Last Thursday, I’m standing at my register down to the A&P, when who do I see in the produce section but James Brown. Not James Brown, the Godfather of Soul. No, I’m talking about James Brown, CPA, Mahoosuc Mills’ best accoutant. Well, since his father retired, he’s our only accountant. James may be sharp with numbers, but grocery shopping, not so much. “There are too many variables,” he told me once.
James married a gal he met at Dartmouth, Courtney Van Buren. The two of them worked in Boston until they were ready to start a family, then they decided to settle here in Mahoosuc Mills. Courtney works for a company in Bangor (something to do with computers), but only has to go down there a couple times a week.
Because James has his office in the center of town, every once and awhile Courtney has him pick up some groceries on his way home. Oh, it’s painful to watch.
So back in produce, there’s James, list in hand, beads of sweat on his forehead. He’s pacing back and forth in front of the lettuce. Get anything but the iceberg, I’m thinking. I got nothing against iceberg myself, but I know Courtney does. The only time I’ve seen her buy it was when she was having a “retro party,” as she called it.
“That sounds interesting,” I says to her. “What are you serving?”
“For appetizers, pigs in a blanket and celery stuffed with cream cheese, followed by pork chops cooked in cream of mushroom soup, riced potatoes (Have you ever heard of such a thing?) and big wedges of iceberg lettuce smothered in Russian dressing. And for dessert (Are you ready?) Twinkies, Suzy-Q’s and Ring Dings.”
I’m thinking, throw in some ambrosia salad and it sounds like our menu for the LeClair family reunion.
James sighs, takes out his cell phone and texts Courtney. He puts his phone back in his pocket, grabs the red leaf lettuce, looks at his list and moves on.
A few minutes later, I look up and see James standing in front of the apples. He sighs and takes out the cell phone again, texts, waits for a reply, then puts the phone back in his pocket and continues to stare at the apples. He looks pleadingly in my direction. “Courtland?” he asks.
“The red ones at the end of the aisle, to your left. They’re on special this week.”
“Thanks, Ida,” he says, tearing off one of them plastic bags from the roll, and struggling to get the top open.
I finish ringing out Nancy Landry and turn back to the produce section. James is still there, looking lost. I switch off my register light and walk over to him.
“Help,” he says, handing me the list.
“Let’s see. What do we have here? Parsley. I believe Courtney prefers curly leaf. There, James, to your right. What’s this? 3 V.R. tom. Hmmm. That must be vine ripe tomatoes. On the stand there. And, oh dear, we’re out of fennel. Won’t have it until tomorrow.”
He looks at me, stricken.
“Don’t panic, James! We’re just going to have to bring in the heavy artillery.” I walk him over to the flower section. “I’m thinking these yellow tulips will do the trick.”
James smiles and stands up straighter, “Ida, you’re a life saver.”
“Thanks, dear. Now, if you’re up for it, grab a bottle of her favorite wine and one of them big Lindt bars (I highly recommend the milk chocolate crème brulèe) and neither one of you will miss the fennel!”
That’s if for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Too Many Variables