So what do you say to that?

I am far too often caught at a loss for words. Perhaps being a writer and used to editing has been the cause of this. However, editing aside, in this latest episode, I still haven't thought of a proper biting response although a friend of mine did.

I'm at Walmart, selecting green bananas. I like to buy them green, let them ripen at home. I've no interest in making a steady supply of banana bread from overly ripe fruit. In fact, since I've been using the Debbie Meyer Green Bags, I've only lost one or two bananas to overripeness. A good track record indeed.

So I have my green bananas in my cart. Approaching me--and I knew he was headed for me the instant I saw him--is an older man, stooped, wizened, in need of a shave. He has a few groceries in hand and comes for me like a heat-seeking missile. I did know, didn't I, he asked, that green bananas contain water?

I suppose the implication is that green bananas weigh more, therefore cost more, and how foolish could I be?

Well, I didn't know what to say. He obviously expected an answer. Finally, after a five second lapse in which I should have thought of something pithy, I just said, "I don't care."

That ended it and he moved on, but my friend suggested that should it happen again, I tell him that were I his age, I wouldn't buy green bananas either, on the off-chance that I wouldn't live to see them ripen.

It's like a holiday!

Cabin fever isn't pretty under any circumstances, but to those of us not used to being weather-bound-to-the-house for 4 days in a row, it's just pure misery. Even if there were things we could and better yet, should, be doing, we weren't. Or, at least, I wasn't. In retrospect, this place could be in a lot better shape if I'd stopped grumbling as I looked out at the snow/ice and concentrated on the inside instead.

But I didn't. It's a mess. That's all there is to it.

Yesterday however was a different story. The sun appeared and the temps rose and the streets cleared as if swept. It was time to leave the house and where better to go than Walmart.

It wasn't a singular idea. My first hint should have been the difficulty in finding a parking spot not still in snow-clutches. I drove around a bit, found something suitably close to a cart repository, and went in. There I found several hundred of my nearest and dearest friends, half of whom were already in line.

It would appear that the entire town had come down with the same solution to cabin fever: shop.

Not like it wasn't needed. Our cupboard was getting a bit bare itself. Scurvy could set in with the lack of fresh fruits and veggies. I pondered that there would have already been a run on such, but the stockers in the produce department were busy filling the bins. As were those at bread and eggs. Cheese was a bit thin and there was no house brand unsalted butter (makes one wonder, yes?), but I grabbed the last bag of the catfood I had a coupon for and bravely headed to the check-out.

All of the counters were open. I don't think I'd ever seen that. The lines snaked into each other, but by some miracle everyone knew which one they were in. More importantly, they knew which one their neighbor was in. There was actual camaraderie. We were all in the same boat and we were sailing together. I talked to people I knew and people I didn't. Twenty five minutes passed at a reasonable pace.

As I went out, I smiled at those coming in. Just a little smile. A knowing smile. A I'm-gone-you're-in-line smile.

The Veteran's Wall at Walmart

On June 20 of this year was published in the North Texas e-News, an article I wrote about my Alzheimer's dad. It was called "Remembering the fathers who can no longer remember." I received many wonderful in-person comments about this. And I think Daddy and I've received another tribute, too.

Since that article appeared, people would say to me that they needed to get a photo of their veteran/active duty loved one out to Walmart. No sooner did the article run than Walmart started adding a row at the bottom of their 53 rows. This made Daddy's photo 7th from the bottom of row 52, not 6th. Then 53 rows became 54 and then 55 and then... Six weeks after that article ran there were over 120 more photos on that wall!

What a tribute to Daddy! We are remembering.

ETA: Visited with a friend who works at Walmart and found out that one woman brought in 78 (seventy-eight, that's right) photos of family members who had served--perhaps are serving--in the military. That's what swelled the ranks so rapidly, so to speak.

Eerie, Texas

Last night being Halloween and no trick-or-treaters having shown at our door by 6:45, we adjourned to dinner at our favorite Mexican spot. Had there been something showing at the local theater which we wanted to spend our senior-fare on, we'd have done that next, but there wasn't, so we didn't do the second leg of the local Saturday/Friday night trio: dinner, show, Walmart.

We raced on to the third leg. The parking lot was sparse, but we didn't think anything of that as it was Halloween. Then we saw costumed kids coming out with candy and figured Walmart was running an in-house trick or treat festival, which they were. All over the store were games and prizes and what looked like the tail-end of a long evening for the employees.

My husband took off one way and I, another. This routine is usually bound to have each of us searching the store for the other and last night was no different, but that's not the eerie part of the post. This is: Having swung through the fruit and veggie aisle, I turned up the big side aisle for meats and dairy. It's wide. Very wide. And it was very empty.

I've never seen that aisle empty. It was 7:30 in the evening and there was no one there. Really strange. I started looking at the cross aisles and they were empty too. If there were people, they were headed the other way. In fact, I went the entire side of the store and didn't meet anyone. I'd think the place more populated at midnight.

Really strange, eerie feeling. Unwelcome. Weird. Walmart without customers. No, thank you. I eventually found everyone at the check-out lines and I couldn't get there fast enough.