loudspeaker system and the colorful sales displays. As this was the large discount store that I routinely frequent, I took my habitual route, covering the pharmacy area first. It was there that I discovered that when I turned a corner, my buggy did not necessarily turn with me. Oh well, a little heave and lurch and I was at the cough drops. (Hint to shoppers:  check the mobility of your cart before leaving the cart area). 

Now I faced the first of many bewildering choices, which is not a problem except for those who are indecisive, which I am. Did I want cherry, lemon, or herbal; or natural, soothing, or effective, or brand-name or generic, or with vitamin C, E, or zinc? I closed my eyes and grabbed a bag. 

Another heave and lurch, and I rounded the corner and the glorious Christmas display came in view: stockings and gift tins, bright wrapping and tinsel, trees and even a Santa. As I approached, I could see that Santa looked a little depressed and a lot bored, as there were no kids about and a long day ahead. I gave him a sympathetic smile as I heaved and lurched past him to the gift-wrapping supplies. (Hint to shoppers:  don’t get too friendly with Santa, as he can be desperate for adult conversation and detain you for hours). 

I emerged from the Christmas area some time later after determining, with difficulty, that I needed the assortment of gift boxes, the assortment of gift tags, the assortment of tissue paper, and the assortment of gift wrap. Whoever thought of the assortment packaging was a marketing genius. 

While passing the paint station, I decided to take the plunge and choose just the right shade for the back bathroom, as I planned to quickly paint it during my spare time on Christmas break. (Hint to homeowners:  do not plan home improvement projects during the holidays). After scrutinizing the 63 different shades of beige, rose, and peach for half an hour, I couldn’t decide. I furtively pocketed the entire selection of color cards and made a beeline for house wares.

Safe territory at last!  I could quickly pick up some gifts and finally make some progress. Blankets make great gifts, and I had noticed an earlier display of reasonably priced plush blankets in an array of colors and sizes. I was not the only one. The lady at the other end of the aisle had noticed them too. We had a stare down and fought a wordless battle for the last queen-sized blue blanket. Let’s just say I emerged from the fray with a full-sized brown blanket, and was happy to get it.

A few heaves and lurches later, and I arrived at the electronics department. Great gifts to be had all around, but they could wait. I might even skip the store-bought gifts this year. Who wants DVDs, cell phones, or cameras when they can have something homemade to treasure always? Never mind, don’t answer that question. 

On the grocery side, I lurched along fairly efficiently, only because I’ve done it a thousand times: eggs and milk, chips and detergent, and so on. I even remembered to pick up a fly swatter in the cleaning aisle. I was increasingly hungry, so I grabbed a few dozen tempting items from the frozen food cases. (Hint to shoppers:  do not shop for food while famished). One more pass through the deli, and I was on my way!

The aroma of the lemon pepper chicken ambushed me. I balanced one on top of the paper towels and headed for the checkout. It was time to be brave, so I heaved and lurched into the self-checkout line. With the help of the entire store management and divine intervention, it only took thirty minutes to scan and pay for my purchases. 

The disorientation set in on the way out the door. Mental exhaustion and physical hunger had taken their toll. The sickening realization that I had forgotten the toilet paper and where I had parked overtook me. I purposely headed toward the parking lot anyway.

Witnesses later reported seeing a distraught woman, with disheveled hair and haggard eyes, doing the heave and lurch with her shopping buggy in circles around the parking lot. Most kindly averted their eyes and went on their way. They knew that next time, it could be them. 

Disclaimer:  All products, persons, and places alluded to in this writing bear little actual resemblance to anything, anybody, or any place anywhere that had any real part in this most unfortunate experience.

 © 2024 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved 

Note: None of my content is AI generated. Ever.

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Eleanor on the Plane

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on December 10, 2024| 1 Comment »

The world will see her again!

At first I didn’t see the tiny child on the floor by the window seat. I had taken the first aisle seat available on the rapidly filling flight. The slight young woman in the middle seat gave a faint, but not unfriendly, smile. 

As we readied for takeoff on the flight from Philadelphia to Nashville, the mother coaxed her child into her seat and explained that it was time to buckle up. Squirming and protests ensued, but mom persisted, and the curly-headed girl gave in. Her mother murmured, “I hope we don’t bother you.” I assured her that they would not.

I soon gathered that the child’s name was Eleanor. Judging by her well-developed speech, I guessed she was about four years old, though small for her age. During the safety presentation, she divided her attention between the flight attendant and reorganizing the placards in the seat pockets. 

Then she quite sensibly said she needed a nap, and her mother, who had shadows under her eyes and a weariness in her voice, heartily agreed! But they would have to wait until the seat belt sign went off. This explanation did not pass muster with Eleanor, who unleashed a barrage of questions:

Why do we have to wait? If it’s not your rule, Mommy, who made the rules? Why can I take the seat belt off then and not now? What does the seat belt do? How long do we sit here? How far to get home? I need to sit on you to sleep. Can I sit on you and wear the seat belt? How much longer?

Mom, with strained patience and a low tone, tried to answer each question, but Eleanor didn’t have time for the answers! Her thoughts raced on to the next topic, so her mother tried distraction next. They discussed cloud shapes, and what clouds are made of, and how home is under the clouds.

Mother and daughter shared a symmetry together, a rhythm in gestures and voice that reflected many hours of happy chatter and play. When at last the plane leveled off at the adequate altitude, Eleanor escaped the seat belt and sat on her mother’s lap. Within minutes, they both drifted off to sleep. I couldn’t help but glance over at them. 

The mother looked to be in her early 20’s, with glowing alabaster skin and a slender, petite frame. Her golden and barely auburn curls, clipped up haphazardly on her head, fell against her neck. Eleanor, with her own blond curls, clutched her flannel blankie in her sleep. Her tiny toes peeked out below, sporting sparkly purple nail polish. 

Eleanor fit into the curve of her mother’s body perfectly, as if she remembered the womb from which she came. The mother’s arm wrapped gently around her child, laying claim to this young soul who still felt part of her own. 

The sight stirred motherhood memories in me, since buried under 35 years of living and tension, changes and growth. Once I held my babies just so, until they elbowed and kicked their way free and flew away. Now their children push away from them, chasing adulthood. I am two generations away from the symbiotic love and pain of holding my little ones in my arms. 

Sometimes, in the tableau of life, we come upon a scene so breathtakingly beautiful that it burns away all the dross and debris of humanity, and we can see the best of us. Time takes a deep breath. Then the clouds change shape, and the moment passes. 

Eleanor stirred from her nap, and her mother sighed and sat up. As Eleanor made a tent with her blankie, then ate a snack, climbed in and out of her seat, and finally settled into a movie on mom’s phone, we visited. They had travelled from home in Houston to New Jersey to see the grandparents. 

Even after reaching Nashville, they had a two hour layover and one more flight to go. We deboarded, and I took a short walk before finding the gate for my connecting flight to Dallas. By chance, I saw Eleanor and her mother at the opposite gate. Eleanor had found a second wind, cavorting around the chairs and giving commands to an imaginary playmate. 

Her mom was just about done, slumped in a chair, with her hair almost totally escaping from its clip. Her fatigue palpable, she struggled to stay vigilant and keep a watchful eye on Eleanor. Unaware and innocent, Eleanor knew her mother as an extension of herself, and had no idea of her mother’s struggle. 

I walked over to ask if I could pick up some food and bring it to them, but Eleanor had eaten a Lunchable, and mom said she didn’t need anything. The mother in me wanted to make her eat; she looked way too pale and fragile. But I also wanted to respect boundaries, so wished them well on the last leg of their journey home. 

Eleanor won’t know or understand until much later in life the thousands of sacrifices and gifts of the heart, from tiny to grand, that her mother laid down before her. The world will know intelligent, spunky Eleanor someday–maybe as a prosecutor in a courtroom, or as CEO of an innovative company, or as a scientist on a relentless search for a cure. 

And perhaps we will also see her as a mother, shaping a young character with selfless love and gentle wisdom.

© 2024 Joyce Martin. All rights reserved
Note: None of my content is AI generated. Ever.

Thank you for reading! Please subscribe below!

You may also find my writing on joyous Road on Substack & Joyce Martin on Medium

If you would like to support my writing, please do so here: https://buymeacoffee.com/joycemartin

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