Tuesday, May 29, 2012


My favorite bag boy turned 80 a few months ago. He may move at the speed of a gentle breeze but he's still moving. He has Parkinson's disease but has it pretty well under control, moving in short, slightly shuffling steps. He knows how I like my things bagged. He knows I don't like hot weather. When he's there we have a nice chat, particularly if he's working my favorite check out lady's register. I never make him take my things to the car. Few people do, except the very elderly ladies.  I keep it even by never letting anyone carry them out.  I never help him bag to move things along. I have plenty of time. It's an unspoken camaraderie among the regular patrons.  And they are watching.  The store was recently bought out. Several new faces showed up. There is a reason some lines are always full while others just get the stragglers.

One of the reasons I shop at my grocery store, instead of  "Bright Lights Big City Supermarket" where Middlest actually works,  is that I like the quirkiness of my store. The flower lady behind her counter intoning, "Thank you for shopping with us today", like the greeter at a haunted morgue attraction, complete with a strange little smile on her face. My favorite checkout lady, who knows what all my kids are up to. She's been around long enough to be a manager but she seems to prefer check out. Catching up with her regulars. Sometimes they put her on the 'under 10 items' register because everyone flocks to her line and the others are empty.  Sometimes I get the other bag boy, who was fired from BLBC Supermarket. He is an articulate and personable young man, extremely courteous and helpful and completely lacking any kind of filter between his brain and his mouth. The other day when I refused his offer of help to the car, my favorite checkout lady said in a pleading voice, Please let him! Get him away from me for a few minutes. : ) There is my second favorite checkout lady who has been there for 35 years and who I know personally enough to know that she used to think people were following her and watching her with cameras. She's in her fifties, She lives with her mother. She's very good at her job. Also the rather bumbling store manager,  who sometimes forgets to shave and often seems to be wandering the aisles aimlessly like he's lost. He always asks, "Are you finding everything alright?" I'm sometimes tempted to answer, Yes, have you found your way out of here yet? The other day in the snack aisle I overheard one employee approach another and quietly ask, "Have you seen the mail bag?"  "No, Why?" The first replied, "It had the payroll in it." As I traveled through the store the news and questions followed me in frantic whispers. Up front? In the back? Ask so & so. What about...? I sure hope they found it : ) They are under scrutiny. Everyone needs to be on their best game.

  I was very pleased last week when I arrived at the register and saw my favorite bag boy,  shuffling over as quick as he could to beat 'Filterless'. It has been several weeks since I saw him and I was afraid he might be ill or something had happened to him. I noticed he looked gaunt. He is not a 'little old man.' He has a full head of white hair and is over six feet tall with a large frame and only the slightest slope to his shoulders. This made the new thinness stand out, the skin on his face sagging, his large wrist bones protruding.  I was sure he must have been in the hospital. I knew he wasn't on a vacation. I remembered a few years ago when he tried to go off his very expensive Parkinson's medications. His Insurance doesn't cover all of it and he wanted to save money. Within weeks he degenerated to the point of being in a scooter chair and it was a couple of  months before he was straightened out enough to return to work. He lives alone. He's a Marine Corp veteran. He doesn't work there because he's bored and wants something to do. As he began pulling bags out I asked, "Where have you been?" I was floored when he answered, "They cut my hours back. I've only been getting about six a week...and they want you to check it on the computer now...I used to be able to call in and find out my schedule....now it's all on the Internet"...his voice trailed off.

I see.

My favorite bag boy cannot afford the Internet not to mention a computer to find out when he's supposed to work. He can't afford to work fewer hours. He hasn't lost so much weight because he's  been sick. And This.....is scary. This makes me feel angry and powerless. This..is wrong..

UPDATE: I was very touched by the outpouring of concern this post inspired.  I wanted to let everyone know that my general busybody-ness and butting into other peoples business, did lead me to find out that though the situation isn't perfect,  it's under control.  It's still wrong, but for the time being things will be OK. In sweeter news-my bag boy has a new girlfriend- she's adorable!

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Sunday, May 27, 2012

In Honor of the Fallen


Day is done,
gone the sun,
From the hills,
from the lake,
From the skies.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep,
peaceful sleep,
May the soldier
or sailor,
God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night,
Must thou go,
When the day,
And the night
Need thee so?
All is well.
Speedeth all
To their rest.

Fades the light;
And afar
Goeth day,
And the stars
Shineth bright,
Fare thee well;
Day has gone,
Night is on.

Thanks and praise,
For our days,
'Neath the sun,
Neath the stars,
'Neath the sky,
As we go,
This we know,
God is nigh.

Lights Out.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

As if I didn't feel old enough already..

I leave on a quick 1 day business trip today, gimped out or no, and in the mean time I thought I'd share this thought:

AHHH! Where does the time go? How can this be happening?!!!

You see. Littlest brought home her paperwork for Senior pictures to be taken over the summer and info for doing her senior quotes for next years yearbook and such. My mind flashed on through the year to the endless organizing, testing, renting cap and gown, seeing her walk up to get that piece of paper that declares her free. (Which made me tear up a whole year in advance ) And a few months later she will be legally free to make her final decision on her future. I asked her to wait two more years and go to school before she makes that decision.  But it's up to her and she's leaning toward, "I want to get on with it.". We shall see,  so for now...

But...But...But....She's My Littlest!
 Isn't she twelve? I'm pretty sure the last time I looked she was twelve.

How's time treating you?

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Yeah. And Don't Forget My LifeAlert Pendant.

To Quote Shel Silverstein

"I tripped on my shoelace, and I fell up."

Over the past thirty years I have injured my ankle:

Falling down on roller skates.
Falling down steps (2 whole steps)
Walking down a mountain.


On Tuesday I was sitting cross legged on the ground and as I proceeded to gracefully rise UPWARD in one fluid motion from the ground....something went terribly wrong.

I tried to ignore it but by Wednesday it became apparent that...

 This great fall from a distance of approximately 1 foot off  the ground had resulted in:

Sprained Right Ankle


                                                    Strained/Twisted Left Knee

Further aftermath of this curious incident has been a peculiar behavior pattern in Middlest and Littlest:

Telling their mother to go sit down and relax and quit doing stuff.

I actually heard this as I was slowly sneaking down the stairs.

"Is she up again?!"


"Mom! Go Lay Down!"

I could get used to this.

Oh. And Biggest called. She asked if they should start saving up for my Hoveround.

I had to sneak off to write this post. Next time I make a break for it I'll visit blogs.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Saturday, May 12, 2012

The Sweep Stakes Were High at My House

I was laying on the couch watching television in my usual posture. On my side, arm bent to cradle my head in my hand, top leg bent at the knee and held in the crook of my elbow. I was eleven. It was Saturday morning. I don't know what I was watching but I'm sure I wasn't really interested in it either. I was avoiding. The voice called from somewhere in the house, yet again, "Clean your room." I remained silent. My mother appeared. Each day of the week she left a messy house behind, impeccably dressed and coiffed for work,  and came home to the same clutter to sit on the couch and throw her shoes off, unhook her bra and magically remove it, draping it over the couch. Weekends were usually spent escaping the mess.  My mother was always ready to get out of the house and go somewhere rather than deal with it. Then suddenly she would be overcome with a cleaning frenzy. But. As happened every so often without warning my mom was fed up. It was a Capital Letters Cleaning Day. She stood before me in ugly gray stretchy shorts and old t shirt. Her hair haphazardly pushed back with a band.  "Get in there and clean that room!"
I will, I answered flatly, staring at the TV screen and making no move beyond rocking my bent leg a bit. Now! she yelled. I will in a minute, I repeated, for about the fifth time that morning. I was being a brat. My mother swooped on the room picking up handfuls of clutter in a whirlwind. Thrown into sudden and full onset raging menopause by a hysterectomy, she had already in recent weeks, broken  dishes in the sink, shockingly used to F word, and her reaction to my dads Christmas gift of new pots and pans guaranteed something gorgeous under the tree for her the rest of his life.

I should have known better.

My room was a daunting task I wished to avoid. With the exception of my neatly arranged bookshelf, everything was chaos. I don't remember exactly what was in there. I do know I couldn't see the floor. I recall making an Olympic medal worthy jump from the door to my bed at night to avoid injury.

She threatened again. "If you don't clean that room I'm going to throw everything in it away." I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes. "I'll do it! ...later...."I resumed my concentration on...I don't know...probably Wild Kingdom...it was getting that late in the morning.

A short time later, I heard a lot of noise coming from the back of the house. "Geez, what's she doing now? Cleaning out the closets? It sounded rather violent. Due to recent events,  I decided it was wise to stay out of the way. Besides, if she wore herself out she'd forget about my room. Then a bizarre, long swishing sound on our wooden floors,  followed my clanking and bumping noises, began to descend the hall. "What the heck?" It would stop for a moment and then resume, louder than before.
 And Then...

Suddenly a mountain of clothing and objects came pouring through the door to the living room. MY clothing and My Stuff,  like lava exploding through a crevice and flowing freely over the living room floor. The mountain continued into the middle of the room, being propelled by the huge push broom we used to clear the driveway and front walk. My mother pulled back, gripping tight,  and with a forceful shove cleared the doorway.  She walked to the front door and opened it wide. I stood up from the couch, finally distracted from the TV.  "What are you doing?" I cried out, full of righteous indignation. "You can't do that! I said I would do it!" My mother ignored me. With a mighty heave she pushed the entire contents of my bedroom out the front door across the porch and into the front yard.

I was speechless.

She Was Grand.

The moral of this story being, of course, that I then had to pick up everything and return it to my room neatly. This incident created a lasting impression on me as a child, no doubt, but it has evolved into a fond memory. It created respect and admiration and awe. Even though I've been a mother for a long time, Mothers Day for me is still about my mother.  She died in 2008 but I still feel like the title belongs to her.  I may get some perks on that day but the throne is reserved for My Mom.

I wish all of you moms out there a HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!

Relax. Have Fun! Collect Your Due Regards. Be Grand : )

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Full Flower Moon


The Grounded Girls have taken up fishing
and bickering

   individually, collectively, respectively,

They cast their lines to reel in fish.
They cast their words to reel in worries.

Look beside you sisters.

Change and growth come at their own pace.

It comes as the sun sinks away. Agonizingly, sometimes frustratingly inching below the horizon, yet,

   so rapid that each moment has a new view.

It comes as the moon spins itself from grin to saucer. 

 the suns journey to light the way.

  the stars for checking progress

The Earth still holds it's gravitational pull.

You have all the time in the world. Then one day you won't.

Does she drive you crazy because you love her?
Do they drive you crazy because they love you?

Look up sisters

The Moon is in Full Flower.

Big Honking Full Flower Moon Music

I am traveling all week. So I won't be about for several days to answer comments.

In the meantime, If the band you're in starts playing different tunes, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.

Back in 5 days. When the full moon has passed.
Maybe. If it's safe.

© 2012 All Rights Reserved by MOTPG  

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Wildflower Wednesday

She is wild. Strong and firm in her growth. And her convictions. She spreads out and owns the space about her. Rising high and golden as the sun lording over all at her feet. Earthy.Warm.Vibrant.

She is free. She cannot be contained. She will spread with the wind in all directions.  An arresting spark of vivid beauty standing out on her own. Flourishing wherever she lands. And in whatever she chooses. Wistful. Dreamy. Bright.

She is enduring. Resistant to interference she will grow her own way. And go her own way. Petite but vigorous. She lies unassuming and catches by surprise. A tiny burst of jewel like splendor. Steadfast. Rich. Deep.

I may nurture. I may cherish. But in the end wildflowers cannot be contained.
They will conquer the world with stubbornness.
No grand roses, shrinking violets or delicate orchids here.
No wallflowers either ; ) That's the kind of garden I grow .    .

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