Stores

Stores and philosophy. Stores and psychology. Of course.  Who says otherwise? Between the asiles of  mushrooms and marscipone are centuries of poetry, philosophy, politics, song, sexuality, intrique, language, poetry, he, he and she, animals, animal husbandry, laundry, sleep, sleep aepnea, medicine, drugs, and other medicine, rules, schools, discipline (or not), religion (or not), language, sexuality.....shall I go on? 
Or shall I go on, merely, to my own two small matters at hand, observed in two Bainbridge Island stores?  Yes, this. I've had a long day, the East Coast is drowning, Ive driven through enough rain to drown plenty of cats and rats all by myself, today, here goes:

               I was in the wine aisles at __________________ standing somewhere between Malbec and Merlot, but leaning and longing towards a Bainbridge Island-made wine whose name I could not recall.  It was a wine Alan and I had both loved (unusual, since Alan is not a wine lover).  We had enjoyed this wine at a local winery with the first name of the winery being Amerlia, while my daughter Kelly and her fiance Bill were here with us.  I remember (but of course!) what we ate with is....cheese, smoked salmon, two types of crackers, salami.  The dte was way before Halloween but the small and charming wine tasting place was adorned with tiny  Halloween decorations.  I even remember the art deco earrings on the very pretty, very nice blond wine waitresses' ears.  I recall everythig except the name of..........the wine.

_________________________wine steward approached me, asking if I needed help.  "I do," I responded, "but I have so little for you to help me with.  It's a Bainbridge label.  They sell this wine at ____________.  The first letter comes early in the alphabet.  It's a red.  There's a wine tasting place down the road on Winslow Way; they sell this wine. We love it. My husband and I were hoping you sell it, but I can't find it."
     "I'm so sorry, "the attractive wine steard said, "I think you might mean a Cuvee, but we don't seel that wine. Someday, maybe." She smiled, but her smile was sad.
     "Cuvee, Cuvee, YES, that's what I WANT!" I laughed!  "Thank you! You're so smart! And now I have to go!"
     "Can I interest you in any other of our Bainbridge reds?" asked the wine steward?
     "Afraid not,"  I said, "I have a patient coming at ten and I only have twenty-five minutes to pay for all this and get back into the office.
     "Oh God, are you a therapist?" she asked.
     I smiled and said "I am."
     tears spurted out of her eyes, she began to fumble inside her pocker for something. Finally, she brought out a sheet of white folded paper.  "Please," she said, "please. Yesterday I saw my doctor at Virginia Mason. She gave me the name of a doctor, a woman she said I MUST see. I have it right here. It's printed right here. Just tell me know if you have  heard of her or not. It will help so much."
      She unfolded the paper.  I looked at the printed name.  There it was.  It's always a bit of a surprise just as it's always no surprise at all. Not in this county. It's what a lifetime of doing has accomplished. Like walking in the same room ovr and over, in the dark.  KAY MORGAN, printed in a stranger's printing.
     "Do ou know this person?" the wine steward asked.
     Strangely, I thought of an old Saturday Night Live routine but I stopped myself from going there. Of course.  'It's me,"I said.  "I am Kay Morgan.  "Your  doctor is sending you to me."
     "The wine steward burst into tears and threw her arms around me, crying and saying, "It's God! It's God God is sending me to you! What else could this mean! I've never been to a therapist before! It's such a narrow little window and here you are! I'm so depressed! I want to die but I won't do it because iat's so wrong! And here you are! You are the name on the paper!"

Yes I was.
It has happened before.
It used to thrill me, as in: I'm Important (Aren't I?)
Now, the feeling is strangely akin to embarrassment attached to a kind of "caring"attached to resolution.

Apart from all of that "inner stuff", it is odd to see one's name, which comes down to being quite an intimate thing....printed on a prescription pad by a doc one has never heard of.....how do we position intimacy, professionalism, suffering, in human life?  How do we do this?  Where is the moral to this story?

October 30, 21012
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Today in Eagle Harbor Book Store, a Grandpa and his young grandson are happy and harried.
     "Grandpa! Grandpa!  I want this book! Remember? You said you would get it for me next time!!"
     The Grandpa, tired though he is, decides he will have some fun; not TOO much, just enough, for he knows how much fun he can have with his grandson, this happy and clever grandson of his.
     "But how do you know today is "next time"? The Grandpa asks with a twinkle in his eye.
      He says this both teasingly and lovingly, with his hand stroking the boys shoulder and the back of the boy's neck.
     "But of COURSE it is NEXT TIME, it HAS to be NEXT TIME, because here we ARE AGAIN, and we HAVENT been here ever since we were here before, which is PROOF, perfect PROOF that is is NEXT TIME!      ----------    Isn't it?"
          Time stood still in the Eagle Harbor Book Store.
     I stand still.  The poet John stands still.  The older man with the black and gray dog stands        till.   The pretty young girl with the red tights and the pink and gray polka dot sweater stands still.
   "Well, of course it is next time!" the grandpa laughs.  "Bring the book up to the counter here and I'll buy it for you right now.  And, by the way, where is your jacket?  Where did you put your jacket?
       The grandson, whose name was Roberrt, looks around for his jacket, but he can't find it.  He starts racing around the store looking here and there without having much success.  Other people too, other people in the bookstore, begin looking about, furtively at first  and then more openly, looking for a boy's jacket.
     The jacket is not found.
      "Well,then," calls out the Grandpa to his Grandson as they walk out the door, "just put your book on and we'll figure out something to tell your mother by the time we get home!"
             At that, everybody in the bookstore has a good laugh.
     There are ways and ways to live life.  There are ways and ways to communicate.  There are ways and ways to react.  There are ways and ways to agree. There are ways and ways to disagree. There are ways and ways to think you are being logical.  There are ways and ways to hurt people. There are ways and ways to stop hurting people.  There are ways and ways to learn. All the best medicines are not on the shelves.

All the best medicines are not on the shelves.