$1000

November 17, 2013

An African American woman clumped by in her drag-along slippers, mostly black sweater stretched taut around her, not exactly covering her heavy belly. She had a grin on her face, ambling by the nut section in the long line of flour, salt, soda, and the like, at the grocery store. We chatted about the variety of packaging, sliced, diced, whole, pieces, parts, shelled or not. A guttural laughter emerged when we shared quick stories about Thanksgiving pies. I told her about a time when, horrified, I discovered the elderly woman across the holiday family table from me, gobbling up my pecan pie, had a long hair strung from the plate to her mouth! Gads! I chortled in horror at the memory as my comrade hooted. With tears floating down her chubby face, she shook her head and thanked me for the story.

My new best friend told me of her baby sister, bringing a store-bought pie to dinner a few years ago, that she was clearly unaware needed to be baked. At the table, cutting into the liquid mass, the realization of the error startled everyone at the table. As it seeped off the plate and onto the freshly-ironed tablecloth, Sis poured it back into the tin, and ran off into the kitchen. Half an hour later, the hot pumpkin pie was served, heaped with whipped cream topping (also store-bought.)

Shoppers pass us in the wide aisle, staring at our joy. Anyone can have that pleasure of fun, if only willing to speak with someone you don’t necessarily know. And have a hilarious story to tell. If not, make it up, or use mine. You have my permission.

Take a risk, kick up some dust, show your Self to the woman strolling down the baking essential aisle and feel what happens in the connection. I am smiling and that is worth a thousand dollars.