Tree Shopping. Again.

We still don’t have a tree. In fact, there’s little in our apartment that tips you off to the season except the stack (somewhat tree-shaped) of boxes—both the cardboard and gift-wrapped variety—near the door.

I’ve been to several tree-selling stands. Stopped at one just this past Wednesday. But, as usual, couldn’t find anything I wanted (read: that was affordable).

However, my desire for a tree swiftly exited when I turned a corner and saw this:


How cute is he? He was part of a nativity scene and far more interested in his food than in making my acquaintance. Okay by me. He made the trip worthwhile.

Now I’m off again in pursuit of a tree. Or a branch. I’m feeling lucky…

Gauging Age at the Grocery Store

Last year at my neighborhood Windy City grocer, I was bemoaning the saccharine, easy-listening pop music blaring over the PA system. I loathe the incessant music, news, and commercials broadcast by retailers to enhance my shopping experience. I prefer silence. But just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, a familiar voice rang out: David Byrne with the Talking Heads. What?!

When did the Talking Heads cross over to the Easy Listening genre? Probably about the same time I started hearing from AARP. Ouch.

Last week, while hunting and gathering at my local Bluegrass grocery store, another age reminder played over the PA system. This time, the song was familiar, but I couldn’t place the voice. I stopped to listen. Good gracious! It was a cover of a Smiths anthem—some woman blandly substituting for Morrissey. Blech.

Oh, you just wait, you youngsters out there. Wait until that day in your near future when you’re shopping at your local superstore and you start hearing hideous covers of Lady Gaga and Eminem, or maybe the PA system cranks out a favorite from Florence and The Machine. This will be your clarion call to a new age—er, rather, an old one.

Rags & Riches

These are indeed strange times. 

Yesterday I received a promotional call from the Salvation Army. It wanted to let me know about the BIG going-back-to-school sale it was having.

This evening I received a similar call from C. D. Peacock, a purveyor of fine jewelry in Chicago which opened its doors in 1837, marking Chicago's transition "from semi-savage conditions to civilization and refinement" (according to one historian). 

This photograph shows the famous brass peacock doors of the State Street location, no longer inhabited by C. D. Peacock. The long list of celebrity clientele wasn't enough to rescue the jeweler from downsizing.

 

You may be inclined to think that someone is scrolling through the white pages to make these sales calls, but I've been a customer at both establishments. Of course, CDP hasn't seen me for quite awhile, so they want me back. The SA, on the other hand, was rewarding me for being a repeat customer.

It's contradictions like this that plague the unemployed. Where do we fit in? Who are we now? Will we ever again be given the opportunity to walk through extraordinary doors like these to experience all they represent?

Time, and hope, will tell.