Check It Out!

Wow! A LOT has happened since my last post, Dear Readers.  On Monday, May 9, as my plane from Seattle was pushing back from the gate, my phone started ringing.  I looked around for an angry stewardess and when I didn’t spot one, I grabbed it.

It was my son-in-law, Zach, in Boston.  And he announced the birth of my granddaughter, Caroline Blair Tofias at 8:26 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

I’m over the moon and thrilled to report that all 7 pounds and 2 ounces and 19 inches of sweet Caroline- and her mother Natasha Leigh- are doing just swell.

What a great way to end a fabulous Mother’s Day trip.

Now help me celebrate by singing along in her honor.

Very thrilling.  But let’s go back a couple of weeks……

I fainted in the Jewel check out line.

Yep.  Passed out cold- propped up by the bottom of the shopping cart in front of me and the shopping cart directly behind me and a wall of some kind behind me.

Here’s how I got there…

I decided to bake chocolate chip cookies.

This, in itself, is a milestone of sorts.  I haven’t baked anything since I left Colorado.

I checked out my pantry but I already knew what I would find.

Nada.

When you don’t have a sweet tooth and care more about the Chanel suit than the brownie, trust me.  You’re not going to have cookie fixin’s in the larder.  I haven’t had sugar in this house…um… ever.  And I’ve lived here almost three years.

I also didn’t have flour, eggs, baking soda, chocolate chips, a sifter, cookie sheets or cooling racks.

(I did have brown sugar left over from a bar-be-cue sauce I had made last summer.)

I made a quick phone call to a neighbor.

“Can I borrow cookie sheets and cooling racks?  I have to bake cookies and I don’t have any equipment.”

“Sure,” she said willingly.  “I’ll drop them off with your doorman. Let me try one when you’re done.’

Check.

Then, with a list on my phone, a spring in my step and a song in my heart (“Tell Mama” by Etta James) I set off for the Jewel.

As I walked, I thought.

About the Good.  (The reason I was baking cookies in the first place.)

The Bad.  (The Hawks had just lost to St. Louis and were out of the Stanley Cup hunt.)

And the Ugly. (My mother’s latest cage match with the people at Rehab. Don’t ask.)

And before you could say, “Semi-sweet,” I was in the store.

I grabbed a cart and leisurely made my way up and down the aisles.

In no time, I had everything on my list and I proceeded to the check out lane.

That’s when the trouble started.

In front of me was a little old lady in her 80’s who really was having problems checking her groceries out.

“Oh, dear.  Where did I put my checkbook?  How much is it?  Oh, no, I left my checks at home.  I’ve never done that before.  Where’s my credit card?  How do you put it in?  What’s that beeping?  I want $50. Wait, do I pull it out?”

And the check out gal wasn’t having the best day, either.

“This is the first day we’re using the chip reader, Ma’am.” she said.  “I’ll get that for you.”

Over and over again the clerk tried to punch in numbers but she was having as much trouble as the befuddled little old lady.

At first, I was exasperated.  I had $30 clutched in my hand and I was ready to go.

But this transaction was taking FOREVER and there was no end in sight.

I turned to the little old lady behind me and said sotto voce, ” I think this is going to be awhile.”

She nodded in sympathetic agreement.

But suddenly my exasperation disappeared.  I still wished they would hurry up but for an entirely different reason.

The room was spinning, I was getting hot, my head was swirling, it was getting dark…

“I don’t feel so good,” I announced to no one in particular.

And boom.

I woke up to two Jewel employees saying, “Are you alright?  What’s your name, Ma’am? We need to call an ambulance,”

That did it.

I sure didn’t want to end up in some Chicago hospital emergency room all day.

“No ambulance.  Don’t call an ambulance.  I’m okay.”

“We’ve got to call, Ma’am.  It’s the law.  You’re on the floor,” explained the sweet Jewel lady manager.

“Get me up,” I commanded.

And so the two of them lifted me off the floor and carried me to a nearby bench.

I still had my money clutched in my hand.

“Here’s thirty dollars,” I weakly whispered to the kind lady manager.  “Check me out.”

She took the money and brought me back a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” she said.  “You’ll feel better.”

Then she went away again and came back with my change.

“Here’s your receipt,” she said.  “You’re all checked out.  And your groceries are sitting there until you feel better.  Don’t worry.  We’ll bring them to you when you ready.”

And she handed me thirty-two cents and two Monopoly cards.

Wow!  How’s the for “The Price is Right?”  I nailed it with my $30.

(This was pure fluke.  I never know what anything costs in a supermarket.  I just got lucky.)

At long last, I left the Jewel and started to walk back home.  But the bags weighed a zillion pounds and I felt like I had been run over by a Sherman tank.  I barely had enough energy to cross the street and hail a cab.

The cab driver was sweet and solicitous when I told him what had happened.

He carefully drove me.  And offered to carry my groceries to the the front door.  Luckily, our door man came rushing out when he saw the cab and I shoved the bags at him as I dragged my weak ass to the elevator.

I was feeling so crummy that I spent the next two days sleeping it off.

Wow.  That was NOT fun.

But don’t feel sorry for me.

Feel sorry for the old lady in line behind me.

BTW, The cookies turned out great.  And Caroline, I’m baking you and your mom another batch today.

See you soon.

Love, Gran