Observations over Mother's Day weekend...
Today is Monday, the day after Mother's Day. I was struck by the fact that there were, in our part of town, stands on street corners hawking floral and stuffed animal Mother's Day gifts to the passing traffic. Maybe this has happened in the past but I haven't noticed. So yet another holiday becomes driven by commerce instead of love. Picking a beautiful bouquet from the yard, writing a poem, or baking some cookies have evidently perished in the face of commerce. Sad. Very sad. Today was also very hot, in the 90s, which is an anomaly in Oregon in May. This isn't weather I enjoy. I could move to the Southwest if I were desirous of such temperatures.
Yesterday, as I was heading toward my family's Mother's Day gathering I stopped at Barbur Blvd foods right at the intersection of Barbur and Capitol Hwy (forgive the parochial note if you aren't here). They have installed rollup doors so that the produce and butcher sections are open to the parking lot. Increasingly this little food market is becoming an island of cross cultural food and dialogue. I gathered my treasures: braided cheese from the Middle East with peppers, olives stuffed with almonds, a jalapeno hummus, a piccolo como loaf, and a bottle of Portuguese wine and headed to the cash register.
There were a lot of people in the lines, which is good for the market, but unusual. In front of me the clerk said "your change is $8.48 or a gallon of gas" to the woman he was serving.
The people in line chuckled. The man in his early sixties in front of me said "Yeah, that's some deal. I bet everyone here is thinking the same thing but just not saying it."
My ears pricked up. I'm always interested in what everyday people have to say.
"Yeah, we're getting screwed. There's enough oil to go around they just won't let us drill it." The man shook his head and laid his groceries on the counter.
""Yeah, the oil companies are makin' tons of money," said the clerk. Nearby customers appeared to be listening but not offering support or disagreement.
"They've got lots of oil. You know that arctic thing? You know what they say about that? It's just like hell freezed over!" said the customer. "That's what they say it's like. And we can't drill it!" He shook his head again and left with his groceries.
"I think I've got oil in my back yard," said the clerk. "I think I'm gonna drill. I think I must have oil..." He packed up my groceries.
He then called across the checkout lines to a woman two rows over. "For your daughter?"
I looked at him quizically. "She's been in here four times today. Getting booze. She says it's for her daughter. When you work here awhile you can see it. You know what's really goin' on. She's getting drunk." He shook his head and handed me my change.
"Thanks," I said. " I think you should drill for that oil. In your backyard."
And I left with my international foods. Wondering if everyone in the line was thinking the same thing but not saying it.
Yesterday, as I was heading toward my family's Mother's Day gathering I stopped at Barbur Blvd foods right at the intersection of Barbur and Capitol Hwy (forgive the parochial note if you aren't here). They have installed rollup doors so that the produce and butcher sections are open to the parking lot. Increasingly this little food market is becoming an island of cross cultural food and dialogue. I gathered my treasures: braided cheese from the Middle East with peppers, olives stuffed with almonds, a jalapeno hummus, a piccolo como loaf, and a bottle of Portuguese wine and headed to the cash register.
There were a lot of people in the lines, which is good for the market, but unusual. In front of me the clerk said "your change is $8.48 or a gallon of gas" to the woman he was serving.
The people in line chuckled. The man in his early sixties in front of me said "Yeah, that's some deal. I bet everyone here is thinking the same thing but just not saying it."
My ears pricked up. I'm always interested in what everyday people have to say.
"Yeah, we're getting screwed. There's enough oil to go around they just won't let us drill it." The man shook his head and laid his groceries on the counter.
""Yeah, the oil companies are makin' tons of money," said the clerk. Nearby customers appeared to be listening but not offering support or disagreement.
"They've got lots of oil. You know that arctic thing? You know what they say about that? It's just like hell freezed over!" said the customer. "That's what they say it's like. And we can't drill it!" He shook his head again and left with his groceries.
"I think I've got oil in my back yard," said the clerk. "I think I'm gonna drill. I think I must have oil..." He packed up my groceries.
He then called across the checkout lines to a woman two rows over. "For your daughter?"
I looked at him quizically. "She's been in here four times today. Getting booze. She says it's for her daughter. When you work here awhile you can see it. You know what's really goin' on. She's getting drunk." He shook his head and handed me my change.
"Thanks," I said. " I think you should drill for that oil. In your backyard."
And I left with my international foods. Wondering if everyone in the line was thinking the same thing but not saying it.
Comments
Love ya dad!