Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Plums, Plums, Plums!

Oh Plum!
  Things around here are either in transition or waiting for transition.
 Being one of those nervous-types, I don't exactly roll with it all very well.
 Some people thrive in the constant agitation of so many things being 'up-in-the-air'.
 Not me.
 I like boring and predictable. 
 So, today, when I pulled up to our  local hoity-toity pet supply store,
 and found it had closed (oh, this economy!), 
I was plum put out.
See, my naughty, bad-mannered, has-to-be-muzzled-when-guests-are-over, two-and-a-half-year-old labradoodle eats the equivalent of dog caviar.
 I know.  I know!  
But he is a great cuddle-pup and does give the best kisses of any dog I know, 
and he sure does make his peeps feel awful special when we come through the door.
So there is that.

Anyway, not any ol' place carries this wonder food for dogs, 
so I fumble with the GPS, find the next closest high-falutent sounding pet retail, 
and proceed to nervously make my way up and down streets, and
I have no idea where I'm going. 
I was praying there would be no bridges.
Lord knows I hate driving over a bridge.
I know.
I manage to collect the food along with some over-priced,
 highly toxic (I'm sure) flea medicine.
I throw a cow tail up on the counter for good measure.
After paying, I turn to leave with the 50lb bag in my arms
only to find my path blocked by a recent
pit bull rescue.
 I heard the owners telling the clerk how 
they hope little Cujo will mind his manners,
as they just adopted him,
don't really know how he is around people yet.
And he's on a 2mm retractable leash,
that couldn't hold a toy poodle back.
So as I struggle towards the door
 with half my weight in dog food,
I smile and give a 'niiiiiice dawgie'
in my sweetest southern drawl, 
while side-stepping the very large, 
very un-restrained (people!!),
very curious
pit-bull rescue.

I scuttle out into the parking lot, 
load my purchases, settle down in the drivers seat
and wonder:

'Are there any bridges on the way back home?'

Turns out there are not, and so feeling newly confident 
in my ability to traverse my way back,
I decide to detour to the market.
I purchase some organic greens, red onion, lemons....
just the fixings for roasted chicken and salad.
I remember my dear friend dropped 4 lbs of asian plums at my door yesterday.
Already well ripened, I knew they would spoil soon.
So, of course, I also picked up some pie pastry and sugar.

The market has a new cashier named Jazz.
Half of her head is shaved and the other half 
is in three 18 inch braids.
The ear closest to me has six earrings,
one being one of those kinds that 
stretches a half-inch hole into your lobe.
I just never understood that.
Jazz is new, so it takes her awhile
to get the bar codes to scan,
(but she has memorized the code for the greens)
and more than once she tensely complains about 
the machine being slow.
Poor Jazz.
I want to tell her,
"I won't bite.  I can be patient."
And then it hits me.
I can be patient.
I can.

I carry my light load out into the sunshine.
I smile at the thought of
sweeping aside the books, dishes, and miscellaneous paraphernalia
the kitchen counters have collected today.
Yes, there is much to do, and
according to my list, I'm running behind.
I hate being behind.
I'm always so focused on the 'what's next?"
There's a lot on my mind.
So many unanswered questions.
So much I'm waiting on.

But right now
I'm going to bake pie,
because I can be patient.
I can.

Kara Lynn