I
went to Randall’s again yesterday. Hey,
it was old folks time again. I had to
make an appearance. Actually, we needed
some groceries, so I volunteered to take the danger upon myself, ever
protecting my young bride from the harsh elements. Since the list was longer than usual, I
decided to follow the one-way signs on the floor and visit every aisle. Most folks were going the right
direction. I did have one encounter with
one of the shop-for-you employees. She
was pretty much going where she pleased.
She even admitted being pointed in the wrong direction. That had confused a couple that was following
her around. When they realized their
mistake, they apologized. I told them to
just turn their basket around and pull it through backwards. They chuckled. And complied.
I was joking, folks.
My
favorite grocery encounter of the day, however, came in front of the tuna
fish. As I searched for the tuna in
“water, not oil” (I felt like the James Bond “shaken, not stirred” of the fish
world), a lady rounded the corner. And
as she pulled her cart straight again, she was obviously inspecting the
contents of my basket.
“Hmm,”
she commented. “I see you are preparing
for a healthy meal this week. Dr Pepper
and Cheetos.”
Interesting
observation, to be sure. Not to be
deterred, I countered with, “Well, I had to add some things to the list my wife
gave me. I’m just showing
initiative.” Pretty snappy comeback,
don’t you think? But she was just as
snappy.
She
chuckled and quipped in that way only experience as a wife could give her,
“Yeah. Initiative in the wrong
direction.” Ouch.
Last
night we took part in one of those drive-by parades people have been
organizing. Except we were the
organizers of this one. And the only
participants. Short parade. It was fun, though. We drove by to say Happy Birthday to April. Even took the truck so I could honk with my
three new horns. As it turned out they
were down the street at a friend’s house for dinner. Nope. Can’t
hide out from us that easily. Also helps
that we happen to know the friends. In fact
their little boy was the one who rode his bike down to let us know where they
were. We drove down in front of their
house and April finally showed up in front of the house. So I honked the Happy Birthday song to
her. I’m pretty sure she could make out
the rendering.
As
an extra treat they took us down to their house and we were introduced to the newest
members of their family. They have
chickens. Well, baby chickens. Chicks.
All different kinds. Two of them either
have Mohawk haircuts or they are victims of the Corona ban on
hairdressers. The other three are
different species, but they will eventually earn their keep as egg-layers. Cailyn put one in each of our hands. Tiny, fragile creatures. Mine was a Rhode Island Red. Now for the point of this story. I woke up this morning at 4:30 to a
dream. Very short dream. And in this dream that little chicken fell
out of the sky from nowhere and landed at my feet. That’s all.
Just a chicken at my feet. No particular
meaning assigned to this one. Other than
maybe … it has been a while since we have had fried chicken …
Psalms
56:3 says, “When I am afraid, I will put
my trust in you.”
Father,
please take care of those little chickens.
Cailyn – and April – are already becoming quite the chicken ladies. Amen.
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