My mind became suddenly aware of the absence of something: the clamor of kids, the sound of mower, the pounding of one thing or another against one thing or another. The word chaos came to mind, in this case, the absence thereof. Sometimes silence is deafening.
With eyes still closed I could feel the morning sun streaming through my bedroom window. I rolled from fetal position onto my back. "Don’t start. Damn! Don’t start thinking. Roll over. Roll over," I repeated softly so the world wouldn’t hear. Tucking the pillow under my head, I began to study the character lines running across the ceiling. Quietude can be distracting. It’s that mother thing.
Decisions, decisions: coffee first or shower? I opted for a hot-and-cold-and-hot-again shower, which, for some reason just beyond my grasp, did nothing for my state of mindlessness.
Midway through my first cup of coffee I began to [sort of] seriously wonder about my other half and the kids. Was it baseball or football or soccer this Sunday morn? As I poured cup number two, I started conjuring stuff: sordid words and images surrealistically flashing and flickering in my mind’s eye, and as usual, perversity having a mind of its own.
Suddenly, I found myself seated in the bathroom, all that sordid stuff in my head beginning to take the shape of a shopping list. Then the absence of a Scott paper product transformed quietude into a challenge. I really, really hate improvisation.
With the short list in my purse, I stumbled across the porch. My other half, who at certain times I call Big-Big John, had been so kind as to leave me the pickup truck. On the drive up for supplies, I pictured my entrance into the parking lot; me and the four thousand other cars. No problem, there's room enough in the parking lot for all the cars registered in Rhode Island and Alaska combined.
I conjured a cart, a huge cart, one built like mini-dump truck, with me sterring it through ‘le grand’ entranceway, . They even have some motorized that are motorized for the weaker sex, those who can’t handle excessive loads. And some come equipped with a personal, on-board computer to constantly update the conscientious, money-minded shopper throughout the nerve-wracking process of pick and choose.
“Is this place a little bit of heaven, or what?” I mumbled, heading down the ramp to Route 17.
It was slightly before noon when I began cruising the perimeter of Super-Mecca-Mart's parking lot. Remember, hiking is good, aerobics are important, and firmness makes most men happy. On the other hand, the CEO of this place should consider a recent suburban development called Park & Ride. I parked and walked.
Much to my surprise, in the middle of the Mart's entranceway, a car had been parked. Some people! Maybe it was another of those church raffle fund-raisers. Then I noticed something different about this one. A large white number ‘3’ set off a luxurious, ultra-black paint job; and white hot spotlights reinforced its muscular look. On its side, fancy lettering spelling out the name:
Goodwrench
Passing shoppers watched themselves glide across the car's gleaming surfaces, their faces distorted in its racy curves. I considered, though only for a fleeting moment, the possibility of a smaller prototype for folks in a real rush to complete their shopping chores; envisioning a commercial break during Wheel of Fortune with Vanna hawking:
Dollar-A-Minute Rent-A-Car
for shoppers on the fast track!
"I just might be on to something here," I said to myself, "if only I knew someone having a little business sense and a good set of tools."
Just past the static #3, I turned to the right, pointing my mini-dumper---I'm talking cart here---in the direction of a floor-to-ceiling pizza collage; not an Italian institute of higher learning, but a collection of pizza pie images. The collage displayed mouth-watering shapes and sizes and varieties of pizzas beyond the wildest imagination, well, at least my wildest imagination. As far as I'm concerned, Mutton pizza, for those with sheepish tastes and sleepless nights, leaps above and beyond the call of creative cookery; but then again, that's only one babe’s opinion. My furtive eyes darted from pie to pie, conjuring the taste of delicious, hot, melted cheese.
