Kudos to KMart

There is a scene in the movie “Rainman” where Dustin Hoffman tells his brother, played by Tom Cruise, that he needs to go to K-Mart. Tom Cruise, replies they cannot go to K-Mart, because K-Mart Sucks! Tom should have listened to his brother-he was, after all, a savant. So in the spirit of loving Google, springtime and sushi, today, I just wanted to say, “I love K-Mart!” K-Mart is like the forgotten “middle child” of the big box stores. It’s not WalMart, it’s not Target, but it’s MY store and it is Andy’s store. K-mart is our hang in’ place. Basic Editions is the label on all our clothes.** And Martha Stewart helps me with all my decorating.

Today, in celebration of the first really warm day of spring, we headed to the Garden Center for pansies. Just walking in and smelling the fertilizer and potting soil feeds my soul. I felt like Goldilocks, as I tried out the new lawn chairs. (Can anyone have too many lawn chairs) Andy, of course, heads straight for the video aisle. We cruised the aisles looking at baskets, so he could organize his room. He stared for a long time at a rack of Harlequin romances and ask me if they were “bad” books. We moseyed through the camping gear and both counted our blessings that we have a cabin. Back in “Toys” he spent a long time choosing a WWF wrestling man—the only toy that has ever interested him- while I looked at sheets. He picked out a 50’s Rock and Roll CD for 4.99 and a Propel drink. I bought long underwear-hey it was only a buck and it will make me very happy next November. We glanced at the swimsuits, socks and bought a ball for the dogs. We never hurry through K-Mart. (You never hurry anywhere with Andy). He was happy; I was content; our cart runneth over.

As we were leaving, I could see an older man in the next aisle. He was riding a motorized three wheeled scooter-like they advertise in the infomercials. As he talked to the cashier, she reached over and took both of his hands in hers and looked him in the eye as she visited with him. I had no idea what she was saying, but I could tell that in that moment she was giving that gentleman more than his change back. I guess that is why there are no express lanes when you shop at K-Mart.

Returning home, we unloaded our loot. We threw the dog a ball, listened to some classic rock and roll, and planted pansies. Life-in the slow lane-is good!

**Andy has a “little” quirk; he is a clothes ripper. Many a pair of jeans, many, many, many a pair of jeans, has fallen victim to this nervous habit. As I stock up on a new pile of clothes every few months, I always say a little prayer and thank God that with the problem he gave me an affordable solution. Thanks to K-Mart, I can drop them in the garbage, smile, and not ever give it a second thought.

If there is Easter grass on the carpet, it is still Eastertime!

I heard this poem at church yesterday and loved it! (Plus a thank you to my children for making my day so special.)

Seven Stanzas at Easter by John Updike Make no mistake: if He rose at all it was as His body; if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules reknit, the amino acids rekindle, the Church will fall. It was not as the flowers, each soft Spring recurrent; it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the eleven apostles; it was as His flesh: ours. The same hinged thumbs and toes, the same valved heart that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then regathered out of enduring Might new strength to enclose. Let us not mock God with metaphor, analogy, sidestepping, transcendence; making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded credulity of earlier ages: let us walk through the door. The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché, not a stone in a story, but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of time will eclipse for each of us the wide light of day. And if we will have an angel at the tomb, make it a real angel, weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen spun on a definite loom. Let us not seek to make it less monstrous, for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty, lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed by the miracle, and crushed by remonstrance.