Ramblin’ Road: I guess I’m just a sentimental old fluff

I cried at work today. Real, honest-to-goodness tears. Thankfully, I was alone.

The South Haven High School Class of 2021 paraded through town today with a police escort. I don’t know anyone in the class. It’s been years since my children attended high school. But when I saw the graduates I cried. I guess I’m a sentimental fool – and life goes on.

We have settled into a summer routine. King goes to bed early, I stay up a little later, but most nights we are both asleep by 10 p.m. And we are both early risers.

Mornings are spent in companionable silence outside the trailer. He smokes a cigar (he tells me he does not inhale – yeah right) and I drink my coffee. Some days I go to work, some days he goes to work. Some days we both go to work.

On Tuesdays King plays in a golf league with our youngest son; and when he can convince our sons they have not played enough golf during the week, he finds a golf scramble for the four of them. Needless to say, King is not always popular with our sons’ wives.

I continue to be entertained by the variety of people who come into the shop.

Just a few observations:

I’m not one to body shame, to each her own, but ladies, there are some outfits that are not meant to be worn in public and when you have to come into the shop to buy a T-shirt so you can cover up to eat in a restaurant, perhaps it is time to re-think your ensemble. And when your bra-less crop-top is so cropped there is nothing left to the imagination and the rest of the women in the store are praying you don’t raise your arms one more time… well, enough said.

I also continue to enjoy and antics of some of the young children who come into the shop.

Today a dad came in pushing a stroller with a baby and pre-school-aged child in it. The older child was quite adamant about which direction the stroller should be pushed – and screamed (literally) when the correct speed and direction were not maintained. His greased-stained little fingers fondled the hem of every shirt, jacket and hoodie in the shop.

And then there was David, a precocious almost 3-year-old who came into the shop with his mother. “He’s so excited to be a store again after the pandemic,” his mother said.

It’s been 15 months since the start of the pandemic. How much can a not-quite-3-year-old remember about pre-Covid shopping?

David ran from one end of the store to the other. Mom would admonish, “David, slow down honey. People are shopping.” David ran past an elderly woman who nearly toppled into her walker as she was looking at a blouse. The older woman looked at him and said sternly, “No running in the hallway.” When she was paying for her purchases I asked her if she had been a teacher at one time. “How did you know?” she asked.

“Oh, it was just a hunch.”

David and his mother left the store and my co-worker and I started re-folding the 40 children’s sweatshirts David had managed to unfold and toss onto the floor. “He’s so happy to be out,” was all his mother said.

About 20 minutes later a young dad with a baseball cap walked into the store. “I lost my wife — a tall blonde with a toddler in tow. Have you seen them?”

“You mean David,” I asked.

The dad groaned. “Yes. I see you’ve met him. Which way did they go?

The retired school teacher who was re-thinking an additional purchase smiled sweetly, pointed down the street and said, “I suggested David should visit the candy store.”

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