"The choices we make change
the story of our life." ©
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Hob Nobbing
Posting by Guest Blogger: Karen O'Connor
Day Three of Seven
I shop for some of my groceries at Nob Hill Market. Sometimes I refer to it as Snob Hill because the prices are a bit higher than Save-a-Lot, but I love the atmosphere, the wide selection of organic produce, and the many familiar health food brands that I favor.
This week I pulled into the parking lot in front of the store, in a hurry, as usual, and did not make a note of the slot I chose. I simply dashed in, bought more than I came for, what else is new, and rushed through the check stand. As I wheeled my cart out the front door, a young man with a Nob Hill shirt headed me off. "May I help you to your car?"
I smiled but waved him off. "It's okay. I can manage. Only two bags. No problem."
He took the cart right out of my capable hands. "I insist. Besides, I like getting out in the fresh air."
I tried to talk him out of it, but he'd have none of my persuasive chatter. Then my heart pounded—FAST! I had forgotten where I'd parked. Darn! If only I'd stop and pay attention this wouldn't happen so often. I was caught. As the man waited for me to direct him to my car, I admitted my memory lapse.
"Good," he said. "It will take longer." Then he winked and nudged me with a shoulder. "Is that why you didn't want me to help you out?"
"No," I lied. "I just didn't want to take you away from your work."
He smiled—knowingly. I guess he'd heard that line before—from other grayheads like me. "What does your car look like?"
Look like? It looks like it's lost—that's what!
I pasted a smile on my face. "Gray, like my hair. A wagon with a rack on top."
He spotted it and within a moment he loaded my bags into the trunk, my face returned from red to white, and I was on my way. Drat! I thought being a baby boomer was tough. Imagine what's ahead when you slip into elderly. No wonder I've had no trouble writing for the over-50 crowd. All I have to do is live my life, take a few notes, and presto, I have a book!! Help, Lord! I'm Having a Senior Moment and another Gettin' Old Ain't For Wimps. Both have sold over 100,000 copies each so I know I'm speaking to somebody out there. Maybe Allison and I should get together and write a combination that is sure to be a winner: Growin' Old Is Just One U-Turn After Another.
Dear God, I'm so glad you've promised never to leave nor forsake me (Joshua 1:5)––no matter what!
Day Three of Seven
I shop for some of my groceries at Nob Hill Market. Sometimes I refer to it as Snob Hill because the prices are a bit higher than Save-a-Lot, but I love the atmosphere, the wide selection of organic produce, and the many familiar health food brands that I favor.
This week I pulled into the parking lot in front of the store, in a hurry, as usual, and did not make a note of the slot I chose. I simply dashed in, bought more than I came for, what else is new, and rushed through the check stand. As I wheeled my cart out the front door, a young man with a Nob Hill shirt headed me off. "May I help you to your car?"
I smiled but waved him off. "It's okay. I can manage. Only two bags. No problem."
He took the cart right out of my capable hands. "I insist. Besides, I like getting out in the fresh air."
I tried to talk him out of it, but he'd have none of my persuasive chatter. Then my heart pounded—FAST! I had forgotten where I'd parked. Darn! If only I'd stop and pay attention this wouldn't happen so often. I was caught. As the man waited for me to direct him to my car, I admitted my memory lapse.
"Good," he said. "It will take longer." Then he winked and nudged me with a shoulder. "Is that why you didn't want me to help you out?"
"No," I lied. "I just didn't want to take you away from your work."
He smiled—knowingly. I guess he'd heard that line before—from other grayheads like me. "What does your car look like?"
Look like? It looks like it's lost—that's what!
I pasted a smile on my face. "Gray, like my hair. A wagon with a rack on top."
He spotted it and within a moment he loaded my bags into the trunk, my face returned from red to white, and I was on my way. Drat! I thought being a baby boomer was tough. Imagine what's ahead when you slip into elderly. No wonder I've had no trouble writing for the over-50 crowd. All I have to do is live my life, take a few notes, and presto, I have a book!! Help, Lord! I'm Having a Senior Moment and another Gettin' Old Ain't For Wimps. Both have sold over 100,000 copies each so I know I'm speaking to somebody out there. Maybe Allison and I should get together and write a combination that is sure to be a winner: Growin' Old Is Just One U-Turn After Another.
Dear God, I'm so glad you've promised never to leave nor forsake me (Joshua 1:5)––no matter what!
