2011

2011, just around the corner. The years march on... double time, so it seems.

It seems to me that traveling around the country as we have these past, going on 4 years, has added new facets to the passage of time... new dimensions... certainly new thinking. I like it that now, when a memory pops into my head unbidden, it is often of some unique location or adventure, some interesting person or landscape, sometimes something profound and bizarre. Sure, the memories of standing on a rocky mountaintop in Zion, or at the base of a giant Redwood in Humbolt County or of paddling through Cypress swamps in the Okefenokee make for great memories. I cherish them above material things. But there are also treasures to be found among the flotsam and jetsam of the everyday, in the little backwaters of the great flow of Life. For instance, at Walmart...

We have shopped at Walmarts and Dollar Stores across America. If you pay attention, there's much to be learned wandering around the aisles of “Every day low prices”. You will always find a fascinating diversity of humanity. Diversity in ethnicity, age, dress, speech, behavior. It's always an experience of the great mixing bowl of Americana, each region with it's own distinct flavor. In Collier County, Florida you see a lot of Q-Tips, that is, white haired Seniors, pushing carts through the home goods section. In Palm Springs, it's Latinos with a uniquely California flair in dress and body art. In San Francisco, it's Asian; Chinle, Arizona, Native American; Heber City, Utah, White Mormons. And in Glynn County Georgia, Black.

One day while in a Dollar Store in Louisiana, I overheard two women talking in their distinct Cajun accent. The first woman said, “I do love de Dollah Stoah. It be real convenient... and casual.” The second woman said, “ Dat be for sure. And I don't have to get all dress up like going to Walmart or somethin.” Now there's an endorsement to build a advertising campaign around...

Brunswick, Georgia is the Glynn County seat, an eclectic cultural and socio-economic mixture of humankind. a gritty, declining manufacturing/fishing industry, a vibrant local and federal government sector, an aggressive and unhealthy legal community. It is the gateway to the Golden Isles, the resort communities of Saint Simons Island and Jekyll Island, earlier in history slave plantations, later the private refuge of the insanely wealthy; the Rockefellers, the Morgans, the Pulitzers, none of whom would every have shopped in Walmart.

In the Brunswick Walmart, the majority of dolls in the toy section and peoples images on greeting cards are dark skinned, the canned goods; turnip greens, okra, black eyed peas with snaps... and hair products selections; relaxers, straighteners, glosses, are not typical to a Walmart in, say... Waterville, Maine. The sense for me is always, as it is in every location across the country, a distinct ”You're not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.” feeling. And I love it. “New experience” as my Azeri son-in-law often says.

Walmart is aggressive in affiliating with other businesses in their stores. Banks, Credit Unions, Tax Services, Nail and Hair Salons, Eye Glass shops, Photo Studios, Urgent Care Medical Clinics, and, of course, food vendors. Where else can you get your oil changed, your toenails polished, your portfolio tweaked and a 12 inch Subway, turkey on honey oat bread with spinach, tomatoes and onions...

I was walking out of the Brunswick Walmart when I spied the empty sandwich shop. The Subway gift card that my thoughtful sister had sent me for my birthday had been burning a hole in my pocket. It was an “impulse purchase” for sure, but my impulse at that moment was hunger.... mmmm.

The young, white girl behind the counter was pleasant, a half smile on her face. “Welcome to Subway. How can I help yewww?” Georgia girl fer sure... She had dyed purple hair under her Subway cap and a barbed wire tattoo around her neck above her Subway shirt collar. The metal hoop rings in her nose and lip were not unattractive.

“Hi. May I have a $5, 12 inch, oven roasted chicken, on Honey Oat, toasted with Swiss, please?” I recited. Connie had taught me well. We would split the sandwich when I picked her up at Belks in a few minutes.

I watched her build the sandwich. Tattooed on the knuckles of her right hand were the letters L-O-V-E, one letter on each finger. This was not a professional tattoo. This was a jail house tat. Skin ripped with a sharp object and ink from an ink pen rubbed into the wound. She pursed her lips and concentrated as she added the veggies. “Yeww want sum sauce on thay-at?” She asked. Yes, please, sweet onion...

She cut, wrapped and bagged the footlong and I passed her my gift card. She looked puzzled as she swiped the card and started pushing buttons. Finally, the computer prompted her to enter the date. She gazed at me. “What's today?” she asked. “Wednesday” I answered. She blinked twice. “No, no... what's today's date?” she asked. “ I don't know,” I responded.

She raised her voice and called to someone unseen. “Mayhelen,” it sounded like one word, “What's today?” A voice responded “Wednesday...” She smiled, the deja vu humor not lost on her. “What's the date” she called back. Mary Helen announced “It's the 21^st...”

The counter girl turned to me and made eye contact. There was wonder on her face. “ The 21^st.” she repeated, “Where has time went... ?”

2011, just around the corner... Where has time went, indeed?

Profound and bizarre.

Happy New Year, folks.