I really should stay away from malls this time of year. Normally I’m deep in a state of hating humanity by now, but this was an unusually warm and sunny Autumn. Right now it’s raining like October, and Winter is eight days away. Crazy weather.

Today I had an impulse to shop for something to wear to the blog party coming up this week, so I went to Providence Place, seeking a sparkly hair ornament.

The mall was not my first choice. I had tried to find the sparkly hair ornament earlier today, at a jewelry store open on a Sunday. The neon sign in the window was not in Latin script. I was buzzed through a glass door and then iron bars. There was lots of gold on display.

“Do you have any costume jewelry?”
“No.”
“Okay.”

Just to say, I tried to buy local and small.

But it’s down to the mall. I was merry when I started out. My husband was in a bad mood and I wanted to give him a little space. This turned out to be a good idea. Sometimes it is better to not talk it out, but just let things cool down. The mall errand was timely. I went in with a good attitude. I didn’t say ‘truck’ when I couldn’t find a parking place right away. I just laughed a jolly laugh and drove up to the top level.

It’s been a while since I’ve been to this mall. I had forgiven, or at least forgotten, how aggravating the place is.

I’ll tell you one thing– the dollar ain’t what it used to be. I went to the Levis store and I saw a nice corduroy shirt modeled on traditional workingman’s clothes. I wanted to buy one for my husband, as a peace offering, but it was fifty dollars. About a day’s take-home pay for the workingman if he was doing somewhat better than minimum, and a good chunk of change for me. I passed.

Some guy ran up to me hawking Dead Sea Salt to make me young again. I don’t exactly get the concept. He looked young, because he is. But the Dead Sea is the mean streets of marine life. Salt desiccates things. I’m already desiccated. Where’s the science here, people? I was not rude to the young man, and only whispered ‘truck’ under my breath.

I ended up at ‘Claire’s’ pretending to be buying a present for a grandchild but really I’m totally enchanted by the rhinestones and crystals. I got myself a pair of sparkly earrings and a hairband/necklace in rainbow colors.

I still wanted to get my husband something nice. I went to Nordstroms. Down to the men’s section. I was looking for a warm and comfortable pair of socks. Good quality socks. I didn’t mind paying a little extra…

These look good–Omigod forty dollars?!! Truck! They must be out of their truckin’ minds if they think anyone will pay forty dollars for a pair of socks. They’re cashmere. What does that mean? Does that mean I’ll have to get them dry cleaned? They’ll come back in a tiny plastic bag on a little hanger? Socks?!! Like I’d dry-clean all my socks? Truck!

Truck all those Wall Street bankers who buy their socks at Nordstroms and have their socks and underwear dry-cleaned. Truck them!

Okay, take a deep breath. Calm down. The car is on Stateside, M-1. But then I had to find a place to validate my parking ticket. Orpheus in the underworld probably had an easier time. I searched for a place where I might humbly line up, like a petitioner, or a penitent, and beseech Robotron to accept my dollar bill. I wandered up endless, desolate flights of stairs and found a booth with some kids.

It’s a credit to my maturity that I kept my bad temper and opinion that it’s a truckin’ imposition from the teenage clerks. They don’t make the rules.

But I’m old enough to remember that it’s my tax dollars that paid for this truckin’ parking garage and this truckin’ mall, and all they managed to do was bankrupt themselves. We tore down the URI extension and the Produce Terminal for this??? Truck!

If I were fined a dollar for every time I said ‘truck’ on this particular shopping trip I would have used up my whole truckin’ X-mas budget.

You know, it’s a pyramid scheme. Constant craving, eternal expansion.

People need stuff. People want stuff. That’s only human nature in the material world. But how do we get stuff? Do we have to jump up and salute when the voice on the TV tells us it’s ten shopping days till X-Mas? Can we claim a little space to identify our heart’s desire?

Maybe we need to wean our economy off Black Friday and Christmas Rush and let the shopping happen according to our needs and desires. And then maybe Christmas could dial down the materialism and regain its religious meaning.

Maybe the merchants would look to Mardi Gras as their next hope of salvation.

Christmas would get a break, and Christians would have a chance to re-establish the spiritual roots of the holiday. Or should I say, Holy Day?

By late Winter, a national Mardi Gras might be just what is needed to get the North out of its funk. You people in the Bible Belt don’t know what an act of faith it is for us to survive February.

Well, no one listens to me, anyway.

So have a Merry one, any way you can.