Saturday, August 07, 2010

Targeting Red

I had to go to Target tonight to pick out Aaron’s birthday presents. We decided to get him some games for his Nintendo and some Pokemon cards, which are all the rage with my children right now.

While I was waiting for Target Employee #1 to assist me in the video games, I watched several red-shirted employees laughing and talking as they set out the mother-load of school supplies. Red shirts darted in and out of the aisles while I stood tapping my toe by the electronics division. Finally, I decided to wander down to school supplies and fetch me an employee with a key to the game cabinet. He followed me willingly, and was quite courteous while digging out the last of the Lego Harry Potter and Pokemon Platinum games.

Next, I was off to locate Pokemon cards. Given that the cards are not in the toy department at WalMart, but rather hidden in a random aisle near the books and cigarettes, I decided to scout the Target check-out stands for the cards. After eight aisles, no luck, so I backtracked to the toy department. As I flew past the toy aisles, I suddenly spotted two red shirts standing back to back on one aisle, obviously doing inventory like the other crew I had witnessed in school supplies.

“Excuse me,” I said sweetly, “but I wonder if either of you gentlemen could tell me where I might find the Pokemon cards?”

The guy closest to me looked up, and grinning like the Cheshire Cat said, “We don’t work here.”

Dude. You mock me??? For a moment, perhaps I was fixated on the sparkly red metal piercing his eyebrow, or the colorful tattoos on his forearm, but I quickly glanced at his nametag.

Crap. No nametag. This kid is serious. My hand flew to my mouth, which was hanging open in disbelief.

“Oh, my goodness!! I am sooooooo sorry about that!”

“It’s okay. C’mon. I’ll show you where they are.” And he turned, waving for me to follow him.

“It’s just that, well, you’re both wearing red…in Target! It looked like you were doing inventory. I am really so sorry!”

“It’s really okay.” He proceeded to show me the Pokemon cards, and further explained that I would find additional sets of cards in the trading-card-section, "which is just to the left of checkout #24." Okay, so he doesn’t work there, but trust me, he so totally could! I thanked him, apologized again for the trouble, and set out after check-out #24, where I found exactly what he said I would.

So, moms, please… if your teen seems all into the gaming stuff and speaks in sci-fi languages you don’t understand, go easy on him. He may just be the most surprising resource to clueless Pokemon-seekers like me.

Thursday, August 05, 2010

What If She’s Jesus?

She was walking up the sidewalk at my office when I turned into the parking lot. Older and already beat up from the morning Louisiana heat, she looked at me and I smiled at her. By the time I parked, unplugged my cell phone, gathered my purse, my lunch bag, and my coffee cup, she was crossing the parking lot and headed my direction.

I am ashamed to say that my first thought was, “If I get out of my car right now, that’s going to put us walking in together, and I will feel the need to converse with her, and walk at her pace so as not to leave her in my dust, and I am already late getting to work anyway.” As I climbed out of my car I saw that she was still making an effort at eye contact. There was no way around speaking. I smiled and said, “Good morning.”

As she approached, she responded with, “I hope I’m in the right place.”

I was at that moment resigned to the fact that we were going to share a conversation. I asked what she was looking for. She replied that she was looking for help with her bills. True, after Hurricane Katrina we had an office in our building for the St. Vincent de Paul Society to help evacuees from New Orleans who had come to Shreveport. I explained to her that the SVdP office was no longer at our facility, but that if she would come into our office, we could get a phone number for her.

As I turned to head toward the building with her, she spoke to me, but I do not recall what she said. On the other hand, I will never forget how she looked. I seriously believed this woman might pass out in our parking lot right then and there. Though my arms were full of all my unnecessary gear, I managed to throw an arm around her as I asked if she was okay, and then, surprising myself with the next question: “Have you eaten anything?” She managed to say that she hadn’t, and as I steadied her gently, I prayed that she would not fall out on the asphalt. I knew I would never be able to assist her back up. We walked slowly, and I explained that we were going to walk in through these doors, and I was going to show her a chair and then get her something to eat and drink. I could only promise this because I knew I had packed fruit for my breakfast, and water is always on hand.

When we got in through the doors, I dropped all my gear on the receptionist’s desk and directed the lady to a soft armchair. Explaining the lady’s situation to our receptionist, Linda, I dug through my lunch bag and pulled out a banana. A beautifully sweet, organic banana that I had eagerly anticipated consuming for breakfast. I asked the lady if she was okay with a banana since it had more nutritional value than anything else in my bag, and she said yes. Then I ran into the kitchen for some water.

While I was digging for ice to fill a glass, one of our deacons walked in and asked, as if we were already in mid-conversation, “Is that for her?” I said it was, and he offered to grab a bottle of water. Assuming that might be better, I agreed but continued with the ice. By the time I returned to her, she was surrounded by the deacon and one of our sisters, who were both offering help in ways I could not. Sister took the lady to her office, leaving instruction with Linda to call our local SVdP president and have her patched through directly to Sister.

With no more assisting to do, I cleared Linda’s desk of my belongings and headed to my office, praying this lady would find what she needs, and knowing my part in that process was thankfully over. The deacon followed me into the hall and asked if I had given the lady my snack. I said, “Actually, that was my breakfast.” I was surprised at myself, for I believe this is the first time that I ever took something away from myself to give to another person. I always imagine doing it, but I have never actually put it into action. The feeling was surreal. I realized that for those past five minutes I did not feel like myself, couldn’t remember actual words we exchanged. I just knew I had been willing to hold her upright and share my food. That is quite unlike me, I’m sad to say. I have never been good at reaching out. In the middle of pondering the experience, the deacon walked back in to my office, laid a banana and a peach on my desk and said, “You can’t out-give God. Thanks for helping that lady.”

I sat staring at the fruit, wanting to cry, but replaying his words: “You can’t out-give God.” God has given me so much. All I ever had to do was share it. I guess God knew that I wanted to help, but never knew how. He knew he would need to walk across a parking lot and look me in the eye to get me to act. I hope I remember this lesson, and I hope God gives me more chances to see him in other people. I pondered his words from the Gospel: “Whatever you do for the least of these…”

I should have given her my granola bar too.

Wednesday, August 04, 2010

MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABELLLLLLL!!!!!!!

This has not been our night. Oh, but it’s been Mabel’s alright. She has had a fine evening! First, I came home and started cooking dinner. I let the dogs out, fed them, and brought them back in out of the sweltering heat.

Five minutes later, Dom and the kids walk in, and it is during their entrance into our home that Dom hurriedly crosses the kitchen and asks, “Did she get it or did you put it up?”

“Get what?”

“The loaf of…” And he stops cold at the entrance to the den with me hot on his heels.

“Mabel!!!!! You ate all the bread?!!!” I peered over his shoulder to spy a hurricane path of ripped pieces of the plastic bread bag littering my den.  Dom began to explain to me that he had forgotten to put the bread back in the breadbox and had left the half-loaf on the countertop when he came home for lunch today. He meant to warn me ahead of time, and I had not noticed it was left out. In fact, it took a while for him to convince me that Mabel didn't make that mess during the lunch hour.  I was too focused on making dinner which included a new bread recipe. Ironic, huh?

Half an hour later we were sitting down to dinner. During dinner, the kids and Dom yelled twice at Mabel who was helping herself to the scraps of roast left on the kitchen countertop.

After dinner, we cleared the table and washed up the dishes. I packaged up the leftovers and tried to decide what to store the leftover Sun Dried Tomato Bread in (awesome recipe from my newest cookbook). I decided I was tired of standing up instead, and since Dom was sitting for a few moments, I joined him. We heard nothing from the Mabelline, and I called her name, but really figured she was crashed on the tile floor, what with having consumed so many carbs and all.

I really wish I would stop assuming that I know what she’s doing.

She finally rounded the corner and laid herself down on the floor in front of Dom. He patted her extended belly and we laughed because we figured she had to be stuffed! Dom asked if there was anything else she could have gotten (food-wise), and I proudly answered that I had put everything safely away.

A few moments later I hoisted my lazy butt up and headed into the kitchen. On the table, dead center, was the tray I had placed the bread on during dinner, all wrapped in a towel so it would stay warm. But the tray was empty. Pretty, but empty. And that’s when I realized that I had not yet packaged and stored that beautiful, delicious Italiany-tomato-bread that I had made FROM SCRATCH. I called out to Dom, “Honey, did you put the rest of the bread up?”

“Uh, no…”

And then I saw the towel that I had wrapped the bread in ON THE FLOOR UNDER THE TABLE!

We honestly don’t know how it is that Mabel is not passed out somewhere. She has consumed about a tablespoon of roast beef and TWO HALF-LOAVES OF BREAD!!!

At least the one I made was low-cal. Damn dog.

Monday, August 02, 2010

The Voice That Takes Me Back

“Mommy! Mommy! I had a great day today at cheer camp and there’s a new girl there and she’s in my stunt group and now she’s my friend and I had a great day and I didn’t even miss you!!”

Did you go there with me? Did your mind instantly flash to Father of the Bride when the little girl is sitting at the table talking about getting married, and then Steve Martin blinks his eyes and refocuses on his adult daughter who is all grown-up and beautiful and squealing with delight?

That’s where I went. Except I didn’t see the little girl at the table. I saw this one:

 
Listening to Victoria talking on the phone evokes images of this 3-year old every time. No matter how her voice matures in person, via telephone she is always cute, cuddly and curly-headed. My little Vic. My Mini-Me. My precious daughter who is growing up way too fast. I sort of revel in the fact that my sweet baby girl  with her infinite wonder and innocence still exists on the other end of the phone. I wonder how long that will last, and I pray that I don’t waste a moment of it.