They each had tattoos on their neck, face, head and hands. Two men, each had on dark-colored hoodies and jeans. Well built, shaved hair, strong necks and I felt like they could probably take care of themselves in any situation. They did not give me a “warm and fuzzy” feeling. One of them had a very thick chain attaching his belt to what I guessed was a wallet inside a pocket. One had hands and fingernails that looked like he worked on cars or in my imagination, cleaned guns for a hobby.
For some wackadoodle moment, I got the shiver down my spine. I thought, I better be in the moment, be alert.
As you can guess, my kids will not be that thrilled with reading this blog so far.
I met them yesterday, and I was alone. Not one single other soul in sight. How did I get into this pickle? My alert signals were all flashing red in my head. Pay attention. Look them in the eye. Be strong, don’t be an airhead, greet them as you would any other stranger.
No, kids, I was not alone in an alley. No, it was not dusk in a bad part of town. It was 11:30 in the morning and in a brightly lit big grocery store. I had forgotten to soak beans overnight for the soup I was preparing, so I was in search of canned Northern Beans. I was in an unfamiliar grocery store and I was looking for the canned vegetable isle.
As I ran out of the house, I was wearing polka dot pixie pants and cute cowgirl boots with a jaunty scarf, an intense beautiful teal colored winter coat. My new little, run to the store, cross body purse matched my coat perfectly, a jaunty shade of aqua. I thought I looked okay to run to the store. Actually, I thought I looked hip. Well, maybe not exactly hip, however with my new anti-aging essential oil serum, I thought I was looking pretty good. I liked how my hair was. It was all curly and bouncy.
Just by looking at the three of us, you could tell that we didn’t exactly hang out in the same quilting circle.
Then I saw them. Two little kids, one sitting, one standing, both in footie pajamas, there in the grocery cart. I smiled and waved. One of the kiddos smiled back. Then one of the “gentlemen” said, “It’s okay, she’s a grandma, you can smile at her”.
WHAT? A grandma? How the heck did he know I was a kind, nice, (under the hair dye) gray grandma? How did he know I was “safe” to smile at? How did he know I was a cookie baking, stuffed animal sewing, post card sending, hug giving kind of nice grandma?
Hey, wait a minute, maybe I give off good vibes? Just maybe it is a feeling I give off when I meet new people? Just maybe, when folks run into me, they get an instant feeling of kindness and nice? Maybe, I don’t make shivers run down people’s spines? Maybe I make people happy and feel safe?
Heck, if rough and tumble, tough guys think I am okay for their kids to smile and say hi to, then I guess I am good.
People often ask me where I get all the ideas to write about.
Here is my answer. I pay attention. I look for good.
I think it was one of the nicest compliments I have received in a very long time.
Thank you very much.