I prefer to do my grocery shopping in the morning. I get up around 7:30, feed Grant some blueberries, get dressed, get in the car, get out of the car to grab my forgotten grocery list, get back in the car and we're at Stater Brothers a little after 8:00. I strap Grant to my front, snugly wrapped in a Moby Wrap with his cute little face sticking out the top and his bright blue eyes shining as he looks around the parking lot in the morning sun. I lock the car, grab my purse and it begins.
Old people are everywhere. Cute old ladies with scarves wrapped around their heads to keep their hair from flying in the wind. Little old men driving their boats from the 50's, politely smiling and waving to me and little Grant. There's the grandpa in the grandpa sweater who pulls out a cart, winks at me with twinkling eyes and gives it to me while saying " he's a cute one". There's the little widows who come up and ask all about Grant, how old he is, when he was born etc, and then tell me all about their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. "Keep him warm and enjoy him while you can" they say.
And then of course there's the old couples. Some hold hands with each carrying a basket. Some the husband pushes the cart while the wife holds the list and grabs things from the shelves. Some the wives drop the husbands off in a certain isle, usually by the meat counter, where at least 2 or 3 other old men are and they all talk and laugh about what old men talk and laugh about while their wives shop.
I feel like a rock star when I go to the grocery store in the morning. I get so much attention. I'm pretty sure I'm like the only young mother in Ridgecrest at Stater Brothers on Wednesday mornings so all the old people talk to me and goo and gah over Grant. I know it's because I have a cute little blue-eyed boy strapped to me and he's the real rock star but I love it all the same.
I love old people. I love how much they value values like common courtesy and manners and respect. They love their families. They love their spouses, whether they have already passed or whether they are right there with them pushing the grocery cart.
When Gavin and I are old and wrinkly and shopping for prune juice and denture cream at the local grocery store, we are going to goo and gah at the little baby strapped to his mother's chest and tell her all about our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Oh and we are going to eat at Denny's.