Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.The necessity of distractions during the wild days of spring By J. G. Fabiano In my part of the USA time has a tendency to go slow from the end of March through the middle part of May. I assume it has something to do with the lack of sun or the wet weather. Even though this spring has produced an un-Godly amount of rain and wind the days seem to last forever and even though the calendar changes the promises of spring are simply promises. In order to keep one's sanity it is necessary to create some distractions. Some people take up some sort distraction to pass their time away. Other people hibernate in their homes watching television or read a library of books to pass their time. I haven't seen a good television show since Gilligan's Island and as for reading a good book; I need some warm coastal air blowing on my face and the ocean in front of me to enjoy someone else's words. So, what does a person like me do to pass his time? The Boston Red Sox are giving us an exciting season this year. That is until the month of August when those damned Yankees come back from ten games down to overtake our heroes as they have over the past too many seasons. Most of my neighborhood comes over to watch the game in my basement because it has become the place to do this. We scream at the umpires on television and tell each other how he or she would have called a specific play. But, because the season is so long it is difficult to keep any enthusiasm high over 160 plus games. Another means of passing the dog days of a New England spring is to go grocery shopping. This might sound a bit strange but where else can one observe a society that is exponentially growing around us. Of course, the news media is stating that this growth is not just in population. My wife and I spend many of our evenings at Hannaford's on Route One picking up something we know we need but never seem to remember to pick up the day before. Every now and then we go full grocery shopping, which allows me to wander off to observe my fellow rain-soaked inhabitants. As I observe, many questions seem to crop up in my mind. For example, why would anyone be in a hurry during this time of year? Last weekend I was almost run over by a young woman who desperately needed to buy the right brand of linguine. I guess I was in her way and when I attempted to apologize she gave me that, "why were you allowed to live so long" look. I just smiled and got out of her way. Another question that breaks into my mind is why people with baldheads wear clothes that are two or three sizes too small. Is it some sort of look they are trying to achieve or does the lack of hair necessitate a hopeful loss of weight? Plus all the men with baldheads seem short to me. Not that I am tall but why do men with shiny baldheads always have to be diminutive. I guess this is one of those great mysteries of life. Bald women, on the other hand, are; well that is another story. People's intensity as they shop seems to be related to what they are shopping for. For example, no one smiles in the fruit and vegetable section of the store. Their eyebrows are pushed towards their eyes as they grope through piles of apples or mounds of cauliflower. But, in the bakery section people tend to loosen up and smile a bit. I assume this is because a missed opportunity to pick the best loaf of bread is not as important as picking the perfect tangerine. Even the aisles of the store demonstrate different human emotions. Cans of coffee are never picked through. I guess this is because one has the tendency to drink the same brand of coffee their father and father's father drank when they were alive to start off their day. Teas have to be picked more carefully. This is because the flavors of tea have increased dramatically over the past decade or so. I remember my mother having to decide between, "Red Rose" and "Lipton" tea. Today there are entire aisles displaying types of teas that promise to cure everything from the common cold to sexual dysfunction. Walking up and down the aisles that are set up in the middle of the store is basically boring. I see many of my fellow observers with their hands held behind their backs either observing the people around them or waiting for their wives to pick that perfect pear. The meat department is one of my favorites to watch. This is where the "haggle gene" of the markets of our past has a tendency to come out. People not only ask the butcher behind the counter for that perfect cut of meat but they are allowed to ask when the cut of meat was made and why it cost more than it did just a few days earlier. Most people leave this area confident in the knowledge they succeeded in purchasing that ideal cut of meat at the best possible price. The butcher, like the butchers of past know differently. The fish counter is always large in New England. This is probably true because we live by the ocean and are supposed to eat more fish because of where we live. But, the fish displayed on the mounds of ice behind the counter are never fish I have ever seen in the oceans that approach our shores. I have no concept what a monk fish is and there are some varieties of fish that look too much like a piece of meat for me to purchase. Of course, there are the traditional haddock and shrimp but I have always been suspicious of whether or not it is fresh or frozen. During this time of year I know of very few products that have never been frozen. The next most exciting part of my journey through the grocery store is the pharmacy. Here people organize themselves in perfectly straight lines waiting to pick up the medicines their doctors tell them they need. The pharmacists are always smiling and seem to know exactly what to do. But everyone, or at least everyone I know, hopes that Chuck will help them because for the past quarter century Chuck has always been there to answer a question about something they really don't want to know. The beer department is another one of my favorites in my quest against boredom through the grocery store. Since it has opened, in fact, since I have been able to buy beer, I have never seen a female in this area. I know there must have been one or two in the past quarter century that wandered into this part of the store but for the life of me I have never seen one. By the way, I have also never seen a moose. My day ends with my Debbie finding me with my hands behind my back wandering aimlessly through the store. She always gives me a queer look but understands I am just trying to pass the time: a time that has a tendency to go real slow this time of year. The End.
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