A couple days ago I posted a little story at Facebook.
Here 'tis - - -
I picked up my mom today to go shopping.
Except when I got there she said she had made an appointment with her eye doctor cause she thought her tear duct might be blocked and she was in a bit of pain. And she said she must have had too much salt recently 'cause her ankles were swollen and maybe her blood pressure was a little high.
THEN she apologized for being whiney. (this kinda broke my heart a little)
So we went to the eye doctor and he diagnosed her eye problem as pink eye, gave her prescriptions for an eye cream and an antibiotic.
Then she said she still wanted to go shopping and maybe being out on such a pretty day would make her forget her problems which were so small compared to other people's. (this kinda broke my heart a little too).
So, we go into Belk's and we decided to go in different directions and meet back at the bench by the door.
When I turned around a lady tapped me on the should and said, "I just heard you tell you mother you'd meet her by the door and you called her 'Mother.' I used to bring my mother here shopping and we would always meet up at that bench by the door. She died last year and I still miss her and I wanted to just tell you to treasure this time with your mother while you can." I gave her a hug and we both stood in the middle of Belk's crying. And I have been weepy ever since."
It got people thinking and talking about their moms and I enjoyed reading all the comments, and well - it was just nice.
This morning I had a note in my personal message box at Facebook from someone who I think missed my entire point. Which makes me realize, once again, that sometimes what we write is not always what is read by others.
In her note, a woman I don't know, other than seeing her name at Facebook, said this to me. "You and you mother seem to do a lot of shopping. I wish I could afford to shop as often as you do."
Shopping means different things to different folks, obviously. But let me point out to you, dear woman who wrote this note, that I could possibly be one of the poorest people you know. But. It's really no one else's business how I choose to spend my money. However, to set the record straight on what shopping means to me - it's wandering around a teeny little mall in Boone, NC with my mother - mostly looking at pretty things and offering up our opinions on whether we like them or not. We are both expert bargain hunters and find the hunt to be a huge amount of fun. Sometimes we buy and sometimes we don't. But it's how we choose to sometimes spend our time together. Sometimes we choose to spend that time playing Canasta. Sometimes we choose to spend it over a cup of coffee.
But this particular day we both "did" shop.
Mother came home with two prescriptions for her eye - an antibiotic and a teeny little bottle of eye drops (that cost $95.00).
I came home with toothpaste.
We both came home happy that we had had some time together. Time to chat and laugh and enjoy a gorgeous fall day in the mountains.
Bless your heart, honey, knock that chip off your shoulder and go shopping! I'm sorry I won't be around to hear about it though because you're no longer one of the names I'll be seeing at Facebook.
p.s. - For those of you wondering how Mother's eye is doing - well, just a little while ago, the feisty little woman told me "those eye drops I paid a small fortune for aren't doing a damn thing, but the antibiotics are - and it ain't good!" I sympathized the best I could and reminded her to continue eating her yogurt.