Terry Marotta: Rx each other

I had the blues this morning.

Impatient for spring maybe.

Or maybe I’d just hit that low-blood-sugar moment that makes all the day’s efforts seem futile.

I looked up while crossing the grocery store parking lot and thought even the clouds were behaving badly, the big ones muscling the little ones aside like so many playground bullies.

Inside the store, I seemed to see a similar scenario being played out on the patch of rug where little tables and chair surround a collection of toys and building sets: A 3-year-old waved a toy sword while a younger child swooped a tiny biplane around in the air – that is, until the 3-year-old whacked him with the sword and grabbed the plane, holding it high out of reach while the little child endured storms of tears.

I felt like Pooh’s sad pal Eeyore. “How are we ever going to learn to live gently on this Earth if we have to keep starting from scratch like this, taking it toddler by toddler?” I asked the air.

Then I looked around at all the people with their lists and their shopping carts and began feeling better at once.

It’s what you have to do to stay cheerful. You have to get yourself out among people, which you can do at any mall, park, or library. You can do it at any pharmacy; just get near the pickup window where people wait for their prescriptions. You can for sure do it at the DMV where the art of waiting has really been perfected.

I say steer clear of people rushing past and blabbing on cell phones.

I say look instead for people who seem content to be where they are; for they are the ones who will give you back your smile.

This happened to me twice today, just hours after my mournful morning.

The first time was at the crafts store when I heard the madly texting teenager in the line behind me ask her mother a question.

“How do you spell ‘horrible’?”

“H-o-r-r-i-b-l-e,” replied her mother.

“No way!” said the child. “You’re sure it’s not ‘hoorible?’”

I turned around just long enough for the mother to give me the deadpan yet highly comical look so frequently exchanged among parents. “Kids!” is what it says.

The second time was just an hour later at the discount drug store, when a highly polished 40-something woman sashayed in front of me to get to the register.

Cradling her cell phone under her chin, she kept talking a mile a minute even as the nice lady waiting on her took her things one by one, ringing them up and carefully bagging them.

“NO, IT’S FINE,” she brayed into the phone.

“I’M JUST DOING HAIR PRODUCTS,” she said to her unseen partner in conversation, just as if the checkout lady didn’t exist. She didn’t look at or speak to her once before collecting up her purchases and sweeping off.

It was my turn then.

I faced the checkout lady and as if on cue we both raised our eyebrows and compressed our lips in that other unmistakable expression that says, “How do you like THEM apples?” - though really she just smiled big and said, “And how are YOU today?” and I smiled back and said, “Great!”

I was great, too, as I’m pretty sure she was by then. Because how can you NOT feel great when, despite the one-step-forward-two-steps-back way we inch toward a civilized state, we can all still catch each other’s looks and share a laugh?

See more at Terry’s blog Exit Only. Contact her there or at either terrymarotta@verizon.net or c/o Ravenscroft Press, P.O. Box 270, Winchester, MA 01890.