January 11, 2016--Hi Ho Cheerios

We were working our way up and down the aisles in Publix to stock up for our stay in Delray.

Our shopping cart was overflowing with dairy products, vegetables, beverages, paper goods, and cleaning products.

"Let's get some cereal."

"Cereal? You actually want cereal?" I said to Rona who is cutting back on her intake of sugar. "Aren't they all loaded with sugar? I thought you're trying to eat healthier."

"I am, but every once in awhile I get a desire for Cheerios. And rather than deny myself and get all frustrated by not having some around and therefore winding up eating something that's even more garbagey, I prefer to satisfy myself with what I actually want. In this case Cheerios. In fact, they even have some nutritional value." She paused then acknowledged, "At least a little."

"I know what you mean. That's why I like to have some ice cream in the freezer. I try not to eat any but if occasionally I crave some, it's there and I get the carving over with."

"I find that this is the best way to eat, and if necessary diet--don't struggle unsuccessfully to avoid things you want even if they're not good for you because if you wind up with food frustrations you'll only eat lots of stuff that's actively bad for you. I say, eat a little less, but eat what you want."

"Agreed."

"Thus, my wanting to have some Cheerios around the house. Right over there--aisle number 5--Cereals." Rona swung the shopping cart sharply to the left, almost crashing into someone who had what looked like a two-foot tall box of corn flakes piled into her shopping cart.

As in all Florida supermarkets, the aisles are about 100 feet long and one side of number 5 was totally devoted to cereal.

"I haven't thought about or looked at cereals for decades," I said, amazed at the extent of the displays. "The last time I remember looking there was Kellogg's Corn Flakes, Puffed Wheat, Raisin Bran--my favorite--Rice Krispies, Shredded Wheat,  and good-old Wheaties."

"Breakfast of Champions."

"That  was pretty much it. But, of course, there were also your Cheerios. When I was a kid, they were the Lone Ranger radio show sponsor."

We passed by the Post cereals and Rona said, "Keep walking. We're only halfway there."

"I con't believe how many are so obviously full of sugar. Half the cereals feel little different than candy."

"That's why they're so popular and there are so many brands and varieties."

"Not of Cheerios, I'm sure," I said. "There's no way they'd mess with that iconic brand. What would the Cheerios Kid say?"

How wrong I turned out to be. These days there are more than a dozen varieties.

"This I really can't believe," I said, "Look at all the different kinds of your Cheerios."

"It's the 21st century," Rona reminded me. "Get used to it. You're living in a world of nostalgia."

"Sad, but true," I confessed.

And there, for 20 feet or more of shelf space, was a full array of Cheerios--

There was Honey Nut, Multi Grain, and Ancient Grains.

 "Ancient grains? What's that?" I asked.

"Flour made from classic grains of the past such as Kamut wheat and spelt."

"Spelt?"

"Just small amounts."

Also, Honey Nut Medley Crunch and Frosted.

"Frosted with what?"

"I'm afraid sugar."

Then Apple Cinnamon, Fruity, Banana Nut, Multi Grain Peanut Butter, and Dulce de Leche.

"For nursing women? You know from the La Leche League."

"You're being silly."

Next, Cinnamon Burst, Protein Cinnamon Almond, and Chocolate.

"Chocolate Cheerios? You should forgive me."

"What can I say?"

And finally, Multi Grain Dark Chocolate Crunch.

"It's not enough to have Chocolate Cheerios? Really?"

Ignoring me, Rona kept pushing the shopping cart.

Finally, we got to the classic Cheerios and she slipped a medium-size box into the cart.

Heading to the checkout line, I asked, "Speaking of nostalgia, do you remember Cheerios' original tag line?" Rona continued to avert her eyes. "The Big G Stands for Goodness."

"The Big G," Rona said, "was really for General Foods, which makes Cheerios."

I was glad she wasn't really angry with me and so I couldn't resist one last jab--"Nowadays the Big C stands for Chocolate."

January 6, 2016--Landing

We are settling in in Delray and so I will not be posting very much today.

On Thursday and Friday I will report about the drive south--

Thursday, about  The Ava Gardner Museum.

Friday, about Checking Out At Publix.

But I can't resist offering a brief comment from the campaign trail--

Donald TRUMP has managed to neuter the Clintons, especially Bill.

TRUMP's response to Hillary's calling him out for being sexist was to point out that she is married to and lives with a sexual abuser.

TRUMP was right about that.

(And, by the way, how feminist was it for Hillary not dump Bill after he was caught fooling around with a 20-year-old intern?)

So Hillary announced that she is no longer going to talk about TRUMP as sexist.

Then in New Hampshire the other day, Bill, let loose to campaign, when pressed by reporters, refused to talk about TRUMP. He instead spoke blandly in support of his wife's candidacy.

How many more times do you think he will be allowed to campaign?  Certainly not in South Carolina.

April 10, 2014--Snowbirding: Half-and-Half

Parking at Walmart in Delray is more likely to get Rona and me spatting than even my tentative approach to left turns.

For example, yesterday--

"You park like you're an old man."

"I'm just trying to be cautious. With people backing in and out and others pushing shopping carts all over the place in the roadway, I think it's smart to be extra careful."

"I think the way you park is the way old men drive."

That would be enough to get us not talking to each other and leave me on my own--as I then was--to creep up and down the aisles looking for a space that I could squeeze into that wasn't filled with abandoned shopping carts.

And yesterday, making matters worse, there was a truly old man in the road in which I was waiting to pounce on an empty space, attempting wobbly to navigate a motorized wheelchair in the basket of which was stashed a folded walker.

"I wonder what he's doing," I said, knowing Rona was ignoring me and I was in effect talking to myself. "I can't believe he's looking for a car. From the looks of him they shouldn't even let him drive one of these electric scooters." I was aggravated and not feeling compassionate.

"He's probably . . . can't . . . This makes me . . . I don't know." That was Rona sputtering to herself.

"What did you say?" I was hoping to break the ice by having us talk about someone with even more driving issues than I.

"He's probably a Silver Alert person." Puzzled, I looked toward Rona. "You know, someone who has Alzheimer's, or something, who wandered off and the police and his family are looking for him. This makes me crazy. I think of myself as understanding and empathetic but this is . . ."

"You are. You are." I thought if I said it emphatically Rona would believe me and we could resume being civil to each other.

"Look. He found his car. Can you believe it? He's trying to get into it. He can't drive a scooter, but a car?"

I sighed in agreement.

"You know I love being here and I love you, but I'm glad we're heading north at the end of the week. I need a dose of New York. And I know--you don't have to say it--after three weeks I'll want to leave Manhattan and hide out in Maine."

"Let's make a quick hit here." I had finally eased into a parking space. "All we need is some bottled water and laundry detergent. We could have avoided Walmart and gone to Publix, but we were in the neighborhood and so I thought . . ."

"That's OK, love," Rona was at last smiling, "I can handle one more trip to Walmarts. Ordinarily I really like them. But it's just so hot, I didn't sleep well last night, and I guess in spite of myself I'm having some separation anxiety. It won't be easy to leave your mother. She's not doing as well as she was back in January and at nearly 106 you never . . ."

"I know. I know," I sighed.

"Let's get this over with quickly and head home. I think we both could use a nap."

"Deal." We exchanged high-fives.

Once inside we quickly rounded up the water and detergent. "Can you believe it, this laundry soap is less than $4.00. At Publix it would be twice that. I suppose that's why we're here like millions of others."

"Billions," I corrected her.

"It is a little funny," Rona said, "to be here on Equal Pay Day. Walmart's a case in point about why we need that--more equal pay regulations."

"Indeed, indeed." I noticed I was repeating everything. Another sign of aging that annoyed Rona. This time thankfully she let it pass.

"I almost forgot."

"What's that?"

"We need a small container of half-and-half. We have three more breakfasts before we leave and I ran out this morning. I don't remember where they keep it. We never buy it here."

"I think over there where they have the orange juice. Sometimes we get our Tropicana here. The prices again are . . ."

"Yes. I see the refrigerator chest over there by the wall." Rona cut me off, clearly having had enough talk about comparison-shopping. We were soon to be back in about the most expensive place in the world, New York, where my yogurts are by now probably $2.00 rather than the 72 cents we paid for them last week at Publix. Rona understandably, before the fact, didn't want to make the sticker-shock worse that it inevitably will be.

I pushed the shopping cart toward the juice and cream chest and stopped a few paces away. "Where do they hide the half-and-half," I muttered, scanning the shelves. "It must be near here somewhere. Ah, I think it's over there right by the whipping cream."

"I see," Rona said, "But what's going on over there?"

"I don't know."

"There," she pointed, "There's an old man holding onto the door handle of the other refrigerator. It looks like he's having a seizure or heart attack or something."

Concerned but not knowing what to do, I asked, "What do you mean? He looks like . . ."

"Like he's holding himself up by clinging to the handle."

"Maybe I should tell someone who works here that . . ."

"Before you do, let's see if we can help him."

By then we were within five or six feet of where he was obviously struggling with something. Maybe Rona is right, I thought, that he's experiencing some kind medical incident.

"Do you hear that?" Rona whispered. She had stopped and held onto the cart so I wouldn't push it any closer.

"Shouldn't we . . . ?"

"Quiet. I want to listen."

"Listen to what? He looks like he's in trouble."

"I forget you can barely hear anything. But I think he's OK. He's talking. He must be using a cell phone. Like in New York, you remember, all the people walking in the streets who appear to be talking to themselves but are on their iPhones."

I did remember that. In fact I hate it. But how unusual, I thought, that someone who looks as if he's at least 90 should be doing the same thing that twenty-somethings do so routinely.

But I did hear him talking. Actually, it sounded as if he was having an argument.

"If I told you once, I told you a thousand times," he yelled, hunched for privacy close to the refrigerator door, "leave her be." He was gesturing with his free hand. "You don't need this. No more. Enough."

"I think . . ." I said.

"Quiet. I don't want us to disturb him. And also, I want . . ."

"I know, to listen."

"Like I told you," he continued, still agitated, "she's no good. No good. What did she ever do for you except make your life miserable? Miserable. You did this; you did that. Always thinking about her. Her good-for-nothing husband. Her children who never raised a finger to help. You, always you. Always you." His shoulders were heaving and it looked as if he was about to cry.

Rona moved us half a step closer and held a finger up to her lips to shush me.

"Remember when she came home from the hospital. After her hipso-memory operation. Who took her in? Who took care of her? Nursed her? Bathed her? Took her back and forth to the doctor?" His whole upper body throbbed. "You. You. You. No one else. You. Who gave up your bed for her and slept on the sofa? And for how long? Days? Weeks? No, months. Months."

I noticed, like me, he too was repeating himself.

"For days and days after she was strong enough to go home. If I didn't put my foot down she would still be living with us. Even though she's dead, she'd still be living with us. Wanting you to take care of her. To do her every bidding." I heard the beginning of a sob.

"And now? What now?"

By then there was someone else standing next to us who apparently needed some orange juice, But she too didn't advance further and stood patiently next to me.

"Gone. Everything is gone. Everyone gone. Over. Nothing is left. Fartik. Turned to scheisse. Scheisse. Shit!"

With that he let go of the handle, turned, and, trembling with tears, shuffled unsteadily toward the front of the store.

Rona stroked his back as he passed close to her. I looked the other way at the woman who was loading a quart of juice into her cart.

There was no cell phone.