I was very excited. It was the very first day for the new Blank Slate newspaper in my home town, Port Washington.
Of course I would be getting one in the mail, but I just couldn’t wait, so I was heading out to Main Street to find one.
As I came down my steps, I waved at my neighbor, returning from taking children to the school bus.
“Howdy,” he said. “Congrats on the new paper starting up. You’ve done some very funny pieces. Say — was that me you wrote about, a while back, telling you it was time to cut the weeds?”
“Why, no,” I answer, nervously. “That was someone before your time. Definitely before you. They moved away years ago. We’ve never even talked about weeds, have we?”
“No, I didn’t think so. Just wanted to be sure — I think your weeds are beautiful. I mean, I can’t even tell if you have any weeds.”
“In that case, let’s pretend I don’t!” And I popped into my car.
Narrow escape.
My first order of business was the library, where I had to pay for an overdue book.
“Thanks, Judy,” said the librarian on duty. “And I’m sorry that none of our book groups worked out for you — your column about that was pretty funny — but I’m sure we could still find you something, if we kept on trying.”
“Don’t worry, it’s all right.”
“Well, stop in whenever you want some suggestions!”
“I will!” Probably soon, since I need at least one new idea every week. But for now, it was on to Main Street and Starbucks, for a jolt of caffeine.
“Good morning! I’ll take a grande of whatever’s brewing, no milk — ”
“Really, Judy? Not a frappuccino?”
“Well…”
“I know how much you love them. What did you write about them? ‘Nothing more nor less than a coffee milkshake!’ So how about one?”
“Oh, all right.” When he handed it over, we finished the sentence together: “Purely in the interests of research!”
Research never tasted so good.
At last, I was at the train station. Thank goodness they still had some papers.
“Ah! There they are. I’ll take two — no, three — no, five. I need one for my mother, and one for my mother-in-law, and each of my kids.…”
“Gosh, you really do like paper, don’t you?” said a woman behind me. I whirled around. “We were on the train together — remember? I was reading on my Kindle, till the battery went out, and you said how you preferred paper? I guess it was true!”
I said nothing. I felt like I’d been caught red-handed.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she continued. “I really like reading about your struggles with clutter. It makes me feel better about my own. It’s as if you know me, or something.”
I smile. “I’m glad if it helps,” I tell her. “I started writing because Erma Bombeck’s columns used to do the same thing for me — made me feel less alone, somehow.”
“Exactly!” We hugged, and she got on the train. I was happy to see she had a Port Washington Times tucked under her arm.
But enough fun. It was time to get ingredients for dinner, so I headed off to the Stop & Shop.
“Why….Do….They….Always…..Do This!” I am muttering, under my out-of-breath, as I jump up and down in the aisle. I am trying to reach my favorite cereal, which they always stack way out of reach of moderate-height people like myself. I finally succeed at grabbing one, which only brings ten more boxes tumbling down that had been balanced on top of it.
“That’s so funny!” says a voice behind me. “My wife told me about this — you must be the writer who says, Why do the stores all use basketball players to stock the shelves when it’s little-bitty people that do the shopping?”
“Yes! That’s what I wrote. What’s the answer?” I’m a little terse.
“I have no idea. But if you’re looking for some chocolate, to take the edge off, it’s one aisle over — and plenty reachable.”
So I let him live…this time.
By the time I got home with the groceries, it was getting dark — so I almost didn’t recognize it, when a friend’s car pulled up to my curb. She rolled down her window and said, “Hey, Judy, you left this whole stack of papers at the train station, today. You wanted them, right?”
“Oh, geez. Thanks a lot. But please, don’t tell anyone I forgot these!”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” said my friend, and she took off.
I’ll use that in a column, some day. It’s just further proof of what they all say: Home is where the material is. Luckily for me.
