Smacked by Hebrews 13:2

So I was thinking about writing a blog entry that had nothing to do with either ninjitsu nor food.

*Gasp!*

I know!

I thought, how can I have a blog called "shuriken and chevre" and not include something so related? Then I thought, it's my damn blog and I'll write about anything I want to! Sheesh, as if I had to have a blog for every different thing that entered my head...

So I was shopping for my garden the other day (for vegetable starts in particular) and I met, possibly, an angel. I say "possibly" not because I don't think you can actually meet angels in the flesh, but because she asked me what my sign was. Call me old-fashioned, but I have a hard time seeing Michael or Gabriel wondering where I fall on the zodiac, but what do I know? Maybe they wrestle St. Peter for the Times horoscope? But I digress...

I was shopping in that mega-mart Fred Meyer (for those of you who don't have Fred Meyer, it's owned by Kroger Foods the same people who own Ralph's in Cali and is known as... well, Kroger everywhere else) and it's the only place that I know of that you can buy an engagement ring, a bar-b-que, 5 pounds of hamburger, a package of Hanes undies, and make a deposit at your bank all in one fell swoop. Frightening isn't it? So back to my encounter... I was shopping for plants when I encountered a woman of about 70. She wore a floral dress and a plaid over coat (both polyester, and no, aside from their material they didn't match), and a red bandanna-style hankerchief over her shoulder length gray hair. It was the kind of outfit that makes you stop and look for the orthopedic shoes and stockings rolled to the knee. She was a close talker, who liked to hold my arm when she spoke to make sure I listened close. She had, I kid you not, those cat-eye style glasses that were popular back in 1958 and, well, they seemed to suit her. As if she had been wearing them for so long that they were as much a part of her as her ears or arms. She was very wrinkled and a bit stooped and found me while I was nosing my way through some pretty sad looking zucchini plant-lets. "See anything worth buying, deary."

Yes, she said, "deary." I'm not making this up.

There was a reason the plants were on sale for .79 cents. They were all leggy and a bit brown about the edges. Clearly they had been left a bit too long in the sun and in their bitty containers. "Well, a few of these zuch's aren't too bad if you get 'em in the ground quick and the pickling cuc's seem ok." She kneeled down next to me and asked me to find her a nice zucchini plant- maybe in the back there. I began pawing through the plants while she told me about why she doesn't like dill pickles (she prefers bread and butter pickles, thank you) and why both are too much of a bother to make at her age. She laid her hand on my arm and I closed mine about hers as I helped her up. It's been harder this past year to stand up-right for her you know. Getting down is easy enough, but it's the getting up that takes some doing. And on and on she went.

I smiled vaguely and listened for a bit then attempted to go on searching for my own garden, but she kept talking. Gosh, she thought I was pretty, and were those my boys? Such fine looking boys reminded her of her father... he was good looking too. What did I do for a living? Catering? How exciting! Her people were from Europe originally, but her parents worked out there in Hollywood cooking for famous people, you know. She, herself, never really had the knack of cooking like her parents (they were Bohemian), but she loved the flavors of that fine European cooking they did. Was I European? She's European, Bohemian. I'm Polish?! Well, of course, she could see that I was now that I mentioned it. I looked a lot like her people... the Bohemians. Well, all these plants looked a bit tired to her and she was going to see if maybe she could find something better. And she wandered away.

Sometimes I think I really am a piece of crap. I mean, I had been trying to politely extricate myself while she had a hold of me and was talking, talking, talking and then she was gone and all of a sudden the day was a bit less sunny. I had a lot to do, important things to do, I don't have that much time off. I certainly didn't have time to be trapped talking to someone in the grocery store even if it was a lonely, little old lady who dressed like she was fresh off the Carol Burnett show.

Yep, I thought, I am crap.

"Well, those other plants are too expensive. I guess I'll have to get one of those zucchini after all. Could you find me one that's not too spidery?" She was back! I found her a plant and listened close as she pulled on my arm. How old was I? That's all? I look much younger. Is that my husband over there? Well, wasn't he a fine looking man for someone with no fuzz on top. Not many men could carry that look, but he is quite handsome. She even liked his goatee. The husband could only take so much examination before wandering over to the pricey heirloom tomato section. I soon followed him to find some tomatoes of my own.

I remember when I was in my 20's a friend and I went out to dinner at a horrible little diner. While there we were approached by an older man in a wheel chair. He had no legs and was quite grubby. As he pulled up to our table we braced ourselves for the expected question of a hand out instead he began performing magic tricks! We were surprised and not a little entranced. As he rolled away we were quite blessed and thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. Our evening was better and brighter for his brief presence in it. We thought he would come looking for something, instead he gave. And this last weekend while I shopped for my garden I was given another gift- another blessed meeting. A person walked into my life and brightened it, blessed it completely in a brief moment. I wonder, will I recognize the next angel in strangers clothing or will I continue to approach those around me with cynicism and exasperation? Will I ever get to the place where I can bless others in such a way- wooing them away from dark expectations?

Before I left the store I stopped to buy a tomato plant for my new friend. It was a Black Krim (it sounded like a rather Bohemian variety) and it was neither leggy nor brown. When I gave it to her she protested, then looked at the woman she was talking to (a new friend she had found among the tired starts), "should I take it," she asked. "Yes," said her new conversation partner. And so she did. She leaned in close, held my arm, kissed my cheek and said, "God bless you."

He did.