I Hope Someone…

A certain someone who shall remain nameless, faceless and genderless expressed an interesting comment to me this week:

“The world is just one big blog post to you.”

And because this person shall remain nameless, faceless and genderless (I promised this person complete anonymity) I will call this person The Phantom.

So I began to argue with the Phantom that I would never view the world as a giant blog post- that my life was much bigger than my blog, but quickly got squashed and I acquiesed to the Phantom’s observation. Yes, I do like a good story. I like to write a good story.

“I can’t think of anything to write tonight.”

“Do you have to write something tonight?” asked the Phantom

“Well, I haven’t posted in a few days and I need to get something out there.”  

“Just write whatever pops in your mind and then run with it.”

I think the Phantom was talking about stream of consciousness. I have never been a fan of stream of consciousness- you know- the meandering musings, the disconnected yet oh so connected webs of phrases and sentences. It works in my head in the shower. I am not sure I have the capacity to put it on paper, or on this computer screen that seems to have a piece of dried up cereal that I probably sneezed on it. 

But something did pop into my head.

About eight years ago or so, in the middle of the split with the FH, I needed to purchase a pair of pantyhose. I felt beaten down by the daily barrage of “…and these are the reasons I am getting rid of you…” and “I married someone like my mother” (actually he did, but that would be the current Mrs. FH). But my niece was throwing together a wedding with a week’s notice because her fiance was about to be deployed to Iraq and I wanted to attend. I booked two frightfully expensive tickets to New York for the Kid and me, borrowed a beautiful red dress from my then sister-in-law and scurried around Nashville for a few accessories- like the pantyhose I never wore except on special occasions.

The Kid could still be convinced to ride in a stroller while I schlepped him around a mall – a stroller is just another name for shopping cart- so I was efficiently checking things off my list before I caught my flight early that evening.

While I was waiting in line to buy the dreaded pantyhose (and mind you, it was not at Dillards, the Evil Empire. I wouldn’t buy a sandwich there if I was starving) a sweet little old lady was speaking to the salesperson about using the phone to call her ride. The girl told the lady she couldn’t use the phone because it didn’t dial out. Now, I thought this was a load of crap because having worked for the Evil Empire, I spent a fair amount of time on the phone- calling out- to avoid selling over-priced garbage. This situation was going nowhere and I needed to get my pantyhose so that I could fly to NYC for my first family event without the FH.

But then the little old lady, with her precious white bun and mint-colored cardigan, began getting flustered-and confused- and upset. She was rifling through an address book with more scraps of paper than a bag of confetti and couldn’t remember who she was supposed to call to pick her up. So I patiently went through her book with her until we found the number she thought she was supposed to call. I tried several times on my clunky old cell phone and finally reached the nursing home shuttle that was supposed to retrieve her.

Luckily I remembered to buy the pantyhose before I walked her outside the mall to a bench where she could wait to be transported back home. We chatted with each other and she told me about her grandchildren and I told her I was going to a wedding. She informed me she would be ok waiting there by herself and I could continue with my shopping. But I told her I would stay until her ride got there. She touched my face and said…

“Honey, I hope you have someone who loves you and takes care of you the way you took care of me today.”

I smiled and nodded at her and hoped I didn’t look sad.   The little bus arrived and whisked her away. I don’t remember her name and I am not even sure I told her mine. I think about her every once in a while and I hope she has someone who takes care of her the way her sweet kindness and touch to my face took care of me.