Several pokes with a bright blue yardstick and the consensus is: nine inches. A clever wind has swept clean the part of the sidewalk around the southeast corner of the house. The porch is a different story. Tough to open the storm door. Pillows like mushrooms top the bushes, so they look like marshmallows. I walk to the store.
The fellow who is behind the wheel of the curb-scraping, snow plowing truck holds a cellular telephone device to his ear. I am glad I have moved away from side of the road he’s clearing.
The fresh air, clean coat of snow makes the walk to the store refreshing. A heel print displays an image that looks like a sun and a snowflake on this overcast snow day.
Who donuts before my eyes in the shopping center parking lot? The area is wide-open. Most of the store is, too. In and out quick.
The internal store programming includes a commercial to the effect – it’s summer in Chile and we have the summer produce to prove it – while the café attendant looks out as if from the crow’s nest of a ship in a lonely sea. The oval sticker on the watermelon in my arm says it is from Guatemala.
I use self-serve terminal #2. The register tape has three line items: frozen orange-pineapple juice concentrate, a personal watermelon and a bag of large conversation hearts with updated messages like TOP CHEF, which would have been impossible without reality television.
The red mylar Valentine’s Day balloon that greeted me at the entrance Goundhog Day is gone. It jutted and waved across the threshold of the entrance foyer. The temptation was irresistable to me, a person with intermittent impulse control. When I tapped it (it said “I SING” tap to hear song) “You’re Still The One” played. The elderly woman in red following me tapped it, too. The janitor came around the bend to see what was the matter, what was the clatter, saying nothing. He has it all under control.