Out and about

I was out doing various chores this morning, hopping from bookstore to grocery store to…well, you get the idea. It was fun, even though my leg was not entertained, and I enjoyed the experience thoroughly, in spite of my toe objecting rather noisily by the end of the time that we were out.

I started at a speciality bookstore, from where Father had asked for a couple of the tomes he needed for his work. Once I found it, I stepped very cautiously down the stairs (since my record with steps is not exactly brilliant) and beamed sweatily at the two gentleman sitting at the counter. One of them looked dour, while the other smiled as fondly back at me. The dour one seemed to be having some difficulty in operating the computer that he was battling with, and barely looked up to see what I wanted. The other one, younger and less furrowed of brow, bustled around and fluttered from shelf to shelf explaining what was where to me, who mutely handed over a list and waited, smile still firmly in place, for more to happen.

It was the minion who actually knew where the books I wanted were. He sprang purposefully up the stairs into a tiny gallery-like space and ferreted out multiple volumes. At first, I though optimistically that they were very kindly giving me a choice – some books tend to get rather battered over time and I like the pristine sort and always demand it. But, no, the first on the list had two volumes, each fairly substantial. The second was rather more alarming. Nicely bound in faux leather and lettered in gold, it had five volumes, making up in weight what it may have lacked in size. I demanded help in transporting the load to the car and it was promised. The dour gentleman fought a veritable war with his computer trying to do the billing for my books, while I stood there still gently a-sweat and trying not to let that aforementioned smile slip.

And, as always, I had to confuse the issue a little. While I waited, patiently, my eyes settled on a book that looked interesting. It was a single volume, but a large one, matching the others in cumulative size and weight. I demanded it and scanned through. It seemed like something I wanted to be curious about, so I asked the price. It was, in fact, rather cheaper than some of the books that I have been buying lately, so I took it. The dour man went back to his struggle with keyboard, mouse and monitor, while I counted out a scant sheaf of crisp notes. And then, farewells said, the dour man still not smiling, minion, books and I proceeded in a dignified procession out to the car.

But there was no car there. And I had more errands to run. So, the books transferred to my slowly-stretching arms, I went into a grocery store that purportedly had cheese. Good cheese, not the plastic processed kind. I checked in my parcels and walked in. There was indeed cheese, some interesting kinds, too. I nibbled a tiny fragment for taste and chose what I wanted, the weight I wanted. And, while the chappie efficiently sliced and weighed, I wandered about looking at what else was on offer. There was plenty, from my all-time favourite soft fudge chocolate chunk cookies to pasta of a sort that I had seen in speciality stores in New York. I looked, I sighed and I went past.

It is not that I do not have the wherewithal or the taste to take home what I wanted. But it seemed a waste at a time when there was more to do and bother about than just the food I sometimes had dreams about. I needed the time and the leisure to cook that same stuff of dreams and savour it. Some day, that time will also come….