Snow flurries hurries folks to stock up on necessities

With snow predicted to turn to ice by noon, I'd donned hat, gloves, scarf and car coat on top of my regular fleece togs and headed to the local pharmacy for my hormone therapy, which cost $60-something since Humana wouldn’t pay— “not a medical necessity” they say.

There was a line. Two checkers but only one machine. Customer “Hubert” left, and an older blonde was next. After her purchase, she asked to see the quarters in the register. Mrs. Pharmacist said, “Let’s move over here so Bob can wait on this lady (me). When I left, the two women were picking over the quarters. “There’s Kentucky,” one said. “Here’s Nevada,” the other chimed in.

Vivelle patches in hand, I started home. But since I was already out, I thought, why not pick up a big bag of cheap cat food for the Moors. The Moors are four solid black cats that adopted us. They are outside cats that won’t allow a touch, but the beggars and whiners expect to be fed.

On the far end of the strip mall––the pharmacy was on the other end––I pulled in at Family Dollar. One always hears about folks panicking when a snow event begins. Now I’ve been involved, though I didn’t panic.

Inside, it turned out that several folks were buying dog or cat food. All I wanted was a six-dollar bag. Passing through the store, I noticed another queue of customers, their buggies extending back to the refrigerator-freezer section. I didn’t have anything pressing to do at home, so I picked up the twelve-pound bag and headed to the far side of the store where the line ended. Lo and behold, the waiting folks and their buggies turned down the coffee-tea-cereal aisle.

I stepped in behind a family of females that included a pink bunny-wrapped baby in the buggy. The next time I looked, she sat a-perch her aunt’s hip. The aunt couldn’t have been more than twelve. Her blue-jeaned legs weren’t much bigger than fat broomsticks. In front of her was an older girl—the baby’s mother—with ear buds and her iPod. At the head of the group was the mother of the girls, herself a tiny wisp of a woman. She saw me with my load and immediately offered her buggy for my sack. I thanked her and said if it got too heavy, I would take her up on it.

I listened to them chat. The older girl reached for a case of cokes. The mother said, “Oh, not that; that doesn’t have any caffeine, and I need caffeine.” 

“Amen!” I chimed in. The daughter exchanged the carton. The line moved slowly. Finally, a man rustled in behind me carrying three small bags of cat food. “We’re all taking care of our pets, huh?” I said. I don’t see any reason not to be friendly to strangers.

He said ‘yea-ow,’ that his cat had grumbled at him before he left for the store. His arms held two smaller cheapies and one package of better-quality food—like I feed mine.

Soon, the mother leaned over to me. “It looks like the second line (checker Bob’s) is shorter. Why don’t you go up there?” Talk about being neighborly, she certainly was.

I slowly maneuvered past a couple of shoppers and found myself standing behind a burly woodsman with a bag of dog food as large as mine.

“We’ve got to take care of our pets, don’t we?” I said again, and that was all he needed. He told us—a lady was checking out ahead of us; she added a comment or two as the man told his story about two Texans moving into the Ouachita National Forest “up yonder.” He pointed to the west. I wondered if he lived in or near Paron or out in the country around Mountain View, and, if so, why was he this far away from home? Later, it sounded like he might live around the Steel Bridge area.

“These fool Texans,” he said, “found out that a bear lived in the area, and they put peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the back porch just to watch it up close. Well, one time they were gone and the bear somehow got the door open and ransacked their house. It made me so mad,” he said. “I told the Game and Fish it wasn’t the bear’s fault. They relocated it about thirty miles farther on and in two days, the bear was back. They finally had to put it down.” He shook his long gray hair that fell beneath his cap.

When it was his turn to pay, he presented the checker with a hundred-dollar bill. Bob called over his shoulder to the manager on the next counter, “You got change for a hundred?”

 “No. No I don’t.” It was only a little after nine in the morning. “Punch ‘suspend’,” she said to Bob, and to the man, “Go over to Harvest Foods and get change and then come back.” He left; I was quickly dispatched. I noticed the gaggle of females were now two shoppers behind me. I caught the woman’s eye and mouthed a ‘thank you’. She smiled and nodded.

It was snowing harder, larger flakes, but with the windshield wiper running fast, there was no danger; it was only a quarter-mile drive home.

Fifteen minutes I after I wrote this piece, the driveway had already whitened. Brown leaves showed their tips farther down the hill in the “tennis court.” A blue jay perched momentarily on the beautyberry limb and partook of the wizened berries now capped with tufts of new snow.

Aha! The satisfaction of knowing that everything and everyone under one’s care was safe.
Now, to enjoy the snow.

[This piece was written in 2011 but I couldn't locate it on the blog, so here it is.;]

c 2019, PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA