TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

   In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by. 

Friday, July 27, 2007

Gunga Din

At 3PM, I began pacing. I pace when Himself is late getting home. He had taken the Weebles shopping, and I had expected him home by 2PM. I paced to the refrigerator, and began rummaging through for some stress food. Grapes. Nope. Baby carrots, nope. I closed the fridge door.

The front door opened and I heard Himself close it with a deep sigh.

“Everything ok?” I asked.

Himself shuffled into the kitchen. “You owe me big time. I’m going to bed.”

“You went to Wendy’s today and used up all your points,” I called after him.

“You take Excedrin before you go visit the Weebles. I take Wendy’s.” He closed the bedroom door.

After his nap, I begged him to tell me what happened.

I opened the Weebles front door and yelled “hello”.

Dad’s voice floated from his upstairs refuge. “Hello?”

Ma responded, “Hello”

“Himself is here,” shouted Dad coming down the stairs.

“Hello?” she called.

Dad went to Ma’s room. “Himself is here.”

“He’s here? Why didn’t he say ‘Hello’?”

“Then they ran around like chickens without heads looking for the pockabook, the walker…which by the way, why does she have three in the house and doesn’t use any of them?”

“It’s a sympathy prop,” I said shoving a bag of microwave popcorn into the nuker. “What happened then?”

“Then she was yelling at him to get the bag and the list, but she had her handbag…”

“The bag is the bag filled with cans for the soda return.”

Himself nodded. “And the list. Why do they bother taking a list? Neither one of them looks at it.”

I brought my bag of popcorn into the sunroom and settled into my comfy chair. Himself trailed after me, and sat in his recliner.

“It’s like a little security blanket. It’s just something to hold onto. Then what happened?”

“I got them herded into the car, and we’re heading down the road. Your mother starts telling me I should have taken the secret road to avoid all the downtown traffic.”

“You don’t head out to 135 by North Main, by the Army Labs?”

“No, I go all the way down Walnut St., take a left by the Outdoor Store, and….”

“She didn’t yell you were going the wrong way?”

“No, but she wanted to!”

I laughed so hard and choked on the popcorn. I waved my hand to indicate I was quite fine and for him to continue.

“Got to Market Basket.”

“Did you have trouble getting a handicap space?”

“No, there was one right by the door. I offloaded them and parked. When I get into the store to help your mother she’s no where in sight. I can’t see her because she’s so far below eye level.”

“That’s why you need to watch the other shoppers to see who suddenly dances a tarantella.” I rummaged through a stack of papers for a notepad and pencil. “Hello, hello, bags and list, wrong way….”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking notes so I can blog.

Himself looked to the ceiling and implored the heavens.

“Stop that! Just get on with your story. Did you find Ma?”

“Yeah, she was in produce.”

“Did any tomatoes commit suicide?”

“No, she did pretty good, until we got to the frozen vegetables. Someone rearranged the department so she couldn’t find what she was looking for. I’m running up and down the aisle and bringing things to toss into the cart. I go to toss in a package of peas and carrots and she’s gone!”

“Where did she go?”

“I’m looking around for her and find her in the ice cream aisle.”

“Oh, she usually gets in trouble over there. She always manages to jam the scooter under the freezer toe kick. Did she get stuck?”

“No, that happened later. Oh, forgot to tell you about the meat. We’re blessing all the meat and she’s looking for a particular cut. I grabbed one of the meat guys. She wanted a ‘filet mignon from the shoulder’. The meat guy looks at me, to translate, and I shrug. He went into the meat department and came out with some packages.”

“What did she want?”

“Tenderloin.”

“Is that when she got stuck?”

“No, I’m getting there. By this time, she sent me to look for your father because she wants some Phillipo Berrio [imported olive oil] I finally found him over by the fish market. There must be a men’s room behind there. Boy, did it stink!”

“The men’s room?”

“No, the fish market. I wouldn’t buy fish there if you paid me!”

“So, what happened about the Phillipo Berrio and her getting stuck?”

“They were in the oil aisle, and he grabs a gallon of the Phillip Berrio. She asked him the price and then yelled at him that it was too expensive. As if it was all his fault! She started going down the aisle and she tried to maneuver to let a couple of other shoppers pass. She was trying to be nice, but she ended up making this 12 point turn and ended up horizontally between the aisle shelves.”

“What did you do?”

“I picked her up, scooter and all and turned her the right way.”

I laughed with a hint of schadenfreude, shameful joy, better him than me. “Was that the end of the adventure?”

“No, there’s more. We’re just about to make the turn from 9 to 27 when she said she had to go to the Citizen’s Bank. So I headed over to the Stop and Shop [Citizen’s Bank has a branch inside]. She said, “Not this one! The one downtown!”

“You didn’t take her, did you?”

“I did.”

“I refuse to take them to the bank downtown. There’s no parking and I can’t see to back out onto Main St. So why the hell did she have to go downtown.”

“Because she wanted to yell at someone behind a desk. She had one of her ‘winning’ checks….”

“Say no more,” I said shaking my head. “Did you stay to watch?”

“No, I couldn’t. It was a thousand degrees outside, and the ice cream and frozen veggies were already melting. They sent me to the house to put that stuff in the freezer.”

“And you went back downtown to pick them up?”

“Well, yeah, I couldn’t leave them standing on the sidewalk.”

“You’re a better man than I, Gunga Din.”

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

The Toonerville Trolley

Himself called to me as I was dumping my tiny saddlebag on the butler table. “How were the Weebles?”

I groaned.

“Do you need an aspirin?”

“No, I took some before I left the house this morning.”

“Need to blog?”

“Boy howdy, do I ever!”

He chuckled sympathetically. “What happened?”

After I dropped the Eldest off at work, I made good time getting to the Weebles. There wasn’t much traffic on The Pike (I-90). They finally finished (after 5 years!) the bridge reconstruction by the old Carling Brewery. Got to the Weebles, in 35 minutes without speeding! Got them loaded in the wagon, and we headed to Mahket Basket.

Course, it poured buckets on Monday, the day social security check funds were available, so all the Weebles in Middlesex county were shopping at Market Basket. There were no handicap spaces available. I off loaded the Weebles in front of the store and parked the car.

When I got into the store, Dad was feeding cans into the can return machine. Ahead, I saw people jumping out of the way so knew Ma had headed towards Dairy. As I got there, Ma was lifting 12 packs of root beer and ginger ale into her cart.

“Just wait a minute wait for him! Let him put the soda in his cart. This basket isn’t big enough.”

Dad shows up with a carriage and the two off us offload the soda. We’re down to the last pack. (3 root beer, 3 ginger ale) when Ma suddenly decided to take off too look at the special on shredded mozzarella cheese.

I yelled at her as I’m the one hanging onto a carton of ginger ale and the side of the scooter basket.

Finally, everyone was settled and heading in the right direction. Ma calling for this item and that item over her shoulder and me chucking items into her basket as I trotted along. Once in a while she was forced to stop and wait because some poor Weeble lady debating the fine points of sour cream or cottage cheese.

“Oh, lady! Hurry up!” Ma mumbles rather loudly.

I thought of the traffic jam Ma will cause when she has to sain all the meat. Tit for tat in my not so humble opinion.

We passed the fish market, which didn't smell as bad as it has in the past. Either that, or I’ve become immune to the smell. We arrived in the meat department and the ritual of the Monthly Blessing of the Meat begins.

Ma pointed and I leaned over the counter, grabbed a candidate, and passed the package to Ma. She poked, prodded, stared at the meat, passed the package back. Occasionally, she placed the blessed meat into her basket, and we repeated the ritual down the miles of refrigerated meat cases.

In front of the roasts, a Weeble gentleman turns to speak to us. “Beef is $6..99 a pound! Can you believe that?”

Now, I don’t do the grocery shopping. I wouldn’t know good prices from high. I can tell by the inflection of his voice he must be shocked with the price so I respond by dropping my jaw into a wordless “Oh” and widening my eyes.

He seemed pleased by my reaction. “I used to be a butcher. Top to bottom, beef has the same nutritional value. Doesn’t matter whether you are buying filet mignon or the hoof. You tell your sister over there.”

Now, I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be gallant and complimentary to Ma or to intentionally insult me. I held my tongue.

“Y’know, my wife says I talk to all the women, but I only talk to the pretty ones.”

I chuckled and realized he must be like Dad, married to a shrew (God bless Ma) and had to chat with strangers to pass a pleasant moment or receive validation. I put on my best smile, and we continued our separate ways.

Ma had accosted one of the meat managers and asked for a particular cut of meat. He went  through the swinging doors and returned with a half dozen packages. He carefully placed them in the meat case.

I selected a likely candidate and presented it to Ma for the ritual blessing until she found one she was well pleased with.

The meat manager was stocking the roast chicken bin.

“The meat’s all blessed and kosher,” I told him as I passed by.

He chuckled.

In produce, I noticed several adult children helping Weeble parents. We sounded like a herd of barnyard kids. “Maaaah, do you want the plum tomatoes or the Big Boys?” “Maaaaah, are these carrots ok?” Maaaaah. 🐐

Ma fingered the plum tomatoes. Her eye caught the 99 cent per pound over the Big Boys and one of the plums suicided to the floor and rolled under the counter.

I looked around, but no one noticed the sacrifice the little tomato made.

Ma wanted two pounds of the Big Boys. As I’m stuffing tomatoes into the plastic bag, I mouthed, “Don’t get the biggest ones. Take the smallest you can find.”

Around and around produce we went. Ma exclaimed over the high prices. There were sympathetic replies from other Weebles across the department.

Dad finally caught up to us, his basket amazingly laden with goods. Cereal, toilet paper, paper towels.

“Her Royal Heiney has a desire for prune juice,” I told him and sent him on a quest to the other side of the store from whence he came.

Ma zipped over to the bakery. She wanted a loaf of French bread. Some loaves had been put out that were warm and fragrant.

Another display captured Ma’s attention, and the old lady caromed off a table laden with pies. One pie box got caught by the backrest of her scooter. She did not stop but hit the accelerator and the pie box crumpled, and the tin pie pan curled up slightly.

We have a brand of commercial pies called ‘Table Talk’. This pie should be labeled ‘Table Gag’. I wonder how long before it appeared on the bargain table.

Dad had witnessed the pie fiasco and sang his own version of the “She’s Stupid” song.

Finally shopping was finished in record 2 hours. I directed the Weebles to a checkout line and left to troll the parking lot for a handicap space. No handicap spaces were available, but one next to a handicap slot miraculously opened up.

The Weelbes came out. Ma was toddling and pushing a carriage. Usually, she zipped across the parking lot on the scooter, neither looking right nor left for on coming traffic. I wondered why the change of routine. She hit an incline and the carriage slowly rolled forward with Ma wobbling behind. I’m reminded of a little toy I used to have. Donald Duck had a wheel barrow. If you put Donald with his wheel barrow on an incline, he would shuffle and sway his way down the track. Ma looked just like that.

I grabbed the carriage and Ma and we slowly made our way to the car. I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm for support and carefully guided her to the front seat. I’m struck by the idea of our role reversals. She is small and frail. How many times did she take my hand and guide my shaky steps when I was a toddler?

Groceries and Weebles finally loadeded into the car. I headed for the Weebledom. One quarter a mile away from Mahket Basket, Ma asked, “Would your husband be able to do me a favor later today?”

“What do you need?” I’m thinking she wanted their postage stamp of a lawn mowed.

“I need toilet paper, paper towels and Tide.” Her tone is wheedling, pathetic, and at the same time manipulative.

“What the ^#$@?” I shout in tongues. “Dad had toilet paper in his carriage.”

“I made him put them back. They were too high priced. If there’s time, you could take me to Donlan’s and that other place.”

“Why the %$@#$@ didn’t you just buy them at Mahket Basket.” My voice  rose to a dangerous level. I felt a pain form behind my left eye and had the fleeting thought to slam the car into the nearest phone pole.

“He wanted $9.99. Brooks has it for $6.99. I save $3 dollars!” she says smugly.

“You save money? You? What about me? Gas is $3.00 a gallon. I’ll burn one getting you to Brooks. There’s the $9.99 you tell me where the savings is.”

She folded her arms across her chest and began shouting "I know what I’m talking about."

Fine!

I’m steamed. Yes, go ahead, I can hear you laughing your ass off! “Better you than me!” I can hear you. I should have just driven them home, but instead, cut across three towns to get over to Donlan’s and Brooks. Donlan’s for a jumbo pack of paper towels and Brook’s for toilet paper and Tide.

“Joe, what would be the best way for her to go?”

“I’m going the best way!” I roar. “Sit back, shut up, and enjoy the ride.”

I hear “You go, girl!” from the back seat.

I’m not very familiar with the area. It’s changed a lot in the nearly 22 years I’ve been married, but I find Donlan’s and pulled into their parking lot. “Where’s this other store?”

“Across the street.” She is fumbling for blank checks.

Across the street is an Einstein bagel store. I’m pretty sure they don’t carry Tide and toilet paper there. Maybe they’ve come up with a new go together and slogan. ‘Let our hole take care of your hole.’

Dad pointed to another building just opposite Donlan’s , “That’s Brook’s”.

Fine.

“You go in Brook’s and I go in Donlan’s otherwise we’ll be hear all %@#%@#$ day!”

“What am I going to get in Brook’s?”

“Toilet paper and Tide!” Ma shouted at him.

I’m fuming as I headed into the store. “Driving the #$@!@# Toonerville Trolley!” I really loathe grocery shopping.

Back at Weebledom as I helped Dad unload the groceries I told him. “You better warn her this is the last time we go all over creation for one item here and one item there. It won’t happen again.

He’s sympathetic, but I know his hands are tied.

I burn rubber out of the driveway. I gave a primal scream at the end of their street.. I headed back to The Pike, one hand on the horn and one hand out the window. I felt the tension ease as I cross under I-495, the line of demarcation between Civilization and The Land of Here There Be Dragons.

“Y’know, Kid,” I told Himself as I wound down my tale. “The idea of moving to some Godforsaken place like Nebraska is starting to look appealing. Might have to go online to start job hunting for you. They must have one community college that needs a chemistry professor. Maybe you could work for some company that refines ethanol from corn. That’s about all they have out there anyway.”

“Your day could have been worse. You might have had to travel to Millis to pick up a pair of pinking shears because they were on sale like my mother wanted. Remember?”

“I think I’ll have that aspirin, now.”

By the way, may I direct your attention to the map. Notice the nice Stop and Shop grocery store just two miles from the Weebles house? Also Roche Bros. and Donlan's. One stop, one store. Sounds like a good mantra for me.

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Spontaneous Marketing

We were nearly out the door when Ma told Dad to get the cans for deposit. (Massachusetts has a nickel deposit on soda cans and bottles). Then she told him not to forget the five bottles for Roche Bros. (another supermarket on the other side of town).

I felt my blood begin to boil. “No, no, no, no, no. We are not going to stop at Roche Bros. for five bottles.”

“But we go right by.”

“No! You want to go to Market Basket, we’ll go to Market Basket, but we are not going to make stops along the way.”

“But the bottles!”

“Wait until you have ten, and then I’ll take you.”

Her eyes goggled at my disobedience. “I hope this never happens to you! I hope you never find yourself in a position where you can’t get help.”

I’m sure there was more to her tune. I only heard the small voice in my head whispering Peapod, peapod.

I can hear some tsking out there. “Shame on you for not stopping so the poor, old lady can get her deposit on a few bottles!”

You understand OPD is really an issue of control with a heaping helping of guilt tossed in for good measure. If I made the stop, I would be setting a new precedent. The one appointment/one outing rule would be forever changed. Stopping at Roche Bros. would mean another hour added to an already grueling task. First, there would be ten minutes at the bottle return, and then as long as we were there, let’s just check out the market specials. We’d still have the big shopping at Market Basket ahead of us. Nope, better to nip this kind of spontaneous marketing in the bud.

So we sailed right by Roche Bros. No comments were made. The shopping at Market Basket was whittled down to two hours. Ma and I tackled produce and Dad? Not sure what he was doing as he met up with us an hour or so later with three cans of baked beans in his cart.

Dad walked me to my car as I was leaving. I mentioned a future trip to Roche Bros. when he had gotten enough cans to make the trip worthwhile.

“What cans?”

“Ma said you had cans that had to be returned to Roche Bros.”

“I don’t have any cans for Roche Bros.”

I am so glad the Spontaneous Marketing Ruling was over ruled.

TBT Reprint from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

     In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Saturday, April 28, 2007

Eggs

Over lunch with Himself, I mentioned my monthly excursion, fast approaching on the first of the month. The first of the month meant social security checks would be deposited in Weeble accounts. They would have access to the funds by the third of the month, and that would mean a trip to Mahket Basket, the high point of my month.

I mentioned we would have to find someone to repair the brick steps.

“Your dad told me he had the bricks. We’d just have to mix the mortar.”

“You know how to set brick?”

“I can try.”

I tried to block out the picture that came to mind. Horse’s patoot! and a mad dash to Home Depot as Ray’s is too far to travel. I smiled weakly.

“We can go next Sunday as it’s supposed to rain at the beginning of the week. Things should be dried out by next weekend.”

“I’ll give them a call to plan the shopping trip. Maybe let them know we’ll be out next Sunday.”

“No! Don’t do that. They’re like little kids. If something comes up, and we can’t make it, they’ll be disappointed, and there’ll be hell to pay.”

“There’s always hell to pay.”

“Let them be on a need to know basis, that way, there’ll be less.”

I called the Weebles to let them know I had Friday available for shopping. I actually had Wednesday open too, but Wednesday is the third of the month and every weeble for miles around would be at Mahket Basket. Dad answered the phone and told me his Senior Citizen Glee Club had a performance rehearsal on Friday. He couldn’t miss it, as he’s The Leader of the Band. I tried not to look to the heavens and sigh. Shopping would have to be on Wednesday.

I could feel a pain begin to form behind my left eye so I went to lie down.

The phone rang, and Himself answered. It was Dad. I chuckled as I heard Himself’s end of the conversation.

“Yeah. Un-huh. Yeah.”

Dad replaying the “She Called Me Stupid ” song for some sympathy.

I pulled the quilt over my head and snuggled into the pillow.

“Yeah. Ok. Well, don’t worry about that. I planned on stopping there on Friday, and I’ll mow the lawn. We’ll be there Sunday to take care of the stairs.”

So much for the need to know basis.

“Here, you can talk to Herself about that.”

“Your dad’s on the phone. He has a doctor’s appointment.”

I tried to pull the quilt higher over my head, but Himself managed to wedge the phone in.

“We have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday at 10:30”

“I told you I can’t take you there as I’m having my chipped tooth fixed and I’ve been waiting since December. Can’t one of your friends take you?”

“But, the doctor keeps us waiting and they’d have to wait!”

I rolled my eyes. Like I don’t wait?

“I’ll call the doctor on Monday and have the appointment changed to Wednesday.”

“No, Dad, I’ll have to take Ma to Mahket Basket on Wednesday. I can’t take you to the doctor too because she takes so freaking long at Mahket Basket. You won’t be finished in time for me to pick the Young One up from school. I can come back on Friday.”

“No, I have to lead my group.”

“Ok, well, can’t you call The Van to take you?”

“The what?”

“The Van.”

“What’s that?”

I roll my eyes. Dad has been with the Senior Center for close to 20 years. He has advised seniors on the services available to them.

“The Van. You give them 48 hours notice. Tell them where you want to go, and they will come to your house to pick you up. Take you where you need to go, and bring you home. It will cost both of you $2.” I didn’t mention each way as I wanted this to be a very attractive solution. “If you need physical assistance they will help you in and out of the van.”

“Well, I’ll have to check into that.”

You do that.

“I think I’ll call the doctor on Monday, cancel the appointment and reschedule for the following Monday. Can you come out on Monday.”

“Yes, Dad. Monday. Any Monday during the month of May is good. Make the appointment for 10:30 or 11AM.”

I crawled back in bed. Himself sat on the edge and rubbed my back.

“When you’re over there, give them a subliminal message. Peapod, Peapod, Peapod,” Himself whispered in my ear. [ed: Peapod is a grocery delivery service]

“The only way they would understand a subliminal message would be if someone slammed them upside the head with a two by four and yelled PEAPOD. Maybe we should move the two of them into Prissy’s house. She’d love the company.”

“There you go! You’d have all your eggs in one basket.”

“Only it wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“We’d still have to drive 50 miles to do the shopping at Mhket Basket, and we’d have to take Prissy too”

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Pinball Wizard

I was congratulating myself that this Mahket Basket trip would go smoothly and efficiently. I had told my brother about their shopping pattern. He accurately described it as a game of pinball. Not this time! Each Weeble had a list and each Weeble would work half the store. Ma would cover meat and produce, and Dad would take Dairy and the aisles.

Ma and I headed toward produce. Not the most logical way around the store, but at least we were headed in a direction. She spotted a table display of bananas on sale. She wanted bananas. I got to the display, reached to grab a hand of bananas. Suddenly, I’m slammed from behind.

“Get a big one!” she yells.

I’m bent over the banana table. “I did!” I roared “Back up!”

Pinball and the silver ball just tilted.

She backed up and roared around to the tomatoes. Big Boys were at a good price. She ordered me to get 3 pounds of the smallest size I could find. As I placed the tomatoes in the bag, I said a prayer for the Big Boy that lost its life at her hands two weeks before.

She went down her list, shouting the item, and I limped along, offered the item for her blessing or excommunication. Some of the prices went up, and she was not happy.

We hunted produce for a ten pound bag of potatoes. All we found were five pound bags of regular and organic potatoes. A worker was putting out bags of potatoes. She told him she wanted a ten pound bag. He told her they didn’t have any in ten pound bags. We circled produce again looking for ten pound bags. Ma asked the produce worker again for a ten pound bag. She kept telling him the store always carried ten pound bags. He told her to buy two five pound bags. She did not buy any.

We finished produce and blessed the meat. I glanced at my watch, smiled as we were making good time. I had spotted Dad a time or two, but he was no where in sight. I wished I had taken my brother’s advice to tie a balloon to Dad for an easy, inexpensive Jo-jack location device.

Ma began trolling the aisles. I winced at every corner she had to take envisioning Little Debbies cascading to the floor. She cruised at ramming speed and slammed a young man in the coffee can. She moved off, shrugging and making apologies. She reminded me of the late President Reagan, and his famous Ronnie shuffle for avoiding the press.

Dad caught up with us, but announced he needed to get pickles.

“You were over that side of the store an hour ago!”

He smiled sheepishly at me and shrugged his own version of the Ronnie shuffle. I decided it would be faster if I got the pickles. I was admonished to get them only if they were 99 cents. Did I find 99 cent pickles? No, found them for $1.19. Now, if this were my shopping, I would follow the Little Princess Method of Shopping. If I wanted the item, I would buy the item and most likely not glance at the price. I head back to where I left the Weebles, but they are no where to be found! Balloons, it would have been so simple.

The store is not large, but suddenly it was enormous. I needed to put out an APB. I went round and round, up the same aisles and down. I heard the pinball machine pinging crazily as I, the silver ball, banged the bumper. Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. At this rate, I was destined for a replay.

Finally found them waiting in line at the deli. The department after dairy where Dad would have started his run. Those Weebles sure play a mean pinball.

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Wednesday, March 07, 2007

Big Boy

Monday was a planned shopping expedition. Ma had asked me to come early so I arrived at 9am. She wasn't dressed so I puttered with Dad's computer trying to explain to him the need to turn it on for more than a minute every month. The poor machine nearly choked with all the Windows updates. After twenty minutes, Ma shouted impatiently, "I'm ready." We whirled into the usual flurry of looking for the check book, getting her coat, her walker, and the soda bottles for return.

The ride up was pleasant. Ma nodded off, and I left Dad to enjoy the peace and quiet of his own thoughts. Since we were shopping on the fifth of the month, there were quite a few handicap spots available. Social Security checks were deposited on the first and funds available to seniors on the 3rd. I helped Ma across to the sidewalk. Dad came tooling out on a scooter for her. As I was taking the walker back to the car and hoping I could spend time reading my book, Ma shouted, "You come back and help me." Deep sigh.

From the entrance, I could see people jumping out of the way and I knew Ma is in that direction. I passed Dad at the bottle return machines, slowly and carefully feeding the cans and bottles in.

I caught up with Ma and she shouted the orders: Get 2 dozen of the medium eggs. I turned to put them in the scooter basket and she roared down the dairy aisle shouting more items: 2 gallons of milk, a gallon of orange juice, two cartons of cottage cheese - make sure it's the one with the pineapple in it. I ran after her occasionally lobbing an item into the basket. She also grumbled about the prices. Seems things have gone up, and Ma is not happy.

At the deli, she told me she wanted a pound of bologna and some provolone. "You like provolone. I'll buy you some provolone." Now, I don't eat raw cheese. Ever. She's only known this for some 50 years. "I'll get you some roast beef for lunch too even though I'm not supposed to have it."

"Ma, don't worry about the roast beef, bologna is fine. And remember I don't eat cheese so if you want provolone for yourselves get it." I take a deli ticket, number 52 and the deli is now serving 48.

"Let your father stand in line." With that she careened toward the meat case.

I headed back to the front of the store in search for Dad. He had just finished feeding a few cans into the return machine and is standing in line at the courtesy desk to get cash for his chit. Somewhere in the back of my head an alarm bell began ringing, but I ignored it. "Ma wants you to stand in line at the deli for bologna and provolone."

He looked at the deli ticket. "What number are they on?"

"48."

"I'll never make it."

"Then get another ticket." I sprinted toward the meat cases and nearly lost my lunch as I rounded the corner by the fish case. I smelled rotten fish. Even though I don't do the shopping, I know fish is not supposed to smell rotten. As an aside, I hate this store. It's not very clean. Packages are always dented and I question the freshness of the meat and produce.

Ma had stopped at the meat counter and was in deep contemplation. She pointed to a package and as the acolyte I handed her the first package to have the blessing. We continued down the miles of the meat case. Lift the meat, bless it and put it back.

There was a sale case with Stella D'Oro goodies. Ma put a package of anisette toasts in the cart. One of my favorites. A treat for me to go with lunch. Not a bad reward.

Dad finally caught up with us. "I have to go find the men's room." Vanished. We have been in the store close to an hour and have only progressed to meat. Produce, frozen foods and the aisle territory still needed to be explored. The alarm bell clanged.

In produce, Ma is delighted to have found Big Boy tomatoes at a good price. She prodded, poked and thumped looking for the best candidates. Another sign for plum tomatoes caught her eye. I heard a plop and there between my shoes was a Big Boy, murdered at the height of freshness with tomato guts oozing from its split skin. Ma was no where to be seen and I'm suddenly on the receiving end of disapproving stares from other shoppers. I slinked away, branded a tomato murderer.

Dad made another cameo, announced they needed salt, and vanished. The dawn broke. The three or four hour shopping expeditions aren't necessarily blamed on Ma, not with Houdini looking for items.

While inspecting celery Ma found another weeble lady to lament the rising cost of store items. The weeble lady tried to include me in the conversation. Since I don't grocery shop, I wouldn't know the cost between a carrot or a yam. I shrugged and smiled politely.

Dad caught up with us by the ice cream case. Another debate about flavors and Dad critiquing Ma's scooter maneuver ability. Ma had gotten the scooter wheel wedged under the kick space of the freezers. We had to offload Ma and pull the scooter out.

"Do we have everything we need?

"We don't need to do the big shopping," she informed me. "You come back in two weeks to take us shopping again."

Oh, joy.

"Where's the list?"

"In my pocket."

A fine place for the list to reside. Ma decided the last item needed was paper towels, but another store had the item for a dollar less so she decided we had to go to this store. I wasn't happy but bit my tongue. She was happy because they were saving a dollar. In the mean time, I had to burn another gallon of gas to get to the other store. We have now been on this expedition for 3 hours. We have come close to the time I must leave in order to pick the Young One up at school.

We drove to the second store. "You have 10 minutes," I said to Dad.

We got back to their house at 10 minutes before 1pm. Dad and I unloaded the car. Ma was frantically looking for the lunch items.

"You're staying for lunch." More of a command than a statement

"I can't. I have to leave."

"You never stay to visit."

Oh, cheeze! "I could if you didn't use up all my time. I was here at 9am, but you're dancing around and we don't leave for another 20 minutes. You take 3 hours at the grocery store and then we have to go get one item at another store. That was my visiting time."

I left. No lunch and no anisette toast.

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Children's Song

I had another Weeble run this time for a doctor's appointment for the two of them. I sailed down the Pike in good spirits as there wasn't much traffic. It would be an easy run today. The doctor would check heart and monitor blood pressure. Both appointments wouldn't take long. We'd be in and I'd be out to get back to my own work.

The front door is bolted as if it was the entrance to Fort Knox so I rang the bell. I heard the click and scrape of the locks as bolts were slid free. Dad opened the door. He was fully dressed which was a good sign.

"The doctor cancelled our appointment," he said. "I tried to call but the girl said you had already left."

I spoke in tongues. One has to give a doctor 24 hour notice of cancellation, otherwise, one is billed for the missed appointment. Well, nothing to be done but have a fast cup of tea and bolt, or so I thought.

"She has other plans for you today." Dad smiled elfishly.

More phrases. "Don't tell me. She wants to go to...."

"Mahket Basket."

I could hear Himself "Help me, Lord" but that's not what I said. "I thought your friend took you."

"She did. Yesterday. But Ma didn't finish her shopping."

As if on cue, Ma made her appearance. "I didn't get the fruits and vegetables. His friend wasn't feeling well, and she had us paged!"

Light dawned. It was colder than a witch's.....well, it was pretty darn cold that day. The poor woman must have succumbed to hyperthermia waiting the three hours in the car for the Weebles to totter around the store.

Dad was putting the kettle on to make tea.

"Don't bother, I said. If she wants to go to Market Basket, there's no time for tea now." So began the shuffle to get them out of the house. Just when you think you have both of them going in the same direction, one turns around and goes in the opposite direction. Herding cats is easier.

The parking lot to the store was packed, and all the handicap spots e filled. I offloaded the Weebles at the front door. Dad left me the handicap placard and I'm left to happily troll the parking lot for a handicap space. I settled into a space at the far end of the lot where I have a clear view of the front door and 6 handicap spots. I settled in with a book. I always carry a book to read for the times I have to wait, doctor's offices, Young Ones getting out of school or work. I don't mind waiting. Beats the hell out of administering sacraments to meat and veggies.

I looked up and saw a space available. Started the car and as I headed down the lane, another Weeble careened around the corner and slipped into the space. I went back to my spot and waited. I looked up and an enormous monster truck  pulled along side of me. I no longer had a clear view to the front door and the handicap spots. I couldn't even see the building, the truck was so large. I muttered some choice phrases and then moved to another location.

More reading and more looking up. A spot had been available and another Weeble slipped into it. Another phrase. I'd have to watch more and read less. Shortly after, I saw some Weebles coming out of the store, and they were heading to a handicap spot. I started the ignition and revved the engine. As they pulled out, I headed down the lane and neatly slid into the space. I was insufferably pleased with myself. It's a grown up version of musical chairs, and I won. All around the cobbler's bench the monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought it was all in fun. Pop, goes the weasel!

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Mahket Day

Yesterday, was another excursion to Market Basket. Himself came along and even offered to come into the store with the Weebles and me. What a guy!

We arrived at the house and the Weebles were running behind. They finally got themselves pulled together, coats on, when we had to do the missing checkbook dance. Himself thought I was kidding about these rituals. Checkbook found, we piled the Weebles in the car. Himself drove. Himself has his own preferred route to Market Basket. I was chuckling to myself. He is so the Golden Child. Not one peep about the route he was taking though I could tell Dad wanted to say something!

Wednesday must not be the usual elder crowd shopping day. Several handicap slots were open. Himself found a prime space, and we unloaded Weebles. At the store entrance, Dad went in to get Ma one of the shopping scooters, and Himself returned her walker to the car. Ma hopped on the scooter and zoomed around the store with us following in her wake stepping and fetching as she dictated. a 12 pack of "jinjah-ale", a 12 pack of root beer, 2 dozen eggs, 2 gallons of milk.

The deli seemed to be the parting of the ways. Dad took off one way, and Ma headed to the meat case. Himself decided to follow Ma and I as she blessed the meat. He really thought I exaggerated the task of picking out the meat. Ma would point, I would lean into the case to retrieve a package, and then hold it for her inspection, then put it back when it was rejected. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Himself watching our progress. As Ma was looking at another package of meat, I made the papal blessing behind her back. Himself started to laugh.

Ma finally selected a package of chuck which she was going to grind into her own hamburger until we found packages of hamburger for $1.79 per pound.

"Is that a good price?" she asked me.

Now, many of you know I don't do the grocery shopping, and when I do shop, I ascribe to the Little Princess Principal of Shopping. That is, if you want it, you buy it whether or not it's on sale or you have a coupon. Ma was waiting for an answer and of course, I have no idea whether it's a good price or not. Suddenly, I feel as if I'm on a game show. Wait! I need a lifeline. Himself gave me a thumbs up. Ma put the hamburger in her cart and had me replace the chuck. As we left the meat case, the meat manager was rearranging all the packages.

Ma's entourage seemed to join up at Produce. She sent Dad off to the other end of the store for something or other. Himself was ordered to pick out plum tomatoes. Not an easy task since most of the tomatoes looked rotted.

Himself rejoined us as Ma and I rounded on the carrots. She wanted big carrots as she doesn't like peeling and doesn't like peeling small ones. Course I'm thinking she doesn't do the peeling any more so what difference does it make. I pick a package. It's rejected. Another is offered. That one is axed too. Ma suddenly grabs the package that is the corner stone of the entire carrot display. I begin juggling 5 lb. bags of carrots as they slide from the top. Fortunately, Himself lifted the entire 200 lb. stack and Ma was able to get the bag she wanted. Whew!

Himself was sent off to look for raisins while Ma and I headed to the freezer case of ice cream. I have no clue where Dad was, probably taking a break. A local brand of ice cream was on sale.

"Get a gallon of vanilla."

I obliged. She looked at the freezer case trying to decide on another flavor.

"Pick one that you like."

I picked chocolate.

"No, I don't like that." I put the chocolate back. Condensation which had formed on the glass of the open door was now starting to freeze. "What other flavors are there?"

"Chocolate chip, mint chocolate chip, Chocolate chip cookie dough, Fudge Swirl, Berry Swirl?" She wrinkled her nose. The tips of my fingers were turning black, and I feared gangrene from frostbite had set in.

"Get the spumoni"

"The spumoni is not on sale. It's $5.99."

"No, that's too expensive. What other flavors are there?"

"The same ones that were in the case a minute ago."

She finally selected the Berry Swirl.

Dad made an appearance about this time, and she sent him looking for nuts. I almost said he didn't have to look far as we were all right there.

We went up and down aisles, and she sent us scattering like ants hither and yon to bring back things to be presented to her highness.

"Where's the list?"

List? There was a list? We've spent an hour and a half running from one end of the store to the other and there was a list? At least no Little Debbie snack cakes gave their lives during this production.

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Market Basket Expedition

After the shoe fitting, we headed 15 miles down the road to my favorite Weeble destination, Market Basket. I was looking forward to some profitable time while the Weebles shopped. I've been able to finish whole volumes of books or write complete Heath sagas. Himself had the laptop and the gizmo to run the computer off the car battery.

No surprise there were no handicap spots so Himself pulled alongside the curb, and I got out to offload the Weebles. Ma clasped my arm with an iron grip and said, "You come with me. I need your help." My heart sank. No reading time. No finding out what would happen next to Jamie and Claire in Dragonfly in Amber. No time to start a new Heath story. I hoped my grimace looked like a good natured smile as I helped Ma to the store entrance. Dad had gone ahead to get Ma a shopping scooter. I turned to watch Himself troll the parking lot and find a space away from cars, distractions, and shopping.

Ma boarded the scooter and headed to produce. Dad took a carriage and coasted to dairy at the opposite side of the store. I sighed and trailed along in Ma's wake. I hate grocery shopping. I don't do my own and here I was helping Ma with hers. Ah well, the good deed will certainly shorten my stay in Purgatory or at least boost me to a higher level of Hell.

We wove our way through the produce cases. Ma pointed at the items. I pawed, selected, and thumped and handed over the item for final inspection. I went on search missions for a five pound bag of carrots which we had walked past and MacIntosh apples. Her cart was laden with fresh produce of all shapes, sizes, and colors, and then we rolled into the Meat Department.

Dad had told me shopping took so long because Ma had to look at all the meat in the cases. She doesn't just look at the meat, she blesses every single package. I stood at her side like an acolyte and handed up the neat shrink-wrapped packages. In the nomine pork chops, et filet de mignon, et spirited sirloin. She stared, debated, and decided down the entire 80 feet of refrigerated cases.

Three quarters of the way through the department, she said "I want a ham slice." I look back the way we came, but don't see pork or pork by products. The meat manager suddenly appeared and I asked him for directions. I find the ham slices. Large, single slabs of ham that would grace Heath's breakfast plate with a side of scrambled eggs and hash browns. I don't think it is what she has in mind, but I present it to her. "No, ham sliced."

I cock my head to the side like a puppy learning a new trick. I do not understand grocery lingo. "You mean sliced for sandwiches?"

"Yes."

We were still a day and a half away from the deli. "You want ham from the deli?"

"No, sliced in a package."

I went in search of the meat manager. "I'm looking for ham slices, like you would have for sandwiches, but not from the deli." He cocks his head like a puppy too. I tried to translate. "You know how Oscar Mayer has bologna in packages? My mother wants ham like that." He led me to the packaged meat. There's eighty feet of gleaming white refrigerated cases each laden with cryovacced packages of nitrates. Oscar Mayer, Hormel, Plumrose. I found a package of store brand, sliced ham. I brought it back to Ma and handed it to her as if I'm holding the Holy Grail.

"No, I want the sliced ham like you have for New Year's dinner." She is sitting next to a case of spiral sliced hams. "Like these!" She grabbed a small ham. I returned the package ham to its correct place.

We entered the deli department on the opposite side of the store where we started. Dad caught up to us. The deli is perpendicular to the dairy department where Dad started. His cart has a dozen eggs, a gallon of milk and a gallon of orange juice. I'm puzzled and am about to ask him how it could possibly take an hour and a quarter to gather these items. Then I remember I don't grocery shop so I kept my mouth shut. He took a deli ticket and leaned over to get instructions from Ma.

"Oooo!" Ma tugged my sleeve. My Uncle Bob, Gawd rest his soul, had once told me he did the shopping for his wife. He'd get home with the bags and she'd say "Oooo, I forgot...." He said he spent $80 on groceries and another $40 on "Ooooo". Ma needed denture cleanser so we headed back towards produce to the health and beauty aisle.

There was no one in the aisle except a girl stocking shelves. Ma hit the throttle and tore up the aisle. Thankfully, the girl was able to leap onto a shelf as Ma rocketed by.

Ma maneuvered the cart up and down the aisles but misjudged a turn and a four foot stack of Little Debbie snack cakes came down in a clatter. People all over the store came to a standstill. I dove for the boxes as Ma tried to back up the cart to make the turn, and grabbed them before she crushed boxes of Zebras, Brownies, and Christmas Cakes. With a red face I quickly stacked boxes before a disembodied voice could announce "Clean up on aisle 6"

"She's usually worse than that," said Dad shaking his head. I raced after Ma as she turned down the pickle aisle. Ma and Dad spent 10 minutes debating the merits of pickle cuts and whether Kosher dills were better than Polish spears.

I danced from foot to foot partly from impatience but more from a full bladder. I have problems using public toilets and no way in hell would I use the grocery store rest room which I was sure was filthy. I hoped they would choose a jar of pickles before my bladder burst.

A choice was made, and she sent Dad in search of an item while we went back to the pasta aisle. "Get the Elbows they're on sale five for a dollar." Dad came up behind me as I reached for the Elbows.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"She told me to get the Elbows."

"Why?"

"They're on sale?" I offered feebly.

"But she doesn't like them, and I'll get yelled at for cooking them."

I shrugged and tossed them into the cart. Thou shalt honor thy father and mother which means obey. Ma has more power.

After crisscrossing the store in several more search grids for forgotten items, shopping was finished. I made my escape as they entered the check out line. I found Himself happily tapping away at the laptop, warned him they were in the checkout line, and he needed to bring the car around so we could load Weebles and groceries.

As I helped Ma into the car, I noticed her pocketbook was very light. I looked in it and it was empty. "Ma, where's your wallet?" Dad accompanied me into the store to look for the missing wallet.

"This happens every %^$%^$ time!" he yelled adding other phrases in a variety of tongues. A check out girl sipping a soda on her break burst out laughing as we walked by. Without the wallet we go back to the car.

"Where were you? I didn't bring my wallet!"

I heard combinations of phrases I have never heard put together before. I get in the car. Chug, chug, toot, toot. Off we go. Not too bad, we completed the shopping expedition in two hours. As we pull into the driveway, Ma informs me she didn't finish all the shopping and will need me the week after the holiday week. Deep sigh.