Tide Pools

Created by the waves,

Carved in the sand,

Temporary pools,

From an artful hand.

Scratched out by fingers,

Pulled toward the sea,

Rippled, undulating,

Fascinating me.

Fragments of memories,

Puddled in my mind,

Pools of joy and sorrow,

Caught and left behind.

Guilt Trip in Publix

One of the things that bothers me when I am in Florida is the contrast between the haves and the have-nots.  Along the beach in the condos, the residents clearly do not want for much in the way of material things.  These are the ladies that stroll the aisles of Harris Teeter and Publix finely dressed and not in any hurry.  Their hair and nails are well cared for.  They have probably been to the spa for a massage recently.  Many of the male shoppers appear tanned and fit for their age.  They are retired and able to live well.  Some of them pack their groceries into hot little convertibles with the tops down.

At the check-out counter are clerks and baggers who should be retired, but who apparently cannot afford to be.  I would think if they were working to stave off boredom, they would choose a different type of employment.  They are unfailingly polite and gracious, but I wonder if any resentment burns underneath the façade.

Today the gentleman who bagged my groceries was wobbly just moving the twelve inches from the end of the counter to my cart.  He was wrinkled, stooped and gray.  He was also slow.  The check-out clerk helped him finish bagging, because he couldn’t keep up.

When he had placed the last bag in my cart, he looked up, smiled and said, “Help you to your car?”

I wanted to cry.  I wondered whether he could actually make it to my car!

I assured him, I could manage by myself and returned his smile.

I wondered if he was hoping I would say ‘no.’  He seemed so frail.  I tried to guess his age, but the ravages of old age seem to happen so unevenly.  Was he 10 years older than me?  That would make him in his early 80s, but he could still be in his 70s…not that much older than I am.

As usual, I have lots of questions and few answers.  But, it did make me feel privileged because I can choose whether or not I work, grateful for good health, and a bit guilty for enjoying blessings I don’t deserve. 

The Face of a Murderer

Almost twenty years ago, a woman named Bonnie Hector was murdered a few miles outside of our city.  She worked for Geico insurance company in a small office along a busy highway, but not in a densely-populated area.  The property was adjacent to the Fort Drum military base, and a trail ran along the back of the building.

It appeared that she had come out of the building at the end of the work day and was shot and robbed on her way to the car.  The evidence seemed to indicate that her assailant had come and gone on a bike via the trail behind the building.

A couple of days later, I went into a bargain store that I frequented at the time for basic household supplies.  I nearly always used my credit card there, so I was surprised for multiple reasons when the clerk said, “Do they usually ask to see your ID when you use your card?”

I thought this a strange question for multiple reasons:

            *I used the card there regularly and had never been asked for my ID.

*He was the clerk and should have been trained in the store’s procedure.  Why would he ask the customer?

*Did he not understand that running my card through the computer meant there was an automatic check on the validity of the card?

I sized him up making eye contact.  He was young…probably late teens, a good-looking black fellow, polite when he spoke, nothing stood out as being odd about him.  But, his question caused me to look at his name tag and notice that he had an unusual first name…Provard.  I had never heard that first name before, so it locked in my brain.

I told him that I was not asked for my ID, but that it was my understanding that the card was computer checked when it was run through the machine to make sure it was not stolen.

He put my purchases in a bag, handed me the receipt, and off I went.  The fact that the encounter seemed strange stuck with me.

Within a few days, Provard Jones was arrested for the murder and robbery of the woman from the insurance office.  It was then that it was revealed that it was not just the money bag from the day that had been stolen, but also, her purse….with her credit cards.

I was chilled to realize that the pleasant store clerk was a murderer, and that his question to me was an attempt to figure out whether he could safely use her credit cards.  The card I used that day was a Mastercard with a picture of Boldt Castle on the front.  Clerks sometimes commented that they hadn’t seen a card of that type with that picture before.  I wondered whether she had the same card with the same picture, and if that prompted him to ask me his question.

I called the detective on the case and told him my story.  It was not evidence, but it spoke to his callousness.  The case did not go to trial.  Mr. Jones took a plea deal and got 30 years to life.

I am thinking about this, because yesterday I was in a store and the clerk gave me the creeps.  He looked miserably unhappy and his face and voice were expressionless as he handed me the receipt and said, “Have a great day.”

I wonder what his story is.

            

Looking for Inspiration

I have a head full of ideas swirling around, and it seems as though some of them should crash into each other and precipitate out into an interesting story worth reading.  But no….

I actually got to this point a few minutes ago, and my cursor disappeared, and I could not type on the page. I had to do a restart. An omen?

In the interest of promoting aforementioned congealing of thoughts, I will list them.

*spending about 18 hours in a roomette on Amtrak has caused me to think very descriptively of the experience beginning with the sensation of being in such a small space that is overall blue in color from the seat cushions to the pleated curtains to the dark, dark blue of the night sky out the window.  I have never taken this ride so soon after Christmas before, and it was enjoyable to see the Christmas lights as we passed through towns and villages along the route.  There ought to be a mystery story set on the train, where so many strangers are in such proximity.

*sitting in the Amtrak terminal, I observe that the majority of the passengers on the auto-train are elderly.  I overheard someone wondering about average age.  I amused myself by trying to picture what various couples might have looked like on their wedding day forty or fifty or more years ago.  What secrets have their lives held?  With so many old folks in one place, is a medical emergency imminent?

*I am currently sitting on the balcony of a condo on Amelia Island.  The noise of the surf, the blue of the sky, the warm breeze of salt air are so very different from the setting I left a couple of days ago.  This is a wonderful spot for an adventure story or a romance.

*There are so many vile comments floating around on the internet about Obama and Trump.  The nation seems divided and itching for anarchy.  Perhaps it is a time to write social commentary.

*Gee….I feel sort of guilty and self-indulgent.  The condo is huge and beautiful….much more space than we need.  Do I deserve this comfort when there is such pain and suffering in the world?  Should I be writing something brooding and introspective?

Maybe I’ll go read a book.  It seems I don’t have the inspiration to write one.

Or perhaps, take a nap….a self-indulgent nap…..