It’s my weekly Ten Things of Thankful post and what joy to know that Lizzi, originator of this blogging challenge, has found relief in being diagnosed with shingles! You will have to read it yourself to see how ANYONE could be thankful for shingles, but I can identify.
My own story of thankfulness has its roots in my mother’s fortune-telling proclivity. From an early age, I was reminded frequently that “Tuesday’s child is full of grace.” And I have yet to meet a less graceful individual than myself. I proved that in a notable way at Pier One. My dearest widower, son, and young nephew were making our way through Pier One’s decorative imports, searching for just the right tall vases to use in our newly painted living room. I warned our teaching orphan and nephew to BE CAREFUL in the store because it was packed with breakables. I kept an eagle eye on those two, especially the younger nephew.
We eventually found two vases but couldn’t figure out what to put inside. My decorating sense is comparable to my wobbly grace, so I was no help. Our son, M, called out, “What about these?” He was standing next to a massive, glass table covered with stacks of golden Christmas dishware and other vases, candleware, etc. A giant glass vase in the center of the table was filled with a bushel of fuzzy pussywillows. I loved those soft, fuzzy buds! No matter that they would look ridiculous in our house. I just wanted to feel them. My widower asked M, with the long arms, to pull out some of the pussywillows. Our triathlete leaned over and gracefully removed half the flowers. I kept the nephew at bay during this delicate operation, still convinced that he was the weak link in our group.
I was the only one who noticed the now half-empty vase tipping to one side. It was heavy enough to smash the glass table! And time s-l-o-w-e-d down. I ran to the table, leaped through the air, and grabbed the vase, just before it could demolish that huge circle of glass. Unfortunately, as I swept across the table, I knocked every glass dish, bowl, vase, and candlestick to the floor. The crash echoed through the store. Time s-t-o-p-p-e-d. The entire store was silent. Every person in Pier One stared in disbelief. I was stretched across a glass table, holding an enormous vase, while surrounded by massive piles of broken EVERYTHING.
I wanted to run again, out the door. Pier One employees arrived with brooms and dustpans, while customers whispered. M said, “Mom, that was a sweet lay-out! You could play Ultimate!” And our nephew said loudly, “If you break it, do you have to buy it?” The manager at Pier One was full of grace. We only paid for one vase and the pussywillows. Our nephew repeated loudly as the manager ran up our purchases, “Do you have a break it, buy it policy?” Both the manager and I wanted to strangle him.
Sure enough, the pussy willows looked ridiculous. So did the vase. My widower said we had to return them. “I can’t go back there!” I cried. “We’ll return these as a different Pier One,” my widower answered reasonably. With much shame, I slunk into a different Pier One. Horrors! We were greeted by the same manager from the OTHER Pier one! I ran.