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Thoughts on Emergence

Thoughts on Emergence

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In a single afternoon last week, I masked up and was led to a hand-washing station before a doctor’s appointment. Later, at a small boutique, I had my temperature checked and was told to use hand sanitizer before venturing in. 

At my last stop of the day,  a small shop that sells Catholic books and gifts, I was one of the few folks wearing a mask. “How do people expect us to breathe in one,” grumbled the proprietress, sans mask, as she wrapped up my purchase.  

Such is life as we emerge from pandemic restrictions here in northern Virginia.

In my travels to the Northwest almost a month ago, we wore masks most everywhere, including on the sidewalk in some neighborhoods, attempting to fit in with the locals. Yesterday, at a brunch in Arlington, the restaurant was fully occupied with scarcely a mask in sight. 

It’s a weird hodgepodge and infinitely preferable to what we had this time last year. So I’m not complaining, only observing that if there is one truth somewhere, one right way to do things, I’m not sure who knows it. 

(Disinfectant, anyone? At Pike Place Market in Seattle, May 15.)

Limit Two

Limit Two

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The grocery store signage of the hour doesn’t advertise the latest sale, doesn’t promise half price or double coupons. The grocery store signage of the hour says “Limit Two.” Customers are told they can buy no more than two liquid soap dispensers, two gallons of milk, two dozen eggs, two pounds of butter and two boxes of pasta.

It is the language of scarcity, the language of a pandemic and, in this topsy-turvy world in which we now live, perhaps also the language of the future.

Are we, after so much abundance, entering an era of scarcity? It certainly seems so. There are fewer jobs, fewer certainties — and most definitely fewer rolls of toilet paper.

But even after the production of goods has been ramped up I wonder if we will keep the “Limit Two” mentality. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Because what Limit Two does most of all is to acknowledge that there are those who come after us — and they will be wanting their milk, eggs and butter too.

(Photo: NJ.com)

Old Blue Shoes

Old Blue Shoes

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I had been meaning to replace them late last year, then in January … and February … and March. But by the time retail shopping shut down last month I still hadn’t bought a new pair of running shoes to replace my beat-up, ratty-looking old ones.

It’s not as if I couldn’t purchase a pair of replacements online. But I like to try on shoes before buying them.

So I soldier on, hoping the toe hole won’t grow much larger, hoping that the soles won’t shed any more rubber, that the heels won’t grow any lumpier than they are now.

Making do. It’s what we do now.

(This title a tip of the hat to New Blue Shoes, one of Claire’s favorite books when she was a little girl.)

Bingo!

Bingo!

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The line stretched past the supermarket and the auto parts place, almost to the furniture store by the time I got to the store, pulled on my rubber gloves, picked up a cart and stood in line this morning. It’s grocery shopping in the age of COVID-19.

Once inside I was making my usual rounds when I suddenly remembered I ought to make a beeline to the paper goods aisle. And there, almost mirage-like, were a couple dozen packages of toilet paper … and even more of paper towels. There was liquid soap, too.

I grabbed one package each of toilet tissue and towels and some hand soap. My shopping trip would  have been complete even if I ended it right there.

But I was able to get everything else on my list — picked up not in the usual circular way, around the perimeters first then aisle by aisle but by zigzagging from one potentially scarce set of items to another. Skim milk. Check. Spaghetti. Check. Bread. Check.

Back home now, with cans and packages wiped down and put away … I’m ready for a nap.


(Another day, another store. This week I was able to find everything on my list!)


Food Palace

Food Palace

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For the last couple of years I’ve shopped for food at a discount grocery chain where prices are low and brands are simple: basically there’s one. This means there’s limited selection, and I like it this way. There’s no need to deliberate, so I save time and energy.

A couple days ago I found myself in the antithesis of this grocery store. I found myself in a Food Palace. There were a dozen types of pate, mushrooms so exotic I’d never heard of them and a bakery to die for. It was chaotic and amusing. I was often bewildered. But the mushrooms were delicious when sautéed in butter — and I tore into the chewy but tender Tuscan pane on the way home.

It was as if the food choices I’ve eschewed these last two years had gathered around and started taunting me. See what you’ve been missing, they said.  Look at this richness, this bounty.

I looked, I appreciated. But the very next day I went back to my discount grocer.

Shopping Season

Shopping Season

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What’s the saying, when the going gets tough, the tough go … shopping?

As Americans hit the malls and big box stores, as they weed through websites in search of cyber deals, I think about the pastime of shopping, what it can do for you and what it can’t.

My mother liked to shop. If she had time to kill she would while it away in a store or two.

This is not the way I unwind. Put me in a darkened movie theater or downstairs in the basement with an episode of “The Crown.” For me, shopping is a means to an end.

But the shopping season is upon us, so today I’ll do my bit for the economy. Not with joy or gladness but with a sense of duty.

Extra Large

Extra Large

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A brief shopping trip last night found me wandering an almost-empty mall. Clerks chatted at vacant makeup counters or fussed with jewelry displays. There was no line to see Santa. Mall walkers had the run of the place.

As I pawed through sweaters I noticed something else. Almost all of them were extra large, some even extra-extra large. And at the bookstore, a similar lack of choice: Half of the well-reviewed, recently published books I was looking for were not on the shelves.

Yes, the stores will be busier this weekend — but not that much busier, from what I’ve heard.  People shop with their fingers now. I know this. I do it, too. There’s infinite choice, less hassle. But I miss the market square and the hustle bustle. I wonder if it will ever come back.

New Blue Shoes

New Blue Shoes

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Every year or so I buy myself some new tennis shoes. I usually reprise whatever make and model I’m currently wearing, as long as it fits and has held up to my daily battering. Which means that I don’t choose by color, only by comfort.

Some years I end up with garish purples and greens. Others with white. But this year, I hit the jackpot: a pastel beauty that’s mostly the color of sky, with just a hint of aquamarine.

The minute I saw these I thought they should be Celia’s — my youngest daughter loves this color and looks great in it. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized there’s also a connection with my middle daughter, Claire. One of her favorite books growing up was New Blue Shoes by Eve Rice.

The book is about a shoe-shopping expedition and a little girl who knows what she wants — new shoes, blue shoes, new blue shoes — and will have no other. A perfect favorite for Claire, who has always known what she wants, whether it’s pink stiletto heels or a new puppy.

I like my new blue shoes, even though I didn’t fight for them. Maybe I should have!

Boxes!

Boxes!

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It’s not exactly to the break-even point yet, but I’m definitely ordering more holiday gifts online this year, and my sister is, too. So based on this highly unscientific sampling of two, I think there’s a trend here.

(I’m not so far off on this trend definition. When I wrote pieces for women’s magazines, a “trend” was something that you and a couple of your close friends were noticing — after which you dug up enough evidence to convince your editors it was really happening.)

But, back to this year’s shopping stats, I do have real, tangible proof: the piles of boxes in front of the houses in my neighborhood.

Usually you see lots of boxes after the holidays, not before. But no more.

‘Tis the season for FedEx and UPS and even the lowly ole US Post Office — and the containers they leave behind. They’re making the Yuletide jolly. And easier, too.

Shopping at Night

Shopping at Night

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A window of time opened up, a confluence of hour and place. I understood what I had to do and when I had to do it. So I followed vague directions to the outlet shops I knew were there in theory but had never reached from that starting point.

And when I got there the sun was setting, a disc on fire slipping behind the faux roofs. I watched it slide away, assembled my list, had a bite to eat and gathered my courage.

It was a quiet evening. Who shops on Friday night? People like me, I realized. Women with determination in their eyes and lists in their hands. As the evening wore on, not just lists but shopping bags, too.

There comes a point in the season when you are finally into it. You have gone too far not to be. From here there will be tree-cutting, hauling and decorating. There will be more shopping (I hope not too much more!),  There will be baking and card-writing and stocking-hanging and all of it, right up to the cacophony of Christmas morning.

‘Tis the season, you know.