No Parking

 

By G. E. Shuman

 

          I am not a shopper. After many years in the retail industry, there are about a million other things I would rather do than ever enter a store. Still, I occasionally, (more often than I want to admit) have to do just that. Big box stores, especially, bother me. I think it’s because they’re big boxes. There is something about walking through an entryway, into a store, and then about another quarter mile to a back corner of that great room to pick up the one thing I need to buy from them.

That, in addition to first trekking across a massive parking lot just to get to the building. I used to think the walk across the pavement, dodging behind the cars while watching for backup lights was good for me and I would not try to get a spot close to the store. That all sort of changed for me when a friend of mine was accosted and robbed in the back of a lot, trying to stay healthy.  The good part is that she’s okay… but her purse was not seen again.

Now I do try to park as close to my destination as possible, and while this usually works out after a few spins around the lot, if the weather is bad I am always the last one seated in the game of ‘musical chairs parking,’ and seem to end up being the wettest shopper in the store. Hence, the theme of this column.

Have you noticed, as have I, that there are a lot of different no parking signs these days? They’re actually specialized parking signs, ‘reserved’ space signs, but for me most of them end up meaning No Parking. I absolutely agree with having disability parking, and would never take one of those spaces. Still, it perturbs me a bit to find an open space only to get close and find that it is reserved for, let’s see, Online Shoppers,  Pick Up Orders, (I don’t have a pick up.) New Moms, (How about Old Moms?) Compact Cars, Motorcycles, Police Parking, (I guess I understand that last one.) There is also Veteran parking, which may be a good idea. Veterans? How ‘bout Veterinarians, Vegetarians, and Vegans?  I’m waiting to see my first Trump Haters parking space, or MAGA space. 

What I’d really love to see is a sign that just states: ‘This Space is for Some Ordinary Person who has no Special Reason for Parking Here, other than They Just Decided to Visit our Store Today.’ That would probably be a big sign, but you get my point.  I’d settle for one that said, ‘Parking for Left-Handed Old Guys.’ I could park there.

“Don’t Worry”

 

By G. E. Shuman                           

 

(Dear Readers, much of my writing is, intentionally, on the light side. This one, just as intentionally, is a bit heaver. Still, I hope you enjoy it.)

          If you are familiar with very much of my work, the books or magazine and newspaper columns, you know that I am a believer in God. If that is not evident, then I have truly failed. I am also a far from ideal example of a believer. While, hopefully not to the extent of the worst of us, I have done my share of wrong things in this life. I am an imperfect, but, and here’s the vital part, forgiven, sinner.

          I am not one who has ever claimed to have been in the ‘audible’ presence of God. I have never heard Him speak to me, with one notable and recent possible exception. That exception is the point of this column.

          You see, only last Saturday morning something happened to me that I cannot explain. I cannot even know for certain that it actually did take place. I would call the occurrence part of a dream, if I hadn’t been awake at the time.

What happened, and you truly can believe this or not, is that something was ‘said’ to me soon after I had awoken for the day last Saturday morning. My wife was still sound asleep. My eyes were open and looking toward the ceiling of our room. My head was clear, and I knew that my usual pattern of briefly rehearsing in my mind what the day was and what I had to do in it, was about to begin. Then, and without notice or pre-thought, I distinctly heard two words, either with my ears or only my mind. Those two words were simply “Don’t Worry.”

          I will tell you that as a person of ‘slightly’ advancing years, that was the first time in all those years this had ever taken place for me.

I will also tell you that my experience was ‘real,’ at least it was to me. Those words were just as clearly and deliberately spoken as any others I have ever heard, and I have attempted, in the days since hearing them, to obey them. This has been with varying levels of success. I can tell you that when I have ‘let go and let God’ as I once heard that we are supposed to do, the burden of those surrendered situations has been lifted to a great extent.  It is surprising how much the God who created everything is better than I am at solving problems. Hum.

Every family, including my own, has experienced difficult situations and problems, and will likely continue to. Some of those are simply out of our control. Ever been there?

As to how to handle them, any admonition from me to you would definitely have to echo the words: “Don’t worry.”

My Spring Obsession

 

By G. E. Shuman

          Every year, at about this time, my mind and body shift into a different ‘gear’, seemingly. Somehow, my attitude goes from acceptance of winter, of being diligent in my snow blowing, walk shoveling, ‘shelter in place and wait it out’ situation here in Central Vermont, to something different. I suddenly don’t care so much about doing that great a job removing the snow, and just tolerate the buildup on the driveway. I begin feeling a real yearning for green grass and flowers; I want to tinker on the antique car, wash my bicycle, and even clean up the not so antique lawn mower.

          I don’t know if this feeling happens to you, but it invariably does to me, beginning right about the first part of March, which is where we happen to find ourselves right now. The wish for spring is usually a gradual thing for me, but tends to ‘snowball’, (very poor choice of metaphors) later. As an example, a few years ago our daughter bought me a small hydroponic plant growing thingamajig, for Christmas. As I write today, that ‘thingamajig’ is on the corner of my desk, with three, foot-tall cherry tomato plants sprouting from it. (I guess I got started a bit early on that part of the spring obsession this year.)

          Then there are the other recent signs that I may be somewhat obsessive and on the verge of attempting an escape from this Vermont winter. One is that you can often find me, if I’m shopping with my wife, loitering, I was going to say skulking, but that sounded too sinister, around the store’s seasonal aisles, checking out those wonderful summer things, like grills and grilling-related gadgets, lawn care stuff, and of course, veggie seeds and the small implements of destruction people like me use to try to make them grow, at least until we can get them shoved into a garden patch outside.

Also, few nights ago our daughter Faith and her husband Aaron were planning to join us for dinner at out home. My barbecue grill lives in the corner of our front porch, and I like to fire it up once a week or so, even in the winter. (Maybe this is an unintended rebellion against the snow piled up just feet from the cooker. I have never thought of that before, but it’s a possibility.) In any case, my grill doesn’t seem to care if it is eighty or eight degrees outside. It works great in winter, and I like using it. So, I told Faith and Aaron that I’d get it going and grill some big steaks for the occasion, which I did.

          Now comes the somewhat obsessive part of that story. In planning the dinner, I decided to make it a sort of indoor picnic. I made a big potato salad, (Who makes those in winter?) I also put together a tossed salad. I bought rolls, potato chips, and pickles for the occasion.

Eventually I added our wicker picnic basket as a table centerpiece, (kind ‘a strange) complete with a bottle of champagne and glasses, with a big bag of potato chips and a bunch of grapes peering out from the basket. A cheap red plastic tablecloth soon ‘adorned’ the table, just to make me look like a complete fool. By the time I was done all that was missing for the picnic was some ants. The dinner was very enjoyable. The steaks were great. My daughter and her husband are probably still wondering about my sanity today.

Last night I had another urge to do something ‘spring-like’ and drove to a local store amid a big snowstorm. Our six-year-old granddaughter Nahla was coming for a visit today, and I wanted to be ready.  I entered the store, covered with snow, and just picked out some vegetable seeds and seed starter trays so we could do some planting when she arrived. (You should have seen the look on the face of the lady at the checkout. Oh well.)