Do the Right Thing

I've always been a law abiding citizen. Well, mostly. I do follow my own set of rules from time to time but for the most part I adhere to the mores set forth by society. I have good judgement and know when it's OK to bend a rule here or there. I also know there are certain things you just don't do, especially if you can easily be caught. Take shoplifting for example. Years ago I may have thought nothing of sliding a Slim Jim up the sleeve of my shirt at 2am in a 7-11 but I'd never do such a thing now. I'm certainly more mature, have money to pay for munchies and wouldn't dream of eating a Slim Jim anyway, but mostly because the stakes are higher. I am a mother. I could never look my kids in the eye again. Then there's the humiliation in front of my peers, my friends, my family. What would my mother-in-law say?

Then there's technology to consider. Cameras are everywhere now. So much more so than in those old days when all you had to do was have a friend distract the cashier for a moment. Now there are cameras in the stores, parking lots and in every cell phone of every customer. Getting caught red-handed, I mean, in the act is so much more of a possibility. It would be on You Tube in minutes. Within five minutes there would be a Facebook page about it. Global humiliation. Not to mention the arrest.

That's why I was shocked, stunned really, Friday to watch a well dressed woman bolt out of the liquor store with a bottle in her Louis Vuitton purse. Before I even knew what I was doing I pointed at her and yelled to the cashier, "She's got a bottle in her purse. She just stole it!!!!!" I felt kind of like that smarmy kid in class who wrote your name on the board for talking when the teacher was out of the room. But I was so aghast I couldn't control myself. I followed the action into the parking lot. The clerk caught up with her at her car and took the wine from her and told her never to come back. I quickly flashed to a scene in a dusty town with the Sheriff running off the outlaw with a,"Don't come back, ya here?"

I asked what she said in response and the clerk told me she just started crying. "Poor thing," I thought. I really did feel badly for her. My friend Parker was with me and as we loaded my purchased booze into the car we pondered why she did it. Was she poor? Didn't seem to be. Well groomed, nice purse, drove a Highlander. Maybe she's an alcoholic and has no cash and can't charge it because her family will see it. Parker wished we could follow her to see what she would do next. I figured she would be long gone and was a little sorry for it. As I pulled to a stoplight Parker mentioned once more that he wished to follow her and lo and behold there was a Highlander pulling into a convenient getaway spot in the CVS parking lot! We had her.

Unfortunately the light was red. I was really wishing I had a siren and one of those Starsky and Hutch police lights I could throw on the roof to cruise through and nab the perp. However, I waited until it turned green and drove the posted speed limit, used my turn signal, and parked in a marked parking space. Parker wanted me to park her in but that would have blocked the drive-thru lane and I couldn't do such a thing even in the name of justice. I had no authorization.

We ran into the store and quickly made our way from aisle to aisle searching for the woman in the black and white top. And there she was in the pain relief aisle. Parker went to scout out what she was up to as I informed the store personnel. As the clerk called the manager who announced for security to scan all aisles Parker followed the lady around the store. She was carrying 8 bottles of Motrin PM and two boxes of Crest White Strips. I guess if you drink enough Motrin PM it could wreak havoc on your smile. Parker continued to follow her periodically updating us as to her behavior: walking erratically, putting the items in her purse, running out the door. The crack CVS staff did nothing to stop her. It seemed as though they really didn't care. But not to worry. Parker and Bebe were on the case. We ran out after her as she was pulling out of the parking lot. I think she's a pro. She knew just what she was doing. The look of surprise on her face as Parker ran after her was priceless. I don't think she thought we'd follow. Parker got the license number from her car and we went back inside.

Now, I didn't expect to be greeted as heros but when we told them we got her license number and the make of the car they didn't seem to care. The clerk reluctantly wrote down the information and shrugged mumbling something about maybe filing a police report.

For the second time in 15 minutes I was stunned. Really? You're doing nothing? I was so disappointed. I felt we had really done a good job tracking her and telling on her. But no one cared. We considered calling the police ourselves but chose not to. I'm not sure why and in hindsight it may have been a really good idea to call. This woman is obviously suffering in some way. Why else would she steal a magnum of Yellowtail Chardonnay one minute and Ibuprofin and teeth bleach the next? Then I started to feel guilty. Not for telling on her and following her but for not approaching her and calling her out and then asking if she needed help. Maybe she wanted to get caught. Maybe she needs attention because her kids are grown and her husband left her and she feels lonely. Maybe she's off her medication. Maybe she has some serious debt and is really desperate.

I'm a little disappointed in myself for realizing too late I may have been able to do something to help her. I was way too caught up in the chase living out a real life cops and robbers game from my youth. But maybe that's just it. The thrill was what it was all about for her. It certainly was for Parker and me. I can imagine the story she's telling her cronies or those at her shoplifter's support group, "... and then he came out of the store to get my license number! I almost hit another car trying to get away from him!" And as she finishes the story she chuckles and basks in the memory of it and how it made her feel.

So the next time I have a glass of Chardonnay I'll be sure to think about her and wonder what she's up to. I wonder if the next time she's in a store contemplating taking something without paying if she'll think about me.

The Ugly Side of Spring

I am sick of Winter. I am tired of wind. I am tired of rain. I want it to be warm. I long for flip flop weather. As the days have been warming ever so slightly I've walked a little more slowly to the car, dawdled while getting the mail or taking out the trash. I've noticed some things I wouldn't take the time to see if it were cold. The hyacinths are poking their way through the mulch. Snowdrops have bloomed in the back yard. The spring birds have joined the winter birds and are singing louder.

While walking down the driveway to the mailbox today I noticed a naked snail slowly making its way. No. It was not a slug. It was a light brown snail, no shell. I do not usually fear bugs and creepy crawly things and I took the sighting as a positive move in the warm direction. It was pretty too though now that I really think about it. It was a very light brown and speckled with white with delicate antennae searching to and fro. I wondered where it was going and how it knew where to go. It made me happy to see yet another sign of the return of life that comes this time of year.

I didn't give it too much more thought as I headed to the street careful not to step in the bit of mud in front of the mailbox. Mud. There's a part of spring I could do without. I know, I know "April showers,...." blah, blah, blah. Of course I know rain is a good thing (country songs tell me that) but if only we could have less at once. Whenever there's a deluge a large mass of silt and mud is deposited at the bottom of the driveway. This debris settles into the treads of the kids' bike tires and shoes and inevitably shows up on the living room floor.

And then there's the walk to school. The path we take is through a yard, over a foot bridge and through a grassy plot. The path is muddy on a good day. After a rain it's down right Woodstock material. Slippery slopes and squishy puddles make a mess of shoes and hems along the way. You'd think the remaining walk along the street would work the mud out of the shoe treads but that doesn't happen. And again, more mud makes it's way inside no matter how many times I say, "Wipe your feet. Take off your shoes."

They do take off their shoes after wiping their feet but there's still mud there. Mud that will dry overnight. Mud that becomes a fine dirt that will fall from the shoe the next morning as the final step of the morning rush commences: putting on the shoes. For some reason it seems that it rains most when the house has just been cleaned and the shoes are hardest to put on the day after a muddy walk. Feet must be pounded into the shoes to get them on just right shaking that now dried mud into a pile on the freshly mopped floor.

The cats play a part in the ugliness of spring too. Monday was a mild day. The cats who usually spend their winter days curled up somewhere warm inside were itching to get outside. I saw Tiger doing what I thought was frolicking on the deck. Later as I opened the back door to check the temperature I was greeted by a sight I haven't seen since fall. Feathers. Lots of them sprinkled here and there and all over the welcome mat. Not so welcoming if you ask me. I realized now the frolicking I'd seen earlier wasn't a cat's dance to welcome the return of spring. Instead it was pouncing and chasing. Poor bird.

Not to be outdone was Jerry on the front porch. I found him later that afternoon licking his chops, a stray gray feather on his head. And more feathers by the door, under the chair and table. And right by the welcome mat a bird wing and a blood stain sat as a warning to other birds who might come calling. I reached for the broom cursing under my breath as tiny feathers escaped my sweeping and drifted under the storm door, into the house, onto the freshly mopped floor. Ugh. Gross.

Like all things in life, good comes with bad. So I guess if I have to suffer through mud and dead bird clean-up to get to wear my flip flops that is just the way it will have to be. Maybe I should instead embrace the ugliness. Rejoice that this is all I have to worry about today. My house is still standing. My family is safe. I'm not picking through rubble in search of survivors. I haven't lost everything I own. I'm not worried about radiation levels. Next time it rains I think we'll all put on our rain boots and go puddle jumping. Splash right in the biggest mud puddle we can find. Feel blessed that Mother Nature has chosen to be kind to us with a rain storm that will renew life rather than a calamity to rob us of everything. Marvel at the wonder of trees turning green. Listen to the sound of a giggle in the rain. Smell the freshness of the air after a storm. Remember all that we have and how precious it all is. Thankful for the ugliness of Spring.