Blame on the check-out lady

When you believe in things

That you don't understand,
Then you suffer,
Superstition ain’t the way...


Stevie Wonder

The bad vibes started Saturday at Wegman’s...my husband and I had braved the crowds to prepare for our Super Bowl gathering. He was there because he wanted to be helpful and I went with him because it would have been cruel to send him out with a list and his limited management experience of Saturday grocery store negotiations.


And I’ll be honest, I was frightened that I would buy the wrong brand or color of something and be blamed for bringing bad luck on the black and gold. John and his brother and their friend Chris have so many rules and superstitions for Steelers’ games, I just try to be quiet and follow blindly along. And, yes, I know those of you who know me understand how difficult that is for me to do!

We have a full cart and there are almost as many checkout lines open as on the weekend before Thanksgiving. But I’m being picky about my checkout teller, avoiding the chatty old guy (if you go to Chili-Paul, I know you know who I’m talking about, yes, he’s nice but sometimes I’m just not in the mood) and finally settling on a competent looking teenager who is moving her line briskly along. (Although you have to be selective about your younger cashiers, I found out after I asked one teen how he was and he proceeded to describe in detail how he hadn’t had a break all day and really really needed to go to the bathroom...I tried to listen patiently because he was kind of cute but, wow, talk about TMI from someone who is touching your food.)

I have everything on the belt in the order that I want it packed (I’m a little OCD and my first job was in a grocery store) when I notice my husband is frozen in place, staring at the cashier. I look to see an older woman wearing a Packers’ jersey waiting to replace our cashier. “Maybe she’s just counting the money,” I murmur, trying to soothe John.

No such luck. “How are you today?” Packerwoman says politely.

“I was fine until you came along. I really don’t like you touching our groceries. I think I’ll take these items down to the express checkout.” John escapes in a miasma of consternation.

Packerwoman keeps going but looks at me, eyes wide open. “You don’t understand how seriously superstitious he is about his team,” I try to tell her.

“This is my husband’s jersey,” she stammers. “He’s been a Packers’ fan his whole life. I just like it when we don’t have to wear our uniform”

“It’s a whole different world with him and his family,” I swipe my card quickly and try to move her along.

“My son is a Steelers’ fan,” she offers. “He goes to the Steeler bars in Chicago.”

“Oh, he’s not as scary as he looks...” I should have gone to the old guy today. Then we just would have been talking about how much more snow we were getting.

I find John on my way out of the store. He is talking with another Wegman’s employee, one who is wearing a Steelers’ jersey. She kindly touches all our groceries and even drops a gold necklace in our cart offset the evil Packerwoman curse.

Well, you know how it all worked out. Despite much irrational clothes wearing and chair swapping by the DiCaro/DiPonzio gang during the big game, lucky number seven was not in the cards. It was great game, but the Steelers just kept nipping at the Packers’ heels. The team who played like champions got to kiss the trophy. Yes, Big Ben, hang your head, you haven’t totally redeemed yourself yet.

We did have fun and good food, including Primanti Brothers style sandwiches.

Thanks to Google, I discovered Ken’s Light Olive Oil Vinagrette, which mimics the original cole slaw recipe closely (and is only 2 WW PointsPlus!)

It was an exciting evening and I’d invite you for the next one but I think our house will be crossed off the Super Bowl party list for the future...bad karma, you know!

Dream On

Here is some “craftycrabbylami” for you...a hanging I embroidered for my niece’s birthday. I wanted to give her something handmade and when I found the design here: Feeling Stitchy, the rest of her gift had a “shoe” theme also, so it was perfect. This is the young lady who requested these for Christmas:

The saying is a popular paraphrase of a quote from Thoreau’s Walden Pond:
"I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavours to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favour in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them."

I have always enjoyed being around children because they are still so connected to their dreams. Teenagers, in particular, are passionate about their dreams. As adults dealing with boring and tedious adult responsibilities, it’s easy to lose track of our dreams.

Randy Pausch was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer before he was invited to give his “Last Lecture” at Carnegie Mellon. The title of his lecture was “Really Achieving your Childhood Dreams.” If you read the book that was published from his lecture, one of his themes is tenacity...being persistent in following your dreams.

I like the end of Thoreau’s thoughts: “Now put the foundations under them.” Of course, it sounds great in theory, right, but most of us don’t have the luxury of time away to experiment with making our dreams come true. When we hear our kids talking about how their dreams will come true, it sounds like they think it’s just going to happen...and much as you don’t want to dampen their spirits, you know that most dreams just don’t happen.

I was thinking about dreams and remembered my father-in-law. During the holidays my sister-in-law shared some copies of old pictures with us...one was of Dad DiCaro sitting on the dock of their home on the lake in Florida. His back was to the camera, all you can see is the little skull-cap bald spot on the back of his head...but I didn’t have to see his face to picture the expression. Pure contentment and a small smile. This was the guy who moved his family from Pennsylvania to Rochester to make a better life after getting laid off from Pittsburgh Plate Glass. Who left his home in Gates every morning at 4:45 to drive the often-blustery Route 104 to Xerox. Where he wasn’t worried about the fulfillment factor of the work he did, but was happy to have the work and good benefits and steady salary to raise his family. I’ve been thinking about him this bitter winter, and understanding how much he came to hate the snow and ice. He was motivated to keep on going every day by his dream of the fish jumping out of the water on the lake where his future home would be. And he did what he had to do to make it down there, building a beautiful home to retire to that we all enjoyed visiting during the ten years they lived in Cape Coral.

Later this month my mother will embark on a 49-day trip, which will include tours of the Taj Mahal and Angkor Wat, Cambodia. These are a couple of places that she hasn’t visited, which is saying a lot, because she’s been almost everywhere! We gave her a personalized map for Christmas that she could put pins in to show her travels, and it didn’t come with enough pins! Mom’s turning 78 this week and she just retired last June from full-time employment as an elementary school media specialist (librarian to you and me!). She entered the work force while I was in college, but that’s still a lot of years of putting one foot in front of the other, and doing what needed to get done in order to get to the stuff that dreams are made of!

And if the shoes that you’re wearing are zombie shoes...well, that’s another Thoreau quote, and a topic for another day, right?