when october goes
The holidays are upon us and I say let the gifting begin. Martha Stewart is making horsehair tassels and bracelets from her own horses hair for her friends. Oh yes she is. I don't think any of my friends would like braided headbands made from Scout's fur. But I could be wrong.
The other day an elderly couple came into the store. They are a handsome twosome, as they move around with grace and dignity, she using a cane. I welcome them and show them the new items we have for the holidays. "Christmas!" he exclaims with a big smile, looking around. "Oh yes!" she says. I attend to some other customers and check back on them, to find him behind a rack of men's clothes, clumsily pulling a sweater on and she admiring it as though he is the most wonderful thing she has ever seen.
I leave them again, but catch sight of them walking back to the big mirror in the back of the store, he in his sweater and she with a scarf thrown around her neck. She has her arm looped through his and uses her cane as they go to take a look at themselves. They are giggling and having fun.
Most people are in and out of the store, on cell phones, rushing on their lunch hour, hardly having time to wait for a receipt. These two have all the time in the world. They are embracing every moment together. There is love as he walks her to the counter, holding the sweater and scarf in one hand as he assists her with the other. Shopping for Christmas when October has just left. I wonder if they have come from Central Market next door, or maybe the Heart Hospital on the other side.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask as I ring them up.
"Oh, yes!" he says.
"A beautiful scarf," I say as I fold it up.
The woman looks me right in the eye, an intense and purposeful look, and speaks several sentences of nonsense, a speech confused perhaps by a stroke. I don't know what to say, but want to say something, so I say thank you. The man laughs gently and I continue to ring them up. The woman searches her purse for her wallet and speaks clearly now, saying that she will pay for it. "No, no," he says gently. "I'll take care of it."
"You've made some great purchases for yourselves for Christmas," I say and we laugh. "Thank you for your help," the man says. They turn to go, but then she turns back and waves and laughs again. She waves to my associate and laughs. Her husband laughs. And slowly they exit the store.
To see them together, this is a gift. And I find myself humming this Barry Manilow tune.
The other day an elderly couple came into the store. They are a handsome twosome, as they move around with grace and dignity, she using a cane. I welcome them and show them the new items we have for the holidays. "Christmas!" he exclaims with a big smile, looking around. "Oh yes!" she says. I attend to some other customers and check back on them, to find him behind a rack of men's clothes, clumsily pulling a sweater on and she admiring it as though he is the most wonderful thing she has ever seen.
I leave them again, but catch sight of them walking back to the big mirror in the back of the store, he in his sweater and she with a scarf thrown around her neck. She has her arm looped through his and uses her cane as they go to take a look at themselves. They are giggling and having fun.
Most people are in and out of the store, on cell phones, rushing on their lunch hour, hardly having time to wait for a receipt. These two have all the time in the world. They are embracing every moment together. There is love as he walks her to the counter, holding the sweater and scarf in one hand as he assists her with the other. Shopping for Christmas when October has just left. I wonder if they have come from Central Market next door, or maybe the Heart Hospital on the other side.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask as I ring them up.
"Oh, yes!" he says.
"A beautiful scarf," I say as I fold it up.
The woman looks me right in the eye, an intense and purposeful look, and speaks several sentences of nonsense, a speech confused perhaps by a stroke. I don't know what to say, but want to say something, so I say thank you. The man laughs gently and I continue to ring them up. The woman searches her purse for her wallet and speaks clearly now, saying that she will pay for it. "No, no," he says gently. "I'll take care of it."
"You've made some great purchases for yourselves for Christmas," I say and we laugh. "Thank you for your help," the man says. They turn to go, but then she turns back and waves and laughs again. She waves to my associate and laughs. Her husband laughs. And slowly they exit the store.
To see them together, this is a gift. And I find myself humming this Barry Manilow tune.