In the Mood

The morning after our mother died, we went to the mall. We wanted thank you gifts for the many people who helped us during our mother's hospital stay, who stood and prayed and sang beside us, who wrapped us in hospitality. And then there were at least a half dozen nurses who besides taking blood; monitoring a dialysis machine, a breathing tube and multiple meds; answered our questions, found us blankets, pillows, ice; and directed us to the free shower on the 7th floor. That's another story.

We wanted some other stuff. My sister bought some new shoes in case her husband, arriving by plane later in the day, didn't bring the right two pairs to choose from for her funeral outfit. She spied the perfect  new pair of shoes for me. I had tried to buy a new pair a month ago, but nothing caught my eye at Wal-Mart. I tried them on, stood up, and told the sales woman that I would take them. She checked me out and said that was the easiest sale she ever made. We are the fastest red-eyed shoppers in Missouri.  My sister bought me new socks and herself some pantyhose and maybe some more stuff. We had hurriedly packed to hold the hand of our sick mother in the hospital.  We had not packed for a goodby ceremony nine days later. ( Hey! I just now remembered where those black socks with the tiny white dots came from. I hadn't recognized them when they came through the laundry this week).


Then I sat at Starbucks, babysitting our purchases while I  tried to change my plane tickets as the wi-fi went in and out. I moved my coffee and  purchases and laptop from table to table trying to get a good signal.  Finally I called the airline after I got an internet connection long enough to find out that you can't change tickets for bereavement purposes online. I changed my flight date with my phone battery beeping its last in the background.  My sister returned from the hunt with numerous packages. I helped her carry the bags to the car. One fell as we were loading the trunk.

"I'm having so much trouble shopping today," she said. "Seriously?" I said looking at the bags she had amassed. "Yeah, I just keep dropping things." I see. When I have trouble shopping, it's performing the act.  She just has trouble with technique.