This morning I was up early and out to the Independent Store for the “seniors shopping” hour. I pushed out of the isolation capsule of my house without coffee, without makeup, without enthusiasm.

“Today, I told my constant companion, Noone, ” I will get more fresh greens for the great coming lock down in personal space”.

To give me further purpose, finally, my son and daughter in law had asked me to help them. This is a platinum rare event. So I had their list in hand and was hoping I could purchase the type or brand of items that they enjoyed. I held the peanut butter up while mentally asking it if it was the most satisfying smooth rendition possible.

As I walked through the stores, I watched my resistance. I felt as if I was surrendering. I felt as if the swat team had shown up at my house and used a bull horn to say,” Would all old people come out of the houses with your hands up.”

“I am not decrepit,” I said out loud to myself.

I continued on as I pushed my cart thinking about diminishment and when it begins. If I admit that I am somehow fragile, does my body start spinning off skills and strengths? Will I end up taking my false teeth out and sucking mashed potatoes from a spoon? When does the falling off of belonging begin?

As usual, my imagination took me down the entire spinning of a narrative.

There I am rocking back and forth in my wheelchair idiot mumbling to myself some song of senselessness.

But I have the list in my hand and for now, I am still functional enough to fulfil that goal.
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Just yesterday I remember thinking that the only survivors will be early adaptors, germaphobic introverts. Try running a world with that population personality.

I selected things for my son’s family and items for me but with only four hours sleep and no coffee, I just frustrated myself with my lack of organization. As I walked longer, I woke up enough to see I had once again forgotten my bags in the back of the car. They are like a neglected pet that I just drive around but rarely take out.

It is another habit I need to work on, I admonished myself.

The self is like a vast ranch with critter habits on it. There is so much to tend to so it doesn’t become derelict.

I took the groceries, some bright carnations, chocolate and strawberries to my son’s family and headed home.

What is my purpose? How do I use time? What am I creating of my vast ranch of self?

I see these as simultaneous script words scrolling constantly under my life. And I bring myself back to the adventure of not knowing. Every now is different.

As I put away groceries, I think about how the Independent Store at 7 a.m. is a place to find single senior men. They are unaccompanied, slow-moving and stopping to read all of the labels. If I wanted to pick one up I might ask, “Is that a good disher detergent?” I could try some come hither looks over my new glasses.

Every change holds an opportunity, I remind myself.