Day 1,716 – Thankful for a Random Grocery Store Conversation

Days like to today are amongst my favorite. There are several different paths I could take with my blog, but one hits at the last minute that is so perfect it feels like it must have been made up. The day was loaded with positive time with people I enjoy spending time with as well as much quiet time spent in thought. Much of my drive was spent in silence as I planned my day and had excellent insights on a project I’m working on. Becky got home and it was great hearing about her trip. I got some time with each of the boys. It’s been a fantastic day.

What seems correct to write about tonight was a moment while ordering jello squares for Gavin at the deli counter at Festival Foods. Yup, how trippy use that?

When I ordered the workers laughed and the one who was helping me explained that the person next to me, a fifty something dude, both ordered the same thing at almost the same time. They proceeded to race each other while the other dude and I laughed and each cheered for our person. The worker helping him out pointed out that he had ordered a larger container. I followed up with, “he obviously loves his family more than I do,” with a wink. He laughed and explained it was for his wife, she loves her jello. We exchanged a couple of other comments and went on her way.

As luck would have it I ended up right behind him at the check out line. He said “happy wife, happy life,” and I nodded in agreement with a huge grin. The next phrase was what really added to the magic of the moment.

“That’s what my dad always told me,” he said. For the briefest of seconds their was a look of profound sadness on his face which was followed so quickly with a smile again. “Boy do I miss him. What I would do for five more minutes with him.”

I almost lost it right there. That was exactly what Dad used to tell Nick and I about our grandpa. It is the same thing I tell my boys. In an instant I understood the smile, sadness, and smile. I am positive my face gives away similar emotions when I make the same statement. Smiling because of remembering Dad. Brief sadness because he is gone. A bigger smile because I know how blessed I was to have him in my life for as long as I did.

The dude and I spend another minute talking about our dads, their advice, and how they’d chuckle at our conversation. There is no question he felt his father there with him in much the same way I know Dad was there with me. It was a moment of pure magic.

Tonight I continued working on my book and I kept thinking back to those moments at the deli counter and then the cash register. They were pure gold. From them I drew inspiration for my writing and was reminded of the ways in which Dad brightened the lives of those he touched. I’m so proud and honored to live into his legacy in moments like those.


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