small world

On a recent trip to Super Target for yet another prescription (when I was still ailing with that wretched sinus infection -- I ended up with several) and various other sundries, I had all three bambini along.  Generally speaking, the bambini are pretty good on shopping trips.  They have their moments -- but don't we all?

On this particular trip, the lads were in the "brother cart" -- one of those with an attachment that allows for two children to sit.  The lads think these carts are great fun.  I tend to crash into things trying to maneuver the behemoths around the store.  But, thought I, if it's one way of making the experience at the store more pleasant for them, pretending as they do that it's a firetruck or some such vehicle, I'll give it a go.

As it turned out, the charm of the brother cart wore off before we were finished in the store, and the situation was deteriorating.  I realized with great consternation that one of the things left on my list was on an aisle I'd already been down twice before on this trip.  As I made my way back there and turned the corner, it became apparent that there was someone standing right in front of that which would complete my list.  Then I heard, "Bonnie?"

It was our longtime family friend, the mother of the family with whom we'd so often do Thanksgiving and Easter and family birthdays and innumerable everyday get-togethers (her daughter is the one who'd receive "the Bonnie Box.").   She lives an hour away in my small hometown and has known me practically my entire life.  She happened to be in "the big city" (such as it is) gathering provisions for a trip to visit family several states away.

Running into someone I know isn't that unusual.  Running into someone from my hometown isn't unheard of, but it doesn't happen very often.  Running into someone who is practically family, in this case, was a Godsend.  We conversed briefly, but she -- the mother of four herself and now grandmother of six -- could see that the window was closing, so to speak.  We acknowledged this.  "I'm going to give you a hug anyway," she said, and did.  We said our farewells, and the brother cart trudged on.

The encouragement and renewal in her hug stayed with me the rest of the day -- and beyond.  Sometimes one just needs a hug.  Coming from a maternal-type figure like she is to me, so much the better.