Walking into the grocery store doesn't usually make me feel anything remotely like I felt today. I had just barely gotten out of my car when a sight in the parking lot unexpectedly made my blood boil. There was a shopping cart, outfitted with one of those things in front of the handle to put your infant/toddler in, and I've seen the plain red seats that keep them strapped in, and I've seen the little cars that my youngest used to beg to ride in when she was small. This one had airplane wings and a double console.

I assure you, these contraptions have never bothered me before. They keep tired, bored or otherwise disgruntled small children occupied during a very necessary errand. In the very early 1990's, I was a single parent and had to do most of my grocery-ing with 2 toddlers. While these errands were busy and stressful, I've never been as thin as I was during those few years.

What set me off this morning was this. We live, now, in an age of hyper drive, of constant internet and cell-phone access. Our kids are plugged in as never before. Other blogs are written on this topic, so I'll move on. At the grocery store, in the early 90's, and long before that, the early 70's when my mom took me, and my brother, we learned about the grocery store.

We learned about produce and the different kinds of grains and shapes of bread. We learned about coupons, colors, and which cereals not to buy. Yes, we got the occasional box of Apple Jacks and Count Chocula, just like other kids, but we also learned at a very young age that granola was better, and for those lessons I am grateful.

When we got just a little bit older, we helped at the Whole Foods Co-op just as it was starting up, helping stock newly cut and labeled cheese in the fridge or helping to measure the spices. These experiences are so rich in my mind I can taste havarti and smell the granola and homemade fries my mom used to make when I was about 10.

So when you're grocery shopping, put your kids in the airplane if they're tired and you can't stand another plea for Blue-Coated Sugar Pops. On another day, when everyone is well rested, stop at Cub or Whole Foods and try an avocado, smell the soup and point out all the weird things with weird names in the salad bar. And have fun!

Hold My Hand and I'll Hold Yours

While I don't feel at all bitter about this, I'll apologize to my readers in advance if I come across that way.

I made an observation this afternoon while waiting for a friend for our randomly scheduled Monday coffee dates. I have one teenager left at home, and she has 2. Last week I spent an hour with another friend with 3 teenagers and one tiny newborn, and my observation is this: When a friend or a loved one has a new infant, we run towards the sweet, cooing little one. Mommy is oh-so-very tired, and help abounds, from oh-please can I babysit to casseroles to an outing with the older siblings. This was done for me too. However, when we are overwhelmed with teenagers, up late worrying about who they are hanging with this year, whether or not they'll pass algebra, or that piercing they're begging for, friends can be in shorter supply. Why? Probably because they have their own teenagers.

Moms of teenagers need don't need someone to rock the baby anymore, but we still need our friends' shoulders. I believe firmly, and part of this belief is rooted in my faith, that we are created for community, for fellowship, to give each other a hand when things aren't so great, to laugh and play when things are good. I treasure all of my girlfriends, and I treasure them even more now that my kids have grown and I get to find out who I am again. Time with adults has been fleeting for many years, and it's marvelous to find out I'm a grown-up. Even as our sweet babies become adults in the blink of an eye, we can still learn from each other as mothers, as women. I have several new friends, several who are far wiser than I was when my children were small, but I take what I learn from them and pass it on, just as they take what I can share. No one is being mentored, although that's a valuable situation too, I see our relationships the way ideally every relationship could grow into: a beautiful exchange.

Even if you're day has been just crazy, take five minutes after curfew, or bedtime, to call a friend, and if you don't have time to call, email or FB or Twitter or whatever you do, however you communicate. I know your world will be richer for it. Mine is. And that other mom may just need your voice today.

I'm not really sure which towns are about the same size as mine around the nation, but think main town/city of 85,000 with 3-ish suburbs. That oughta do it.

Here are some random things that I have seen around town this spring/early summer that made me go "huh." Sadly, no camera handy.

An elderly gentleman on a vintage Schwinn (blue) wearing a traffic-safety vest and smoking a pipe. Healthy exercise, early in the morning, and perhaps something naturally grown along for the ride.

I live in one of those "attached" communities that could be considered suburban, and saw one of those usual circus colored bouncy huts that people rent for their kids for birthday parties. At a second glance, however, a horse in full Tijuana dress came around the corner. No burro here, this beast was more Anheiser-Busch size.

Yesterday, a bicycle built for two in an unusual style ~ side-by-side. She was pedaling, and he was sitting on a rag festooned platform made of weathered boards, playing a flute-like instrument. The tornado sirens had gone off earlier this week, but no one told me we were being invaded by gypsies.

I'm sure as the summer progresses I'll be adding to the "now I've seen everything" list. Right now I am vaguely remembering a sight from about a week ago I of course did not right down. I'll keep my eyes peeled.

My Town

There are countless people out there who have never heard of my town, and that's cool. It's the perfect size. Not to big, not too small. You can run into two high school classmates at Target in one night, and on the same night you can go to the grocery store and not see anyone you even recognize.
The freeway cuts across town next to the lake and the river, and you can go from one end to the other in about 20 minutes, depending on the time of day. But you can see so far up the hill while you do, it seems vast, sometimes.
It might be 50 by the lake, and 85 up over the hill. In fact, this is typical in the summer, and our runners, for our 34th annual marathon, are counting on it as they race past the shores of Gitchee Gumee.
We're not fantastic about preserving our old architecture, but we have plenty still that is beautiful, and right now there is a theater preservation movement, a downtown business revival (even the 100+ year old jail is being turned into something fabulous). Our most famous mansion was the sight of a 1970's murder.
I love that we have beaches and forests. Our beach is still clean (well, relatively. Don't get me started about gulls and litter). Our forests have more miles of undeveloped trails than.....Well, not sure, but it's gorgeous. And where else can you get 4 feet of snow in a weekend and lay out on the beach for half a summer?
I've lived here most of my life, and I could show you sights, tell you stories and tell you where to have lunch that's NOT crowded with weekenders, but in short, I love my town.

Music, Just Give Me Music

I'm not much of one for reading scientific research or reports. Even when it's something I'm deeply interested or moved by, I tend to take the bullet-points, thanks. I've never been very good at reading any non-fiction, with the exception of history, which fascinates me.
What I am thinking about, talked about a great deal among my friends lately, is the science of how music moves us. I really don't want to know what the research says. There's something primordial (correct wording, not sure) that reaches from the strains of music to deep within my soul, and I fear a little that if I knew what the REASON was for this, it would lose some of it's magic.
Music can make me dance (I don't), laugh, cry and bring up memories like nothing else (although I've been told our sense of smell is like this - I wouldn't know, too many allergies). One of my favorite memories related to music is this: My oldest daughter, then about 9 years old, was listening to Faith Hill's "This Kiss" and asked me what centrifugal motion is. Far better to show her than to tell her. We clasped hands and spun in circles, fell laughing to the grass. I still feel a bit like the 3rd grader she was then when I think of it.

Coffee & Intimacy

Back when I was 17 (WAY back when the hair bands ruled the world), I worked in a neighborhood coffee/donut shop a few blocks from home. We had orange laminate swivel chairs, white bakery bags and behind the counter, a peg board with several mustard yellow, coffee-stained mugs. Most of these had names written on them in permanent marker, some half-rubbed off with time.
Nearly every day, a gentlemanly white-haired man in an old green anorak came shuffling and smiling through the door with his wooden cane. His name was Archie and as I recall my Dad knew him from back before the steel plant closed. Most days I was able to have Archie's cake donut and mug of coffee ready before he reached into his pocket, and he always left me a tip. His "tab" was always under a dollar, and he always paid in dimes, and left an extra one for me.
25 years after I worked in that donut shop, I can still smell the sweet (but often cloying) cinnamon and glazed sugar, and I can still picture Archie coming through the door, chuckling and calling me his "Blonde Bombshell" with a grand-fatherly wink. Archie passed away almost that long ago, and the donut shop has been gone more than 5 years. While not a tragedy, it was a fixture, as were the not-so-mythical Gramma's Cafe that you may have had in your neighborhood.
Now we have Starbucks, and if your town is large enough you have Peet's, Caribou, Dunkin Donuts or Dunn Brothers where Starbucks hasn't moved in. Please don't get me wrong, this java junkie of the Midwest loves her lattes, they fuel my days and my life.
I often miss that counter-top intimacy, though. The girls that make our local coffee counters hum, I have no idea what most of their names are, and the faces change too quickly. This makes me feel a little sad. I find myself making a concerted effort to be friendly and chatty, and they don't always have any more time than their often harried customers, myself included.
While it's highly unlikely that your local coffee shop will be mounting a peg board for your plastic, Sharpie covered tumbler, that certainly doesn't preclude our favorite shop from becoming a friendly neighborhood gathering spot. We do what we can, yes? Get to know the names of the baristas, introduce yourself. And smile.