Grocery shopping escapades chill holiday spirits: An ode to the hurried holiday headache outside the home

On a cold and dreary afternoon not so many years ago, I risked broken bones and sanity fetching groceries in the snow …

’Twas the week before Christmas and with great despair, I gazed at our cupboards which were empty and bare. No Moose Munch or mixed nuts. No sprinkled pretzel novelties. Not even a tin of Cougar Gold cheese.

My husband lay snoozing wrapped in Gonzaga blue and red, while visions of basketballs bounced through his head. Our daughter sat nestled iPad to face as sweet kitty Sunny kneaded biscuits in place. And I with a migraine, AARP magazines in lap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my rest to see what was the matter. No chips, dip or peppermint bark? No eggnog or Reese’s trees? Somebody needed to go shopping and it was destined to be me.

My Seattle roots trembled as I questioned the perilous mission, but with a house filled with hangry Grinches, nobody would listen. So, I with an aversion to all shimmery, white and slick, hit the harrowing Spokane highways as Grocery Store St. Nick.

The roads were atrocious, drivers rude and schlocky, as my car skated across glistening South Hill streets I attempted to jockey. That supermarket parking lot was a bedlam of sadness, vehicles sliding this way and that as horns honked through the madness.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a single small spot which I managed to spear. As I tiptoed carefully away from that coveted space, icy barnacles of white protruded around me like pimples on a face.

Young snow bunnies in Crocs sprinted past eyes to phones, frigid breezes they inflicted left me chilled to the bones. Christmas magic delivered a lone shopping cart ahead on my stride, a rickety old relic with dirty tissues and petrified fruitcake inside.

Bah humbug!

Blistering heat scorched me when I entered the store, beads of sweat dripped from my face like icicles to the floor. As I struggled to peel Arctic layers for dumping, the wheels of that rickety cart began annoyingly a’thumping. “Jingle Bell Rock” blasted as curious customers looked on. That paper shopping list I had drafted long since bygone.

Merry met mayhem inside of those aisles, displays of cranberry sauce and yams spiraled upward for miles. Holiday Twinkies and cookies stacked as far as the eyes could see, baking supplies towered taller than the Griswold Christmas tree. Tiny tots on sugar highs circled parents like frantic elves, while smug chocolate Santas chuckled from high atop of comfy shelves.

With eyes glazed and weary, I pondered fruit and vegetable deals, which required the purchase of enough cans to satisfy every Who in Whoville for 20 holiday meals. Slices, rings or tidbits? Whole, diced or stewed? Too many choices. Food! Food! Food! Food!

Those check stands were a flurry of incessant beeping, as I inched that rickety cart into a line, those small wheels now a’squeaking. While gazing out a window at the snow which was a’dropping I considered a grab-and-go strategy, but knew Santa was a’watching.

Studying the crowd, I sneered a Scroogy snicker at that dread … a checker with antlers bobbing on her head, a gaudy reindeer sweater which flashed with Rudolph’s nose of red. Small children shrieked as parents texted away, their shopping carts loaded fuller than Kris Kringle’s sleigh.

Stuck like fresh snow and lured by delectable check stand bait, I settled in with a sigh for a falalala-long wait. My chestnuts were a’roasting and my mood began to sour, as “Jingle Bell Rock” blasted for the second time that hour.

I felt a bit naughty, but didn’t care to be nice, as I walked out of that chaos and into the ice. While plowing my rickety cart through new-fallen snow, those wheels locked with a sudden jolt giving my holiday Peeps a great throw. As I scrambled to gather the scattered marshmallow plush, I stepped into a lake-sized puddle of ice cubes and slush.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Fresh powder dumped upon me as I entered my car, which resembled a large igloo when viewed from afar. Deep within the darkness of that muffled abode, I studied what awaited me out on the roads.

Polar gusts struck from all vents when I started that rig, my fingers tentacles of ice, my toes frozen twigs. Wipers swiped with ferocity back and forth cross my face, while I watched Jack Frost’s fury unfold from that secluded igloo space.

As I turned into our driveway at maximum horsepower, “Jingle Bell Rock” blasted for the third time that hour. Bright headlights illuminated my path up our hill, colorful tree sparkling in the window, cat on the sill. When I flung open my car door, that lost shopping list fluttered into sight.

Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Written with special thanks to Clement Clarke Moore.