BLESSINGS: WALLY WORLD November 21, 2012
I’ve
been accused of going to Wal-Mart every day.
That’s just not true. I only go
every day that I want to. It seems like
God always blesses me at Wal-Mart. I don’t
mean to sound sacrilegious or whatever that word is. He also blesses me at home, at church and
other places. But it just seems to me
like He always blesses me at Wal-Mart.
No
trip to Wal-Mart is complete without at least one or more trips through
fabrics, crafts, ribbons etc. I got
stuck in the aisle by patterns and stuff and an old lady was muttering about
and so I asked her, (I’ve been studying Wal-Mart Associates for 20+ years) if I
could help her. She said wasn’t it nice
that Marion Wal-Mart got crafts back and I agreed. But she’s not been able to find what she’s
looking for. So, who would be better
than me, the local expert, to help. She’s
looking for fabric that’s made into books.
I think I know what she means as I have one of those stuck away in the
sewing room, somewhere. (Picked it up
some eons ago at a yard sale.) So I ask
some questions and she gives the answers.
She makes fabric books for an annual flea market festival for a children’s
home in Pennsylvania. She’s originally from
there, but lives in Eldorado. She sells
them for $8.00 each. She goes there
every year and takes them herself. With
a few more questions, she describes in detail how she puts the (fabric) pages
together and ends up with a book. She
hasn’t found the fabric aisle yet. She
wonders if they have any. So, I tell her
fabric aisle is next one over and they are slowly getting more and more
stuff. I know because I check this “everyday”
(every day that I go).
She
invites me to come with her. And she
actually finds two bolts of fabric that are indeed books. One is actually nursery rhymes and very
pretty. It’s about $5.50 a yard. I comment that she’s not really making much
money, especially with all her work, selling at $8.00 a book. She explains that this one is more expensive
because it’s a brand name (nursery rhymes).
She usually pays less, more like $3.00 or so a yard.
(Example, buy a yard, cut out the pages,
line them up back to back, page to page. Line each page
with a thin batting. Sew them up wrong side out.
Leave about 3 inches open. Turn them right side out
and hand stitch the opening. Hook them up at the binding edge.
One fabric book, all done. That's how she said.)
We had a great time talking and sharing about
our projects and stuff, important stuff.
She, also, does quilting. I
notice another younger lady and her cart just past us. “I guess we’re blocking the aisle, I’ll scoot
over this way.” Then the younger lady
says, “Oh, no, not at all, I was just listening to you.” So we got sewing class going right there in Wal-Mart. What fun!
(Blessings
in disguise!)
Okay that was yesterday,
This is today.
Well,
I forgot the curly-q Day Bright light bulbs for the sewing room so I went back
to Wal-Mart today. First things first, I
get the light bulbs. It’s 1 pm the day
before Thanksgiving. I’m thinking this
is definitely crazy going to Wal-Mart today.
But in the scents aisle I’m looking at candles. A very nice young woman comes along side and
notices me looking up (up from my scooter) at the top shelf. She stops and asks if I need help, if she can
reach something for me. She is so
nice. I assure her I’m OK, can stand
etc. Then she smiles and wishes me a ‘Happy
Thanksgiving’ and moves on. I’m
thinking, ‘See there, and you were expecting everyone to be in a big hurry and
to be rude and obnoxious.’
(Some
blessings are lessons in disguise.)
Eventually,
I end up in front of the fresh doughnuts case.
This is one spot I always avoid. But
today, oh well. So I’m just sitting
there looking at the apple fritters, thinking, well, just one! He comes around the corner of the doughnut
case and stops right in front of my scooter.
He’s a little guy with brownish/blonde
hair, jeans and tee shirt and the brightest clear blue eyes. He has, absolutely, a face of pure
innocence. He looks over the scooter
basket and sees a piece of flannel fabric I’m buying. “Are you going to make that a blanket?” he
asks.
“Yes,
I am,” I respond, “I love to make quilts.”
So
he looks over the rest of the stuff in my basket. Not too much there as my scooter basket’s a
lot smaller than a Wal-Mart scooter basket.
I guess nothing else interested him.
Most kids are more interested in my scooter and how it works, etc. But not this one. He wants to talk.
He
leans back against the door to the doughnuts, sticks both hands in his pockets,
frowns and says, “My Gramma’s got a crack in her arm.”
I’m
not sure where we’re going here, “Oh, you’re Gramma’s got a broken arm?”
“Yeah,
her name is Shirley.”
“Okay,
your Gramma Shirley?”
“Yeah,
what’s your name?”
“My
name is Doris.”
“Doris,
my name is Logan,” he says and comes around to the side of my scooter, puts out
his hand. We shake hands.
“I’m
glad to meet you, Doris.”
“Well,
I’m glad to meet you too, Logan.”
He
smiles and nods his head.
“Gee,
I’m sorry to hear about your Gramma Shirley. How did she break her arm? Did she fall?”
“She
fell over a sawhorse.”
"Oh,
was she out in the workshop?”
“No,
she was in the garage, and she fell, and she had to lay there a long, long
time. She had to lay there until Grandpa
came home.”
“I’m
really sorry to hear that. That must
have been really hard for her.”
“Yes,
and I wasn’t there. (He stops talking,
looks down, tilts his head.) “And if I’d
been there she wouldn’t have had to lay there so long.”
I’m
getting really impressed with this little guy.
But this conversation is going on and on and the girls behind the
counter over in the bakery are watching.
I’m thinking I’m going to get arrested someday for picking up kids (or
little old women, or for blocking the aisles, or loitering) at Wal-Mart. I’m thinking I should be moving on, but I really
don’t want to, so…
“You’re
thinking if you’d been there, you could have helped your Gramma, right?”
“Yes,”
he says, that he could have helped her, that he wished he’d been there.
“Well,
Logan, these things happen. Sometimes
there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I
know.” (Trailing off, eyes focused
at something across and beyond my left shoulder.)
Getting
concerned that this precious kid could actually be off, alone, talking to a
stranger, for so long and that no one has come looking for him, I venture, “Logan,
does your Mom know where you are, is she looking for you?”
“No,
she doesn’t know where I am. She thinks
I’m at Gramma Shirley’s right now, but I’m not.”
“I
know. You’re here at Wal-Mart.”
“Yeah,
but Mom doesn’t know I’m not at Gramma Shirley’s.”
“Okay,
well, is anybody else here, maybe that thinks you’re lost, or maybe that they’re
looking for you?”
“That’s
my Grandpa. He’s right over there by the
meat counter.”
Immensely
relieved, I realize that Logan has never been out of his Grandfather’s line of
vision, clearly, across my left shoulder.
“Oh,
that’s good, you’re here with your Grandpa.”
Soon,
Grandpa arrives, we talk.
Logan’s
five years old.
He
is one amazing little guy and a perfect gentleman.
Grandpa’s
proud.
I am
blessed! (no disguise)
I
don’t think I’ll go back to Wal-Mart until after Black Friday.
But, if I do, I
am pretty sure I’ll be blessed!
Copyright - 2012 - Doris Grant Frey
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