A Geographical Note

I crossed the Pee Dee River today. Sure, big deal you say, but ever since I discovered Haven Kimmel (she of "A Girl Named Zippy" and "She Got Up Off The Couch" - read these books immediately) and read about her beloved childhood pet Pee Dee the cat, I always make note of crossing the Pee Dee River in North Carolina. I'm sure the river and the cat are totally unrelated, but who cares. It strikes a chord with me.

Back when I was in my twenties till my late thirties, I had a once-a-month occurrence. No, not that, I used to drive to the small town of N'rows to take my grandmother, Mamaw Bowles, out to pay her bills. She never drove, and by this time was about 90% blind, and so I'd take an afternoon off from work and take her around to all the stores, doctor's offices, post office, hospital, and the like. Here was a woman who made do with $400 a month from a Social Security check, and if that's not a reason to love a woman I don't know what is, and we'd go and collect her check, get it cashed, and go around paying bills, cash on the barrelhead. And once the bills were paid, we ended it all with a trip to the grocery store.

Now, I'm sure I've told this story before, at least once, but taking Mamaw Bowles to the grocery store was a mind-blowing trip of the highest order. We'd go to the little local grocery in her town, she'd grab a cart and hang on, and we'd go up and down each aisle methodically. And on every aisle, Mamaw would pick up every item and say, "What is this?" and I'd tell her, and she'd say, "How much is it?" and I'd tell her, and she'd say, "OK," and usually put it back.

This would go on endlessly.

"What is this?" "It's a lemon." "How much is it?" "17 cents." "OK."
"What is this?" "It's a box of diapers." "How much is it?" "8 dollars." "Well, my Lord. OK."
"What is this?" "It's instant mashed potatoes." "How much is it?" "2 dollars." "OK."

Eventually, it would become my mission to make her giggle, and my mission would usually be accomplished. "What is this?" "It's a box of sanitary napkins, Mamaw. You think you might have a need this month for sanitary napkins?" And she'd giggle and say, "Well, I don't rightly guess. How much is it?" "2 dollars and 50 cents." "OK."

And so after about eight aisles of this, we'd finally end up with a cartful of groceries, and she'd dole out the last of her $400, and I'd load them into the car and we'd be off back to her house. And after I helped her get her groceries put away and hugged her goodbye, she'd try to give me five dollars. And I'd say no, that if I took that money from her she knew that my dad, her son, would beat me all over town, and she'd put her money away for another day. In reality, the treat for me was getting the afternoon off from work.

Well, at the time, that was the treat for me. Of course, I didn't realize back then that the real treat was that 15 years after her death, those trips around town paying bills and to the grocery store would become the most cherished memory I have of good old Mamaw Bowles.

It's Christmastime here in Betland, as I'm assuming it is where you live too, unless it's Chanukahtime. And if you're like me, the thought of going out Christmas shopping can just put a damper on your whole day, which is really sad, since Christmas is supposed to be The Most Wonderful Time of the Year, with kids jingle belling, and everyone telling you "be of good cheer." (Hey, don't tell me to be of good cheer. Whether or not I want to be of good cheer is nobody's business but my own.) (And do kids still jingle bell? Did they ever?) But think about what a damper the thought of shopping would put on your day if you were 90% blind, like my father is now.

While my mother shops like some sort of Santagranny all over the place (and has no dampening of her day whatsoever), my dad follows her around, yaying and naying her ideas, and they get along fine. But when it's time for my mom's present, Dad needs help, because he can't drive anymore, nor see to shop. In the past, this task has always fallen to my sister, well, it doesn't really fall to her, she volunteers for it, and she takes my dad out to do some Christmas shopping for his gifts to Mom. This year, however, my sister is a little covered up, with work and the Taytie Car Accident Cleanup. Oh, my! With all the blog difficulties going on, I didn't mention that. My dear, sweet, wonderful, tender-hearted, and often loopy nephew wrecked his car Saturday night - flipped and totaled it. He's OK save for being cut all over his general backside region (he ended up on the high side of a turned-over vehicle, and when he released his seat belt, came tumbling down - over the console), and the whole thing could have been so much worse than it was, but the boy is under "house arrest" by his folks and is restricted to driving only to work and school. He told me tonight he's hoping to be out from under "house arrest" by the time he graduates, turns 30, or has a wife and kids, whichever comes first. Pray for my nephew. He needs it. I'm thinking of baking him some brownies with a house key in them somewhere.

Anyway, back to the shopping. So my sister is all tied up, and the task of taking Dad out to shop really did fall to me this year. Hey, I'm on vacation this week, right? Now, I have to tell you that this task filled me with a fair amount of dread. And this is simply because, and I've stated it in this very blog several times, I'm a horrible shopper. Not only has the world of online shopping spoiled me senseless, but in a store I'm so indecisive that I'll stand for an hour in one spot, wondering if this plate is better or that one is, or if I should get a plate at all, and then I'll try to remember what the plot of "Law and Order" was last night, and eventually I'll end up singing some song from 1964 while the salespeople all back away from me.

But I love my dad, and I know he needs the help, and so I said, sure. Pencil me in for Tuesday afternoon. We'll go and finish your shopping, even if that means your shopping will be finished and mine's barely a third done.

And so Tuesday came and I loaded Dad in the car and we took off. And my dear bloggees, the things I discovered. My dad is an incredible shopper! While I'd envisioned tramping all over every store in town describing every item on every rack to him, he knew exactly where he wanted to go, what he wanted to get Mom, and we went there and got it. The man was a wonder! He'd find one thing he liked, we'd find the size, then I'd suddenly remember a couple of pieces that might match it, go get them, show it to him, he'd pick what he liked best, and it was on to the next thing. It was speed shopping! (And though it was always a hoot with Mamaw Bowles, there was no asking, "How much is it?" Good old Dad - when it comes to his Mrs, he cares not.)

And we had a blast. 2 hours, 2 stores, and a cloud of dust. And when it was over, I kind of felt myself disappointed that we couldn't go on. "Stocking stuffers? You need stocking stuffers? A card? Paper? Bow?" I kept wanting to ask. I was just getting in the mood to go.

Today, I went shopping on my own. My goal was to not come home until the gifts were completed. Boy, there's nothing quite like setting your goals too high. I went to Winston-Salem (over the Pee Dee River), and my first foray was to the mall, where I spent a few hours and came out with nary a bag. However, last night's "Law and Order" was about someone who killed the husband of a woman he was obssessed with, and I sang a very heartfelt rendition of "You Don't Own Me," by Lesley Gore.

I had a modicum of success in other places around the town, but still have to trudge back out tomorrow to try and finish up. I'm tempted - and I mean really tempted - to ask my dad to come along with me. He could probably get me finished quicker than the time it would take to get where I'm going and back. Only I fear I'd be the one this time asking, "How much is it?" ("OK.")

So shopping has come full circle, I guess. I took Mamaw Bowles, and now I've taken Dad. The thing I found myself wondering a lot today in the car, though - when I go blind, as I'm convinced is going to happen to me, who's going to take me? I have no kids, I'll have no grandkids. It's a scary thought.

I'll keep five dollars handy, though, for any volunteers.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* The greatest thing about being an adult? If you want to have wine and Doritos for dinner, by God, you can.