Monday, September 20, 2004

Rare and strange portents

Hear me, my little grasshoppers, we must all be on the alert, day and night, because something strange is coming down the pike. Perhaps I should stop by Edge of the Circle Books and cast some runes, or stop by UW and gaze at the stars through the big telescope, I don't know. Here is the evidence so far:

Portent #1: As I ran around town doing my errands and avoiding the drunken Oktoberfest masses, which were awkwardly positioned on my route to pretty much everywhere, I looked down and right there was a twenty dollar bill! Not only does this sort of thing virtually never happen to me, but a very similar moment earned a place in family lore. My grandmother, born on a Friday the 13th, was a very lucky person. One day as she was walking with my Mom in autumn and the leaves were kicking up in the wind, and swirling around their legs, Grandma looked down to find a $20 bill had blown up against her leg. Coincidence?

Best of all was when I got home and S asked how much the dinner I picked up had cost. I told him, all things considered we were $7 ahead!

Portent #2: Going on an urgently needed late night munchy run to the supermarket is usually a relaxing thing. It's quiet, crowd-free, and the night shift music kicks the butt of the daytime muzak. Heck, I even had S with me, and he graciously carried the plastic basket filled with milk, yogurts, muffins, ham, and (obviously, if you know me) cookies. No waiting in the checkout line, another boon of the night owl life, as the checker swept our goodies one by one over the menacing red laser eye. Then suddenly,

"Tsk, tsk! Oh, dear!"

The checker had reached the bottom of the basket and found the small pot of pansies I impulsively grabbed from the outdoor display on our way into the store. I had placed it carefully in one corner and the first few groceries went into the basket oh-so-carefully. Then more & more stuff, light stuff on top shifted around, and suddenly, we can serve ham with a side order of mashed pansies. Although the pansies looked ok, so I reached for them to take a closer look, at which point the checker said,

"You can't be trusted. Hang your head in shame!"

and handed the pansies to S. Upon inspection, the pansies were indeed ok and will take the place of honor in the planter. But it was too late for me - I had been publicly berated at the QFC!

So... put it all in a mixing bowl, stir it up, and bake at 350 for an hour, and what do we get? Late night pansy-mashers may find hidden riches? The world had an opening for pansy-mashing, grocery clerk target, and the salary was $20 for a job well done? I am open to interpretations.


At October 2, 2004 at 12:42 PM, Blogger Sandi said...

Dare I say something about that guy and the word 'pansy'?

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