Topic: Fulfillment (1)
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Listen to Louisa’s story as you read it (below).
At 83, Louisa had reached the age when she no longer felt obligated to praise things that plainly deserved more scrutiny.
So when the resident council meeting at Pine Grove Senior Living reached the usual portion in the agenda called “Resident Concerns,” Louisa lifted her hand with the grave dignity of a woman prepared to say something important.
“I don’t enjoy shopping anymore,” she announced.
That got attention.
Not immediate applause, of course. Pine Grove residents were too seasoned for special recognition of ordinary suffering. But there was a noticeable rattle of coffee cups.
“Most everything at Target is under lock and key now,” she said. “Soap. Toothbrushes. Razors. Even pizza!”
A few people laughed.
Myrna, who enjoyed disagreeing on principle, said, “I buy everything on Amazon.”
Louisa turned to look at her.
“That,” she said, “is not shopping. That is buying.”
The distinction hung in the air.
Somebody murmured, “That’s true.”
Louisa continued. “Shopping means looking around. It means comparing one thing with another. It means touching a blouse before you buy it. It means holding up a color near your face and seeing whether it makes you look lively or recently deceased.”
That got a better laugh.
“And another thing,” Louisa said, warming to the subject now. “There used to be stores with clerks. Real clerks. People who knew where things were. People who might say, ‘That color is nice on you.’ Now you are lucky if you can find a person with a name tag, and, if you do, they’re already tied up with 17 other people.”
She paused for effect.
“And at Dayton’s,” she said, “you need a pass key to get into the ladies’ room.”
This produced the strongest reaction yet.
“What?” said Eileen.
“It’s true,” Louisa said. “I asked where the ladies’ room was, and first I had to find a clerk. Then I had to get a code. A code. As if I was applying for admission to a government bunker.”
Even the activity director, Carla, laughed at that.
Louisa folded her hands. “Shopping used to be civilized. Now it can get complicated.”
The meeting moved on, as meetings do, to softer matters such as whether Tuesday’s soup had been correctly identified as chicken wild rice. But Louisa’s remarks stayed with Carla.
The next week, Carla appeared at lunch with a bright look.
“I have good news,” she said. “Next Thursday, I’m taking a bus group to Hidden Treasures.”
“Hidden what?” Louisa asked.
“Hidden Treasures. A thrift shop. Clean, well-organized, lots of clothing, housewares, jewelry, books. They even have fitting rooms.”
Louisa gave a polite nod. She was not opposed to hidden treasures in principle.
The following Thursday she boarded the Pine Grove bus.
Hidden Treasures turned out to be the sort of place Louisa had nearly forgotten existed. Nothing was behind glass. Nothing required assistance from a distracted teenager with an electronic device. There were racks of blouses, sweaters, jackets, scarves, and shawls, all within human reach.
Best of all, people were browsing.
Louisa moved slowly through the clothing section, running her fingers over sleeves and collars with the concentration of a woman reacquainting herself with an old language. Cotton. Wool. A nubby fabric of uncertain ambition. One unfortunate polyester blouse that crackled faintly in her hand.
Then she saw it.
A beige shawl.
Not muddy beige. Not yellowish beige. Not the sad beige of outdated waiting room walls. This was a graceful beige, soft and warm, with just enough drape to suggest kindness and competence at the same time.
She lifted it from the rack.
It felt right.
Not merely acceptable. Right.
Louisa looked around for a fitting room, remembering that Carla had mentioned them. But, on the way there, she noticed something else. A large ladies’ room. Unlocked.
Inside, there was a mirror big enough to be useful.
Louisa put on the shawl and stood back.
“Well,” she said to herself.
She turned one way, then the other.
The shawl rested neatly on her shoulders, as though it had been waiting for her to come to her senses and find it.
For a brief moment, standing there in the roomy, unlocked ladies’ room, Louisa felt a small but genuine return of something she had missed.
The pleasure of shopping.
Not in acquiring. In discovering.
Back at the register, she paid cash.
“Nine dollars and fifty cents,” the cashier said.
Louisa handed her a ten-dollar bill with satisfaction.
On the ride home, Myrna leaned across the aisle of the bus.
“So,” she said, “did you buy anything?”
Louisa adjusted the beige shawl around her shoulders and looked out the window with calm triumph.
“No,” she said. “I went shopping.”
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Age: Our Greatest Asset!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Growing Together”
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As a business executive during the 1980s, I wore a suit every work day. To keep up-to-date with the latest styles and colors, I found Barry, a self-employed tailor in Madison, WI, who made hand-tailored suits from scratch.
He and I enjoyed selecting patterns and colors each time I would come into his shop for a new suit, slacks or sport coat. Over the years, Barry knew what exactly he needed to do to compensate for my one slightly short leg and my slightly crooked back – all in addition to my cerebral palsy.
At the time, Barry’s prices were reasonable, and I now wonder what he ended up doing when he was forced to close his business as the men’s clothing industry evolved into what it is today.
* What shopping experience during your younger years do you now recall with remaining delight?