rancherwriterpoet

Poetry, musings, reflections, life

Archive for the category “Stories”

Dad’s Day, 2020

June 21 is Father’s Day 2020. I am a father. I have been a father since October 1959. Age is not creeping anymore; it is fast tracking. I have three remarkable children, six wonderful grandchildren and five amazing great-grandchildren and lest I forget a delightful stepdaughter. My fatherly life is full. I am so blessed.
Frank Sinatra sang; “regrets, I’ve had a few”. Have I made mistakes, absolutely! During my lifetime, there have been ups and downs, some periods even went sideways, so, yes, one could say “regrets, I ‘ve had a few.”
Being a father is not necessarily the same as being a “dad”. The first is a biological event; the second is an emotional one. I would never regret being a “father” however, I do regret not always being a “dad”. But then, one cannot go back in time and change the past.
So, to all my family, on this Father’s Day, 2020, I will strive to be more of a “Dad.” Please know that I love all of you and am proud to be your “Dad”, your “Stepdad”,  your “Granddad”, and your “Great Grandad!” To all the Dad’s in our family, I hope this “Dad’s Day” is meaningful to you.

And from an era gone by, this about my “Dad”.

Lewis Stewart was my stepfather, entering my life at the brink of my becoming a teenager. But he was more than a stepfather. He became my “Dad”, not necessarily in name but in every other aspect. He was my “Dad”. He went to his heavenly home on June 7th, 1984. My “Pop” was and still is a loving memory for me. I pay tribute to him in this poem I wrote in 1992.

The March of Age

Silver strands of wispy hair adorn
The head of this old man,
His eyes seem tired and he grows weak,
He does the best he can.

Age has caught the life of him
Whom age could never touch.
At least not him who’s big to me,
Whose hand I reach to clutch.

The years have fast raced on to reach
This one who could not fall.
The yesterdays are now but faint,
This fate must touch us all.

When grown men cry so deep inside
That words can ne’er explain,
There’s reason for the tears we hide,
Redeeming love without refrain.

So, age will search for others now,
Not knowing what it had.
For age does not discriminate,
I know, it caught my Dad.

Pete Robertson
© 1992

Bailey Goes Home

sebastopol Geese.

Three Sebastopol Geese, goslings, arrived via U.S. Postal Service sometime in 2017. Two females and one male, and the “Rancherette” named them according to the information we received when they arrived. She named the male, “Bailey”. The larger female, she named Shia, because she was very shy. The other female was named Indie, for “her” independence. Of course, we had it all wrong. Bailey is shy and is not a male. Oops, he was indeed a male, Indie is very independent; however, she is a he. Indie rules this gaggle of geese. And Shia, well, she is not too shy, more like she is laid back. We have since added to our flock a female named Gweeny and another buff named Dusty. These are the geese on the Fuzzy Chicken Farm.

The sad news is that Bailey went “home” one last time, this past evening. He, the smaller Sebastopol gander, has flown across the rainbow bridge. I am sure there must be a place for geese when they die. Maybe, it is not a rainbow bridge or maybe it is.  If it is a Rainbow Bridge, I can just see Bailey waddling across. You see, Bailey was a pet goose. We receive a lot of joy from our geese and Bailey was no exception. Always slower and more laid back than the others, he would constantly be the one dragging up the rear on their way “home” every evening. We taught them to “go home” when we penned them up for the evening. This was an effort to protect them from predators, such as coyotes. Bailey was always the comical one. He kind of squeaked when he honked, and it was obvious who the culprit was.

Around the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, there is an abundance of animals and birds. It stings when the circle of life ends. The “Rancherette” is constantly incubating baby chicks and there is almost always some that do not make it. It stings. We occasionally lose a larger bird, it stings. It has only been 17 days since our beloved Apollo crossed the Rainbow Bridge. It still stings. As animal lovers, we always dread the day.

Bailey was a sweet bird, never aggressive, even during mating season. I can see the other geese feeling lost today, I am sure that they miss Bailey. I know I do. Go “home” Bailey, one last time.

HEROES…REMEMBERED

Today is an honorable day. Memorial Day! A day we, as Americans, have come to celebrate as the first day of summer. That means we will be off to the beaches, to the mountains, to the lakes, to backyard barbeques and homemade ice cream. This year is different. We will obviously be observing the precautions brought on by the pandemic virus. This adds a completely new dimension to our celebration. We have been beset with guidelines, stay-at-home orders, restricted travels, and anything the politicians can devise. Some for the benefit of the population and others maybe not so much. The scientists also issue their dire warnings. Complications, for sure!

But today, is so much more than a day at the beach. While the world mourns the deaths of those who contracted the disease let us not forget the sacrifices of our Armed Forces.

Allow me to introduce a few of those who perished in the service of our country. Names are selected at random and I have no personal knowledge of many of the brave men and women who served, however I chose Gregory’s name because he was the son of my friends, Scott and Melba Morgan, Atlanta, Ga. Greg’s name is on the Vietnam Memorial, Washington D.C..

ATCHISON, John Calvin    PVT. USMC, Missouri, perished on the USS Arizona, December 7, 1941. Private Atchison served his country in honor and died for his service. I chose his name from the casualty list of the USS Arizona to serve as representative of all those men who perished during WWII.

In 1944 First lieutenant U.S. Army Nurse Aleda E. Lutz of Freeland Michigan was the first U.S. military woman to die in a combat zone during World War II when her hospital plane went down on her 196th rescue mission.  I chose LT Aleda Lutz, to serve as a representative of all those women who perished during WWII.

First Lieutenant William Edward (Buddy) Robertson, Jr. was a member of the 15th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division. He was Killed in Action while fighting the enemy in North Korea on October 3, 1951. He was born in Chillicothe, Hardeman County, Texas. LT Buddy Robertson serves as a reminder of all those who died during the Korean war.

Navy Hospital Corpsman Joshua Dwayne McIntosh 22, of Kingman, Arizona, died June 6th, 2003 while serving in Karbula, Iraq. McIntosh died in Karbala, Iraq, from a non-hostile gunshot wound. He was assigned to the Third Battalion, Seventh Marine Regiment, Twentynine Palms, California. Corpsman McIntosh represents those from the middle east conflicts.

SP4 GREGORY SCOTT MORGAN experienced a traumatic event which resulted in loss of life on March 15, 1971. Recorded circumstances attributed to: “Died through non-hostile action, air crash on land”. Incident location: South Vietnam, Gia Dinh province.

If any of these service members are a part of your family, let me say to you, I am proud of their service and I thank them for their allegiance to America. I pray a special prayer for all those Gold Star Families.

There are far more names that I could place on the tribute list, but I think you get the meaning of my post.

And as an additional note, I am aware of the thousands of Covid 19 frontline workers and first responders who have also perished in an untimely manner. I clearly wish to pay tribute to them as well.

So, on your way to the beaches, to the mountains, to the lakes, to backyard barbeques and homemade ice cream, stop for a moment and give thanks for these individuals who rose to the occasion, to give us those opportunities to celebrate. Make this Memorial Day a remembrance of all who sacrificed their lives.

These are my heroes.

       

 

RIP Sweet Apollo

Today, May 18, 2020, was the passing of King Louie’s Dance of Apollo.Apollo Jennie Pete

Our Sweet Apollo crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. He had a welcoming committee, for sure. There was Denali and Prada and Munchie, all friends from his past. And his long- time buddy, B.J. And I am sure he met new friends, as well. He has given us such joy around the Fuzzy Chicken Farm, and it is so difficult to experience this once again.

Apollo was full of energy and had a very loving demeanor. He would have been 14 years old on July 29th. He is a Standard Poodle and the epitome of a canine that loves his family. And his family loved him.

I recall a few of his antics. For one, he loved to go with me to the post office, protecting me, or so he thought. And if he did not go, then he would wait at the front door until I returned. In fact, many times when we left on errands, he would wait there and bark when we did return. Sadly, the past year he was unable to do that.

He loved company. Furiously, he would bark at the doorbell and then he would introduce himself to the guests, especially the female gender. One could see the excitement in his eyes. When they would sit down, he would promptly raise his paw for assurances that they were welcome.

Apollo Begging forgiveness

His had his moments. Another one was him being unable to come into the kitchen. We never scolded him, I would only ask, “Apollo, are you in the kitchen?” at which he would abruptly turn around and depart the area. Or begging for a bite of our sandwich. He had this habit of laying his chin (?) on the footrest of the recliner at which time I would promptly call him “Despicable”. Apollo despicable (2)

Then the “Rancherette” would take up for him and say, “You’re not Despicable.” And of course, he got his bites of a sandwich. There are many stories about Apollo. These are but a few.

But life itself includes those moments when not all is good news.

For several months Apollo’s health has declined. He struggled to catch his breath, mostly because of a heart condition. Arthritis had set in his hips and his both front legs.  It has caught him in his elder years. His heart was giving out and he could no longer walk. So, we did what was necessary to relieve his pain. And it was bittersweet.

I have gone through the happening of having a trusted animal member cross over the Rainbow Bridge too many times in the past. It never gets any easier, but love transcends the life experience, and this is the ultimate life experience. We love all our animals. We want them to live forever. Sadly, they do not. Then, neither do we.

So, Apollo, cross on over that colored bridge. Meet up with your friends, run and bark and spend your days knowing you no longer suffer on this earth. We miss you my friend.

HONEY, I REMEMBERED!

Honey, I remembered!

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10, 11……….12

I remembered that I could count, at least to 12. I promise I did not use Google for any help. So, what do the numbers represent?

Year number one began on May 15, 2009 and was our Wedding day. That was a remarkable day. The first year was a honeymoon that lasted all year and into the next and continues today.

Numbers 1-11 represent the number of years that Jennifer and Pete have been married. Each year was complete and utterly successful. At least to my way of thinking. Each year has been a wonderful sequence of a marriage.

This woman I married has an amazing stamina. She is, of course, the queen of the chicken world. She certainly has the Chicken world of exhibition’s attention. Her office is covered in awards. I am extremely proud of her and her accomplishments. But that’s not why I married her.

She is a super gardener, vegetables in season, flowers in season, indoor plants, tropical and home managed. But, that’s not why I married her.

She is a great cook. She is in the gourmet chef style.She sometimes posts her achievements to the social media world and has them drooling. Cakes, pies, and of course delicacies from the food group. Chocolate being my favorite. But that’s not why I married her.

She has other talents, such as mowing the yard, attending to our retired show dogs, cutting limbs, and I dare not forget the geese. The geese are like her children. But that is a separate issue altogether.

We have our challenges and those continue. Most of our trials have come from health issues. We have faced numerous tests and treatments and she has risen to the occasion. She is a remarkable nurse; however, she has not had the perfect patient. But she has endured. I think it is because she loves me.

We seem to roller coaster our health issues, me then her, her then me. I have been a nurse to her as well. However, I have had a much easier time taking care of her than she of me. She has been a particularly good patient, unlike me.  So, she is a great nurse and a great patient. But, that’s not why I married her.

As I count of the years, I am reminded that love is the key ingredient to a marriage. And that brings me to the year 12.  We start off our next year with uncertainties in the world we know. And while we will adapt to the changes that inevitably will face us, I know that our marriage will survive.

So why did I marry her?  Because, as I said, “love is the key ingredient to a marriage”.

I write this simply to let the world know that God put us together and I thank Him for that. I could not be more blessed at this time in my life. Thank you Jennifer for marrying me.

I love you, Jennifer Robertson, and Happy Anniversary.

What Happened on Palm Sunday?

Today begins what Christians call Holy Week. It is the week leading up to the Crucifixion of Christ and His resurrection. This gives cause for reflection of our own life, or at least it does for me. Put your mind in the mind of the owner of that donkey. Perhaps it could have been as told here.

So, What’s Your Donkey?

Jesus rode into Jerusalem on what we now call Palm Sunday; palm branches, which symbolize triumph or victory, were strewn in Jesus’ path, as He rode into the city. He rode into town on a humble donkey, fulfilling the prophecy in Zechariah 9:9: “Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem! See, your kings comes to you, righteous and victorious, low and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

“You don’t know me. You’ve never heard my name. It isn’t important. But you know my donkey. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. You know, the donkey that Jesus rode into Jerusalem with on that day He made his triumphal entry? Yeah, that donkey. Well, I was the guy with the donkey. I’m the guy who was living in Bethphage. The guy who was walking home from the market that day, only to see two men untying my young donkey and her mother. I couldn’t believe I was getting ripped off! Bethphage had been such a quiet town. This was our first donkey-jacking! I ran and called out, “Why are you untying those donkeys? I remember it like it was yesterday: the two men called back, ‘The Lord needs them!

That answer stopped me cold………

      Normally, I liked to keep my animals for myself. But for some reason, I couldn’t argue. Two guys I have never seen are taking my donkeys away. But the LORD needs them. They’re just plain old donkeys. But if the Lord needs them, well then, the Lord can have them!

So, I waved good bye! I never would’ve guessed that my generosity would be used for such a noble purpose! I never would’ve guessed that GOD was going to ride my humble donkey! But that day was a life-changing day for me.

      We followed these men back to their little group. We saw them cover my donkey with their cloaks, and watched Jesus get on this young donkey that had never been ridden. We followed the crowd into Jerusalem and helped make a road for the Lord with our cloaks and branches we cut from trees. We wanted to let everyone know that someone important was coming to Jerusalem!

      We hailed this man as a King! But not just a King. The Messiah! The Chosen, the Promised One who would come from the family of David! The One who was coming to save us!

      We didn’t understand everything that day, but it turned out this was the man that God sent to save us! This was God’s own Son. Who loved us enough to come and ride my humble little donkey into a city where He knew He would suffer and die. Later that week, his journey into Jerusalem ended on a cross. Where He took my sins and yours, and let Himself be punished for them. Yes, He saved us alright. Sunday morning proved it! He walked out of his tomb! A conquering, victorious King!  Friends, I can’t tell you how honored I am to have been given the chance to let Jesus use my donkey to take his Kingdom forward a few more steps. I’m thankful I had the chance to serve our Lord in such a little way. So what’s your donkey? What do you have to give to Him?

My Flag is Still Flying

Memories can evoke a wide variety of thoughts. They have a way of inducing our mind back to a time when life was simpler, or so we believe. A statement by an old friend or an old photo can stir emotions and reverberate up and down your spine, from the bottom to the top, eventually reaching the frontal lobe. It is this part of the brain that suggests we look back on our life and of those who made it possible. Thus, it is very appropriate on this Veteran’s Day that we remind ourselves of those events of years past and of those who still serve.

None could have made it more possible than the veterans of military service. I think of my father, J.C. Morrison, who did not enter military service in WWII, but served in a civilian capacity at Dow Chemical in Freeport, Texas. I think of my Father-in-Law, Lucious Maddux, serving in a construction battalion in the South Pacific, better known as SeaBees. I think of my uncle Homer Morrison, who served in the U.S. Army in the European forces. He served throughout the war effort without a scratch only to be killed in a tornado six months after the war’s end. These three individuals served in different parts of the world yet with the same goals in mind. Freedom! There are countless numbers of veterans who served and many lost their lives. You know someone who did. I pay tribute to your friends, acquaintances, family members and to you for that service.

And I think of those from my home town who served and those who lost their lives during the Vietnam War. From Palestine, Tx:

1LT JAMES CHRISTOPHER BECKER, CAPT TONIE LEE ENGLAND Jr., PFC JAMES AUBREY HULSEY, PFC DONALD RAY JOHNSON, PFC EARL DAWSON LAWRENCE, PO3 AMON FRANKLIN MOORE Jr., CWO TERRELL LEE RAWLINSON, 2LT JAMES TUCKER STOVALL, LCPL ROGER ALLEN THOMPSON, SP4 THOMAS DARRELL WILLIAMSON.

“Young men, most around my age or younger, who fought for our freedoms and as I have said in “My Flag is Flying, is Yours?” took my place. Had I been born only a few years later, I would have been in Vietnam. With each news report of casualties, I hurt. I lost shipmates, classmates and family members. My country was at war.

Today, I feel humbled each time I see or hear of any veteran who passes from this life. Yet, Vietnam holds a special place in my heart, not because I served, but because someone else did and I know that person took my place.”

Take a moment today and remind yourselves of the heroic actions of our military men and women. They deserve the honor and respect. And to those who are serving today, my hat’s off to you. God Bless and thank you.

Born on the 15th of July

Your birthday is special. However, it is not yours alone. It is not uncommon to share your birthday with others. Do you ever wonder how many people share your birthday? Research tells me that 1/365 in any population (approximately 0.274%) share your birthdate. Research also tells me that percentage equates to over 19 million people around the world.

I happen to share my birthday with a few celebrity individuals. For example, Clement Moore was born on July 15, 1779. Obviously, we do not share the same year. You are, of course, familiar with him. He wrote “Twas The Night Before Christmas. Here in Texas we have our own version:               

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in Texas, you know.
Way out on the prairie, without any snow.
Asleep in their cabin, were Buddy and Sue,
A dreamin’ of Christmas, like me and you.

  Then there is Linda Ronstadt, also born on July 15, 1946. She sang “Don’t Know Much”.

“I don’t know much
But I know, I love you
And that may be
All I need to know,

Then there are numerous events that took place on July 15 in history. Did you know that Paul McCartney once was fined on July 15th, 17 pounds (that’s British for dollars) in 1963 for speeding? Apologies to Paul, it wasn’t “Band on the Run” it was “Man on the Run!”

Man on the run, Man on the run.
And the jailer man and sailor Sam
Were searching every one
For the Man on the run,
Man on the run
Man on the run,
Man on the run”.

And just for all you “soap opera” fans, “One Life to Live” debuted in 1968, lasting some 45 years. There is talk about it possibly returning to the airways. I won’t hold my breath (wasn’t planning on that either). When I was in the prime of my construction career, my employees were called, “All My Children” or was it “As the World Turns”? Just sayin’! These are but a few examples of persons or events concerning July 15.  You could say that I am only a little fish in a giant pond.

And if you are into astrology, (not to be confused with astronomy) then this sort of thing may appeal to you. According to that stream of thought, we Cancerians are influenced by the planetary position of the Moon. That position of the Moon rules the Zodiacal group of Cancer and Venus and together they determine the features and differences of July 15 natives from others. I hope that makes sense to you, doesn’t do much for me, though. I can, however, associate with “the Crab”. As Crabs, our strengths are described as a strong sixth sense, subjective, gentle, swift, imaginative, careful, dedicated, perseverant, kind, caring. This is considered Western Astrology. Some prefer Eastern Astrology. You know Dogs and pigs and rabbits, etc. Here in Texas I practice Doris Day astrology.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be, will be,
The future’s not ours, to see, yeah
Que Sera, Que Sera, Que Sera

So if you were born on July 15, it is a special day. Having a birthday alone is great but sharing one’s birthday is an awesome feeling. And my day is even more special for I share it with the “Rancherette”. When we were first getting acquainted in the early days, I once asked her the date of her birthday. She replied, July 15. I said, no, that is my birthday, when is yours? And again she replied, July 15. So we share the same birthday. From that moment on, it was fate. There is one thing I am reluctant to share and that would be the year we were born. That is classified and only on a need to know basis. Suffice it to say we both qualify for the senior discount at most restaurants, hotels, grocery chains, etc. I did get asked for my ID once when I purchased a can of spray paint. The cashier was confusing me with a teenager. I told her that dirt and I are approximately the same age.

Not only do the “Rancherette” and I share the same birthday; we share a great love with each other. We have an amazing intuition and insight about our lives together. We share a mutual love for animals also. It is not uncommon for our thoughts and minds to come together about most any subject. She qualifies it by saying “great minds think alike”. We have our pet phrases and qualities. We sometimes say the same thing at the same time. Intuition! She is very creative; I like to build. She is so very good at crafting and I like to put in my two cents worth. There so many ways in which we are alike, yet we each have our own personalities. Having a birthday alone is great but sharing one’s birthday is an awesome feeling. I can think of no other way to express Happy Birthday than to share it with my soul mate. And I love you more!

Buddy Poppy

 

BuddyPoppy_COB_Rotated

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

That poem reminds me of my youth. Growing up in East Texas, we observed most all things patriotic. I had many small town “little boy” jobs. Mowing lawns (with a boy-powered push mower), selling newspapers, you name it, I did it. One job I remember was selling Buddy Poppies, the paper replica flowers that the Veterans of Foreign Wars sell to raise money for disabled veterans. These were to honor our fallen soldiers. And at that time the focus was on WWII men and women.

Somehow I cannot visualize myself being in a war. I did spend a few years in the U.S. Navy; however, it was not during a period of American involvement in conflict. Honorably discharged in 1960, I spent the bulk of my military service aboard the USS Oriskany and the USS Hornet, both aircraft carriers. I married in 1959 and made the transition to civilian life upon my discharge. A few years later, America became involved in the Vietnam War.

But raising a family was my first concern and while my allegiance was to my family, I have always been conflicted about not serving during that period of time. Even today, I feel a deep regret for not stepping up to the plate. I feel sorrow for those who had the unpopular task in the Vietnam era.

My father-in-law was a combat veteran during WWII, serving in the SeaBees and among the first to venture onto the islands of the South Pacific, fighting battles and building airstrips. He was very private about his time in the service, but was among the many who received accolades for his time in the military, unlike the Vietnam veterans. I suppose this is one reason I feel a kinship with those who did.

Many returned home to an unpopular welcome. Derided and made to feel ashamed of their service. No other service to our country has ever been placed in that reasoning. Over 58,000 American men and women lost their lives during that conflict, and at the time those who survived were made to feel ashamed. That was a disgrace then and now.

Monday, May 27th is the day we observe Memorial Day this year. It is a day of remembering and honoring persons who have died while serving in the United States Armed Forces. The burden is upon you, the America citizen, to remember and honor those who gave the ultimate sacrifice in the service of our country. Don’t disappoint me. Remember and respect all who did so. They served with distinction. And to the Vietnam veterans, I especially thank you for your service. I apologize for you taking my place.

Maybe I can find a Buddy Poppy to wear this Memorial Day. I do remember.

Pushing Carts

I’m confident that most if not all of my readers have shopped at least once in the “giant ‘big box’, has everything, supercenter store”. If there should be one who hasn’t had that experience, I urge you to venture into that dominion. That should be on your “bucket list”. But be prepared for the consequence.

Yesterday, I accompanied the “Rancherette” on our weekly outing to the friendly supercenter for much needed supplies.  We do everything together. We work together, play together, eat together, so it makes sense that we shop together.

Most of our journey into the realm of our supercenter shopping schedule takes place in the grocery section. “You are about to enter another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone!”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-b5aW08ivHU

Our path is pre-ordained. We enter the store, proceed to the pharmacy, (at my age there is usually a prescription to be picked up), then on to the Health & Beauty section. The “Rancherette” does not need anything from here, but I do. At last visit,  they did not have any such beauty aids that would be of assistance to me, but I spend a lot of time in the Health Department.

.blood pressure machine

Since the beauty section is on the opposite end from the grocery section, we must then travel through the various departments including the fashion department, and usually with a stopover in each with a detour for a pit stop along the way. (Think health needs).Occasionally, we slide through the craft department, for the “Rancherette” is very crafty.

See the source image.

As we make our way through the store to the foods the travel gets perilous. Pushing a cart through the supercenter is risky to say the least. I have a couple of ideas that might make it a little safer, or not.

First, a pushing cart license should be required before entering the store. They could set up a kiosk at the entry and charge a fee, either for a one trip or annual permit.  Instruction booklets could be found in the Home & Office department. A short one week course with field training could be utilized during nights and weekends when traffic is lightest if there is such a time.

Believe me; many people are in need of a degree of instruction.  See the source image

For example, some use the British model, you know, pushing on the “wrong” side of the aisle, while others use the American model, pushing on the “correct” side of the aisle. Still others use no model at all. Some use the haphazard model. It is very confusing.

driving on wrong side

And there are the “wrong way” pushers. They are oblivious of anyone around them. One can be pushing the correct direction, either British or American and out of nowhere comes a cart from the wrong direction and stacked so high the “pusher” cannot see over the mound of stuff, usually with soft drink bottles hanging off the side. You know, “East is east and West is west, and never the twain shall meet.”(Except in the “Big Box Supercenter”.) As you see, in the photo above, one can find anything in a “Big Box” Supercenter.

And with the “medians” in the middle of the wider aisles one never knows which side to move. The narrow aisles do not have these obstructions, so this is where the motorized shoppers meet to discuss current events.  In fact, the “big box” supercenter could set aside a section like a park, where these individuals could meet. The supercenter could then charge admission. All this could be corrected with “pushing licenses” instruction.

One solution would be to make the aisles a one way direction.  It might not solve every problem but it might solve a few. See diagram below. Notice in the diagram, there is only one check out location. This is controlled chaos. All the stores use this method to keep order.

As we proceed down the aisles we pass all the well known “impulse” items, usually not on our list but placed exactly at eye level. The managerial staff knows when I am coming. Being the sucker I am, I load the basket. But we must also locate the items on our list.  Bottom shelves are not knee friendly nor is the fiber cereal on the top shelf. This is an area where the supercenter needs a bit of instruction. If they would call me, I would tell them where to put stuff. They do not understand such logic. I do.

Eventually, we make our way through the checkout. As we leave the store, we converse about how exciting it is to see the many exhibits (exhibitionists)  throughout the store. Kind of makes your venture worthwhile. Since this is a family friendly site, I will not describe all the varying displays throughout the supercenter. Let just say,  one can see things in there that are not available even in the zoos of the world. Children under 16 years of age should not be admitted, many are simply unsuitable for young adolescents.

But hey, we gathered our groceries, now you gather your courage and get out there and go “pushing”.

See the source image

Have a happy day.

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