I’ve been doing curbside pickup at the Flippin Walmart since moving to The Mountain over two years ago. Until February of this year, it was a weekly thing; now it’s every other Sunday.
I used to have company, of course. These days, I fly solo.
One particular attendant, a nice young man from Louisiana, often brought out the order. We struck up a rapport, like one might do with a favorite waitress. The friendly banter continued when I began making my pickups alone.
It was late June or early July, I think, when I no longer saw him working there. I figured he’d moved on.
Yesterday, he was back — he’s a new dad, and Walmart had given him six weeks’ paternity leave. I extended heartfelt congratulations, which became a conversation, which led to his wondering aloud why I’d been by myself in the truck for so many months.
I let him know what’s going on.
He’s just a kid, and yet his sympathy was genuine. He displayed a depth I hadn’t expected.
“I don’t know y’all,” he said, “but I saw the way you treated her, even just the way you talked to her. I admired that. This is shocking to me.
“I don’t understand, man. I really don’t.”
He was earnestly concerned for me. I assured him that I’m doing fine.
I won’t put a lot of weight on impressions I made on someone who saw only brief public glimpses of my previous life. But I won’t dismiss them, either.
It was a good moment. Affirming.
Getting my Walmart run out of the way early yesterday was important — I didn’t want to give the Ozarkansas heat a chance to savage us. I was out the door around 8am, Smudge riding shotgun.
First, gas. Murphy USA, at $2.729, was the better deal on this Sunday. That’s two cents below the state average and 45 cents less per gallon — or $4.82 less for yesterday’s fillup — than I’d likely pay if I still lived in Ohio.
What’s more, my focus on efficiency is paying off. When I filled up in June, over the preceding 31 days I’d driven an average of 9.1 miles a day. Last month, going 30 days between fillups, I shaved that to 7.7 miles. Yesterday, I calculated that over the previous 29 days, I drove an average of just 5.1 miles a day.
In two months, I basically slashed my fuel expenditures by 44%. It’s all about paying attention.
After the fillup, we snagged our groceries and dashed home to ride-out the scorcher.
I’ve been thinking back to something I said here the other day: “I didn’t choose to be alone.” I was in a committed relationship, after all, and a promise is forever.
I didn’t get to vote on the change in my marital status. And I never would’ve voted to end the relationship.
(I’m about to draw what’ll seem like a strange parallel. Stay with me.)
Most of us fear death. We see it as the ultimate end, and despite religious and spiritual assurances, we truly don’t know what’s on “the other side.”
That fear is both reasonable and human.
There are, however, people who claim to have seen “the other side” through their “near-death” experiences. Virtually all of them report that it’s an amazing place — and that had they known just how amazing it is, they wouldn’t’ve been afraid to die.
(Please tell me you see where I’m goin’ with this.)
I invested my whole self in my marriage. I gave it everything I had. I never wanted it to end — perhaps because I feared the prospect of that committed, married man, forever changed by those 20 years, suddenly being alone.
But the relationship did end. And when I emerged into this new life, I was surprised to find a welcoming committee.
Me.
I’d been waiting for me for 20 years. The man I’ve always been, the man I was destined to be, had been there all along.
I wish I’d known that. It’s amazing over here.
Sunday’s late-day meal — I hesitate to call it “dinner” — was simple, just cold sandwiches. I used the last of a yellow onion, cutting two thick slices.
That left behind some unused bits. Rather than discarding them, I have a system for making sure that nothing goes to waste.
Naturally, the slices (1) went on the sandwiches. The skin and outer rings, along with the root from the heel (2), got tossed into the compost bucket.
I cut away the more tender parts of the heel (3) and added them to a large jar of brine reserved from Claussen pickles.
That brine lives in the fridge, and it contains more than just onion scraps. Chunks of cukes, carrots, garlic and peppers all find their way into the jar and marinate until I call on them to dress burgers, serve as garnish or get processed into Country chutney.
I find the process satisfying and the result tasty. Waste not.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable