Bill Gold was a columnist at the Washington Post whom I read when I was a kid, probably because they put him next to the comics, and he started an annual competition for the best funny word: one where you change or add a single letter in a given word to play off the original and offer a definition for your new one. My memory is that the contest ended when he passed, but apparently the Post’s readers insisted they bring it back.

(He also had another wordplay contest that I still remember one entry to: “I dropped the toothpaste,” he said Crestfallenly.)

Here, go have some fun.

He worked at Trader Joe’s. He’s a little bit shy and yet has the most outgoing heart. He had a kid in college when we had kids in college and we occasionally talked parenting when the store was quiet. He liked connecting with people and asking their stories and went out of his way to make clear he was glad you were there, not some store-policy fixed smile but his genuine own. He might not start a conversation, but he’d be glad you did.

Then I didn’t see John for a long time. When I finally did again he explained and I exclaimed and I was so glad he was back.

His heart had nearly done him in. I’m not sure he’d even hit 50 yet. He’d been out for months. He was moving a little slowly and carefully now but he was back and working again.

Carefully.

There were some slower times when I’d see people huff and get in a different line and I wanted to tell them what they were missing. Their loss.

My times and his have somehow not overlapped for awhile now, which is a shame because he’s the biggest draw for that particular store. I figured his health had finally required retirement.

There were errands to run today and I really wanted to get them done because that rain was promising to get bad. (No flooding yet. Yay.) Pharmacy, grocery… Logically, it made sense to go to the Whole Foods with the underground parking and stay dry.

Something in me strongly urged me not to. Huh. Okay, whatever. I headed to TJ’S instead.

Look who was there!

Been a long time, he nodded with a warm smile as he started to check my stuff out. Old times all over again, man, it was great as we caught up a bit. Where’s your other? he asked.

Working. At home, I said, which answered any question about Richard’s retiring yet for him and his being there answered that question for me about him so we were even.

The next line over went faster but the guy behind me was in no hurry; his wife made a sudden appearance, put something new in his cart, and went off to find something else. He watched her go.

Then, seeing a lull in our conversation, he spoke up and said something to John and made him laugh. Watching them, it was clear they felt a longtime kinship, too, so I said to John, You make friends wherever you go!

He looked a little bashful and as if trying to explain to himself how that could be he smiled and said, in a tone of wonderment, I just show up.

That you do, I told him. Thank you.

And pulled my cart out the door and into the rain that looked a lot sunnier than a few minutes before.

If you’re going to be bewildered, at least have it be by something that doesn’t matter in the slightest, right?

I wanted silver. I settled for gold because I finally had my new post-op prescription in hand and I wanted my new, clearer eyesight and I wanted it now.

Oh Costco. Rose gold? With pink temples? That is not what I saw in the store. How did that happen.

I picked them up Wednesday night and waited till Thursday morning to start wearing them because the lenses were so different; I could have New Year’s Day to get used to them.

Today I saw more. Wait.

Who–seriously, who???–thought that a pair of women’s bifocals needed the joints where the temples meet the frame to be covered by–

I mean seriously–

metal teddy bear faces??? (I held them out to Richard and said, Please tell me at least those aren’t cats, no aspersion on cats but on stereotypes.)

No, those are teddy bears, you’re right.

I am dying to know who thought that that was the best possible idea to do to sell their product. It feels like a UC Berkeley prank in Stanford country: Go bears! Go Tree!

So, (whistling innocently) what are their cat’s-eye frames doing for their side hustle?

How’s the weather up there?

Do you play basketball?

How tall ARE you?

I get that people try to strike up conversations with those around them while stuck in lines, etc, but those same three questions across a lifetime, over and over and over and over and over…

I pulled out my phone and typed, Seven people in line in front of me.

Ouch, he texted back, I’m sorry.

I figured everybody was trying to pick up their prescriptions before the next week-long atmospheric river hits tomorrow.

A fairly tall guy was just in front of me. A taller one came up behind. They chatted a moment over my head. The one behind kindly offered to let me go sit down on that chair way over there and he would hold my place for me; I thanked him for the offer but was fine being where I was. We all went back to quietly waiting and reading our phones. I debated the ribbing of a hat but settled for the New York Times.

The one behind looked away from his screen for a few moments with a little bored sigh in his shoulders.

So I looked him in the eye and said with a grin, When we remodeled we put in extra-tall doorframes so my husband and son wouldn’t have to duck.

Instantly I was in the in group: I clearly knew what it was like even if I wasn’t tall at all. He laughed as *he* asked *me*, How tall are they?

6’8″ and 6.9″.

More laughter, then, I’m not that tall, I’m only 6’6″!

How often does he get to state his height with the word ‘only.’ Non-ironically, no less. He was having a good time.

The CVS clerk motioned me over, we got that done, I turned, and the man caught my eye and said warmly, Have a wonderful holiday!

You, too!

He’s in college and home for the holidays. His mother was one of the speakers in the main meeting in church and so his grandmother, whom I know a little bit, was there, too.

After the second meeting I went up to the two women: the younger one, to thank her for her remarks.

She had gone through multiple surgeries, she’d said, and was trying to sleep one night while fighting fierce, unrelenting pain. She’d finally prayed, I just want to sleep!

And felt the answer, Be willing to feel the pain. Acknowledge it. Live with it. Give away the fear of it to Me.

That was a reset, for sure, but as she tried to do that, knowing her Savior had felt all our pain for us, she was able to find peace at last and slept.

I thanked her for that because I knew that scenario well and that her words would be remembered and offer guidance to those who will find themselves there someday. It was a powerful talk.

But I had one other thing I wanted to tell her and her mom:

I explained losing my balance 25 years ago–and that with my foot in a boot, the tactile half of the visual/tactile feedback that realigns my up vs down was thrown off. I was trying to walk out of the chapel with a lot of people moving around me and nearly falling over at every step, holding onto the back of each pew carefully step by step. (Richard was in a conversation and didn’t see.)

Her son noticed. He stepped forward and asked if he could do anything to help. I explained my little weirdness to him and he asked, a little hesitatingly not sure he was reading this right if I needed an arm?

It took me a split second, but yes that’s exactly what I needed. I didn’t need to hang off his arm or anything and didn’t, I just needed to lightly touch it as we walked steadily together across the building. Piece of cake. I flashed back to the brain rehab of long ago.

He saw, he noticed, he offered, he meant it, and he made all the difference and I wanted to be sure his mother and grandmother knew that.

They were so proud of him.

Rightfully so.

Do you remember how, at the very end of high school, everybody felt so close to each other because we saw now how much even our more casual friendships meant to us and knew that we would never see some of those friends again, maybe even the closer ones, we just couldn’t yet know who those would turn out to be across the future?

Like that.

Post-Christmas gifting I looked at my boxes of apricot slabs, did the math on how fast I go through those, and knew they wouldn’t hold me till Andy’s Orchard opens again in May. And nobody sells apricots like his dried-while-dead-ripe slabs. Plus I wanted to pick up something someone else wanted who was going to have a hard time getting there.

Three years ago there was a cherry orchard next to Andy’s. The new houses are big. They kept the name of that farmer on the development but I don’t think they left a single fruit tree in place.

On the other side of his farm, driving down that newly widened and piped road, the open field to the right was rapidly turning into apartment buildings and closely spaced houses. So much change in a month. I turned the corner to the left around the end of Andy’s towards his store and thought, That cannot be good. That’s too many gone.

Stumps…

As I filled up my basket, the guy on duty laughed when I said, These are for my cousin-in-law’s mother-in-law… I laughed too and said, But she’s a really nice person, I love her! She’s flying today from Germany to her son’s house an hour away and is hoping to be able to get here before you close next week. I’m not sure she’ll make it in time, so I’m making sure she’ll be able to get what she wants.

One of I believe Andy’s crew had come into the little store in the middle of the conversation; the two men clearly meant the world to each other, and in those moments they included me in that palpable love, too.

Together they told me.

The closing isn’t just next week.

Andy will do one more season.

And then that’s it. The land is in the process of being sold. The neighbors who complained about being next to a farm, well…

But they bought houses next to a farm! I exclaimed.

They appreciated that I appreciated the absurdity of that. I mean, fruit trees! How intrusive is that!

I had had a feeling this entire year that this was coming, and soon.

I just didn’t want it to be ‘soon’ as in ‘it’s actually happening now’.

I’m just grateful we get to have one last year.

Before I get to what I’d planned to write about, Barbara Walker, author of all the knitting stitch treasuries that together are the knitters’ bible and inventor of the SSK stitch, passed away Sunday at 90 with her son by her side. She gave our world so much.

And on a different tangent.

It’s a little big (let’s be real: it’s huge) but I liked it. The style is a down-to-earth classic. The strap is wide enough not to dig into your shoulder, and, as it turns out it doesn’t grab and pull my hair like my current purse does. The organization, the softness they claimed (rightfully so–yay), its full grain…

I measured and checked sizes again and again. I was glad they said family-owned, not a big corporation, so I could order it in good conscience during the Black Friday sales. Because protests.

The zipper went across the whole freaking top, not just the middle third section like my Kate Spade. Finally! No spilling! And there’s a mesh holder for a water bottle, along with all the other little details inside.

But: Christmas morning I told him I’d bought that bag for him. I explained why.

I carry a purse everywhere. I want one stuff doesn’t fall out of, not just to have my wallet be protected but my knitting. (Which got dumped in the muddy driveway last winter when I pulled my purse across the steering wheel getting out of the car.)

A bag with its strap over your shoulder is the last thing he ever thinks of because that’s just not his life.

And that is why he has twice now left his travel cpap machine behind while flying. Both times we’ve gotten it back but that last time especially was a near thing.

It fits into my humongous new leather zipped tote. So still does enough of the stuff that I would need to carry on board a flight that it will definitely do. I will never ever leave my purse behind. We’re good here.

We mostly pick out our own gifts at this stage and tease each other that it’s from them, but, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband so grateful that I bought myself a present.

You could buy four of those and a fanny pack for one CPAP replacement.

The perfect Christmas comic, here. My thanks to all who work on the one day they’d rather not simply because people out there need them.

Edit: Let me add the text here. Picture four kids on a toboggan racing down a snowy hill, talking:

She was fairly confident the x-ray would show a hairline fracture, but it proved a 404: Not Found. Swelling only.

She exclaimed over my green Mecha hat on the needles, and I thought with a grin, now I have motivation to finish it.

She very much approved my Birkenstock clogs (she has the same ones.) Nice and solid bottom to them, good for this. But even better, this boot would keep me from flexing my foot while walking around and yes I should wear it to speed up the healing quite a bit. She diplomatically did not say I should have come in two weeks ago.

So I’m wearing it. My gift to Near-Future Me. It looks like a mini black snow shovel with straps.

Happy Birthday to our Maddie, and a Merry Christmas to all!

We’re supposed to get an inch and a half of rain overnight. That’s a major storm for us.

They had tented the drop-off area but it wasn’t needed just yet.

There had been two piles of stuff, good stuff, useful stuff that someone will love that I had deliberately placed in view of my knitting perch.

It was stymying me to have this thing that I wanted to get done left undone. With clouds low and darkening and after checking their times, I loaded up the car and finally made that Goodwill run. Nothing gets one going like a deadline. I did it! I beat the rain!

Look at all that cleared space to look at, opening up those creative juices.

At last I can really go knit.

My childhood self is feeling as gleeful as those little kids with their bells yesterday: look what I found! No Christmas is complete without a dose of Snoopy and the Red Baron. I bet one of my siblings can tell me which one of us officially owned that record but we all played it over and over.

The incoming storm was dark yet the yard vividly bright in contrast. I found it a surprisingly hopeful metaphor.

And there is nothing like a group of small children given bells to enthusiastically ring as they sing their best Christmas songs up on the stand in front of everybody. Their arms go, Look, I can hold mine higher than you! Well I can hold mine wider than you! Well my stuffed bunny can ring mine better than you can! Well I can sing louder and roll my eyes better at you because I’m two years older!

The adult grabs their attention by waving her arms a little more vigorously and they all focus a little more on Silent Night-ing with their voices and un-Silenting their enthusiastic bells. Rrrring!!

Little kids. They’re so human, and so funny.

So the latest and greatest in the tire world is that you order what you want for the car you have at costco.com, they ship them to that Costco, and you wait for an appointment. No more of their stocking random everythings and hoping they’ve got people covered.

Seventeen days.

I showed up 40 minutes early, which confused the guy but I wanted to drive there before the projected eight straight days of rain began. I wanted only dry pavement under those old tires, glad for the heads-up from my mechanic that they needed to go.

Man, it felt good to have that taken care of.

I sent off a couple of texts and got no response. C’mon, pick up your phone, hon.

I came home to news of an ambulance ride hastily followed by (he’d just gotten off that phone) And everything’s okay now. People had gotten a little overexcited at a fainting over a needle draw.

Okay then!

Suddenly, sitting in the chair at Costco’s Optical Department knitting for two hours while people wondered who the heck you were and why you were  sitting there demo’ing green yarn didn’t seem at all like a hard way to have had to spend the time.

I guess it was the day to be a spectacle.

Christmas party, dinner served, chocolate tortes consumed, an announcement made, a young friend unexpectedly grieved, stories shared of good friends and good memories, it ran late because it suddenly had to. G’night.

Sepsis.

Love your loved ones. Love your loved ones. Please, please, love your loved ones.

I saw the guy ever so briefly past the window. I went outside.

It was a mailman I’ve never seen before–tis the season for extras–and he looked to be in his 80s, a stooped old guy. That was a surprise. I picked up the mail he’d just left and hearing me, he turned around to offer one more thing.

Because you cannot risk leaving a to-be-cherished Christmas present out where someone could just walk off with it, is all I can guess, and maybe those last steps to ring the doorbell at the end of the day at the end of the route felt like a bit too much? He was clearly relieved to be able to hand it directly. He loved my, Oh cool! when I saw who it was from.

It held a single skein of hand-dyed yarn from Karida Collins of Neighborhood Fiber Co in Baltimore. She had taken a break and dealt with health and when she re-opened her business I’d ordered that one little bit just to cheer her on.

Clearly, whatever was in there was too valuable in the old mailman’s eyes to be left unguarded. Neighborhood. Fiber. Good things!

Karida’s going to love that.

I haven’t opened it yet. That mailman’s smile convinced me it’s for Christmas.