October 17, 2011--Midcoast: Overheard at Renys

“We need a mattress cover,” Rona said. “They have them at Renys. And, while we’re there, I could also use some paper towels.”

Renys is a local general store with a wide range of goods from glassware to spices to lamps to shoes to bed linens and paper goods. All at prices that rival WalMart, which we feel good about not having nearby.

“And also some painters tape. I need to touch up a few spots in the kitchen. And, I almost forgot, another bottle of fish oil pills. We’re almost out.”

As usual, the list was getting longer as we darted across Main Street. “And don’t forget,” I added, “Those almonds that they have. They’re delicious and only $4.95 for an eight-once can.”

“And what about wrapping paper? We have a gift for Ken and his wife that we want to give them before we leave.”

“Then there is . . .”

Rona cut me off. “We’ll be in town tomorrow so hold off on other things. This way we’ll have an excuse to go to Renys .”

Most everything on our list was to be found in the basement so I said, “I’ll go down there while you round up the mattress cover and nuts on the first floor.”

Rona scooted back toward the bed linens and I headed for the broad wooden staircase that leads to Renys Underground.

As usual, the stairs were crowded with shoppers lugging hand baskets full of cleaning products, Halloween treats, and costumes and so I needed to slow down to allow the congestion to thin out.

“The next thing you know, they’ll be telling us what to eat.” Two women, clearly friends, had run into each other and stopped mid-stairs to catch up with each other.

“They already are.”

“I hadn’t heard that yet. Who? Where?”

“Well, there are these New Yorkers who were here for Columbus Day and the Pumpkinfest who told Tom and me that down there the mayor, what’s-his-name, is telling people what they can and cannot eat.”

“Not exactly,” her friend said, “but it is true that he—Bloomberg is his name—has forbidden restaurants from using certain kinds of shortening when baking and frying.”

“And didn’t Michelle Obama do the same thing?” Her friend made a face. “The next thing you know they’ll . . .”

“. . . tell us what kind of light bulbs to use,” her friend completed her thought. “Soon we won’t be able to buy anything but those horrible looking fluorescents. I know they use less electricity and all that, but my chandelier will look awful with them. And they cost a fortune.”

“They’re supposed to last much longer though.”

“But in the meantime to replace all six bulbs will cost me more than fifty dollars. Which I don’t have.”

“Neither do I, to tell you the truth. In fact things are so hard for us right now that George and I are deciding whether to celebrate Thanksgiving or Christmas. We don’t think we can afford to do both.”

This was difficult to listen to. There I was full of good fortune and privilege while here they were, all hard working, worried about which holiday to celebrate. And placing much of the blame on the government.

I was tempted to say something but couldn’t think of just what. Agree with them? (which I couldn’t fully do, particularly about the government); commiserate? (that was not my place and beyond that couldn’t think of what I might say); try to be helpful? (again, I couldn’t figure out how, and knew that whatever I tried to do would hurt their pride).

And so I averted my eyes and slipped past them, thinking again how unfair life has become and how difficult it is to think about what would make things better.

As I turned toward the gift-wrap section, I could still hear them, “I don’t know why this light bulb thing makes me so crazy. How dare they! If they would only get out of their fancy offices once in a while and come up here they might learn something about the way real people live and are struggling and how we hate all these intrusions in our lives. I know we need the government—but light bulbs! Lord help me.”