Without Understanding or Awakening

Here's how you begin a Thursday: Let's go see the dentist!

I had an appointment with the new dentist this morning at 8:00 a.m. I arrived a bit early to fill out the paperwork, then ended up waiting for about 15 minutes until I got called back. I had a full mouth of x-rays taken, then the dentist--mid-50s-ish, tall, a bit grizzled--came in, introduced himself, and went over the x-rays with me. Then he checked my teeth and gums and did an oral cancer check. (Turns out that the procedure that my old dentist was trying to push on me is not even remotely necessary--and, even better, my gums are in much better shape than the hygienist at the old dentist was reporting. Grrr.) He suggested that I start using my water pik (yes, I know) daily. Then we were done. I have an appointment for a cleaning in June.

The worst thing about the appointment? The super-duper friendly, hyperkinetic receptionist. She seems smart and efficient, but my god. Remind me not to make any appointments for Monday morning.

After that was done, I went out to the car, texted Dave, and ate an apple. I had planned on stopping at Target on the way home but the car was making a funny noise, kind of like a scraping sound that gets worse when I press on the brakes. It doesn't seem to affect the function of the brakes and it doesn't feel anything like what happens when you go through a brake drum, so I don't know. The mechanic is going to get a new jetski or something by the time he's done with this old car. (That's a joke and not remotely true. We're lucky enough to have nearly compulsively honest mechanics. I have no idea how they stay in business except that they only work on German cars which means that a lot of their customers don't drive fifteen-year-old, beat-up hoopty VWs, but instead have bright, shiny new Porsches, Mercedes, Audis, and BMWs. It's always funny to see our old car--which has parts that are held on with duct tape--parked next to all those snooty things.)

Anyway, I put the trip to Target to one side and instead came home via the nearby non-co-op grocery store where I picked up some eggs (jumbo, since all the large were sold out in anticipation of Easter Sunday), vinegar, and a couple of potatoes. While I was standing in line to pay, a drooling little one year old (being held by his older brother) flashed his little dimples at me. So cute. His mother commented on what a good baby he is.

I came home, had lunch (salad, Greek yogurt with strawberries and blueberries), and then took a quick nap. It was one of those mistake naps where you wake up feeling worse than when you lay down. 

It was still early in the afternoon when I got up. I wanted to make vegetable soup for dinner, so I pulled out all our wayward little veggies and made a big pot of soup. It ended up being root vegetable heavy, with lots of sweet potatoes, beets, and red potatoes. There are also lots of onions (yellow and spring), garlic, celery, red cabbage, and zucchini. In addition to all that, I threw in the last of the green beans from the CSA box, and the tail ends of bags of frozen peas and lima beans. I put in most of a jar of tomato paste and a carton of crushed tomatoes, both salt free. Then I added some vegetarian bouillon, soy sauce, granulated garlic, dried thyme, oregano, and a couple of bay leaves. And. And. And. And I always start out intending to make a reasonable amount of soup, but soup apparently has its own logic because somehow I always end up with the stock pot pretty much full to the brim.

When the soup was finished, I had a cup for a late second lunch (and for quality testing purposes). While I was finishing it up, Dave texted that he was coming home early. Yay!

That's how second lunch ended up bleeding right into dinner. I made a slice of toast for myself and a grilled cheese for Dave. I served up a couple of big bowls of soup and grated Parmesan cheese over the top. While we ate, we watched the next episode of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.

After dinner, we went out to run some errands. We had to pick up some cat food and various things from Target. While Dave was checking out, I went over to buy a fountain drink. When I came back, Dave and the cashier were talking about self-cleaning fish tanks. (We don't have a fish tank. We have never, in all our time together, had a fish tank. Decades of time spent without a fish tank.)

After Target, we stopped by a home goods store called, appropriately enough, Home Goods. We bought a small bronze-y container to put Q-tips in. It must be the day for hyperkinetically chirpy people, because the cashier was either hopped up on a half-dozen espressos or that was just her everyday personality. I don't know which.

Our final stop was Whole Foods, where we walked in intending to pick up a few things and walked out with two bags full of...stuff. As we were walking out, I was reminded of something that happened many, many years ago. Seriously, almost thirty years ago.  Dave and I were living with my step-grandparents, Boss and Grenkle, the nicest people in the world. We were in high school at the time, very alternative little teenagers, as you can imagine. It was near Halloween and the supermarket near the house had a display of pumpkins out front. For some reason, we decided to steal pumpkins. Not just one or two, but many. Many, many. Every time we stopped by the store (every other day or so), we'd steal a pumpkin, just pick one up on the way out of the store. I think we stole 13 or 14...maybe more? I don't remember. We would bring them back to Boss and Grenkle's house and put them on the front steps.

I went through a shoplifting phase for awhile in high school. I stole all those pumpkins. I stole a pair of shoes once from a department store, the ugliest pair of shoes you've ever seen, pinkish suede driving moccasins. (I never wore them.) From the same department store, I stole earrings. I stole soap and toothpaste from a grocery store and gave it all away. I stole CDs and videos. I stole books from bookstores and libraries. My friends and I stole bottles of liquor from their parents' liquor cabinets. Another friend whose parents were both lawyers, used to steal makeup and records. A different friend, whose parents were a judge and a police detective, used to break into vintage clothing stores. He stole thousands of dollars worth of jewelry, clothing, furs, you name it. They never got caught. Neither did I. I gave no thought to what would happen if I got caught.

Then one day, I just gave it up. I stopped stealing.

As far as I was concerned when I was in high school, none of my own petty thefts rivaled those of a group of athletes I knew, a bunch of uppity white girls who all ran track. They were pros at shoplifting. They would wear their warm-up outfits (loose fitting sweats) to the mall and take a bunch of clothes into a changing room. They'd make a huge mess in the changing room (so the attendant couldn't tell which clothes had been put back) and walk out wearing some of the clothes under their warm-up outfits. They would steal hundreds of dollars worth of clothes each time they went to the mall. No one ever suspected them of being anything other than clueless, entitled white girls, which they were. Certainly no one thought they were stealing. (Only brown and black people steal, right?)

So that was my little trip down memory lane.

Would I steal now? Probably if I had a good reason to; not for kicks anymore.