My Mom and Zen Shopping

“Have patience with all things, but first of all with thyself.”
St. Francis de Sales


I hate shopping. Being in a shopping mall or any department store turns me into a zombie. Some people can stay in a store for hours. My mom is one of these people.
I have literally been in a Pet Co. with my mom for six hours. Spending six hours shopping in Pet Co. is not an easy task. It requires much patience. Patience is vital for staying on the path and having faith.
In this busy, fast-paced modern life we lead, sometimes we find ourselves rushing hither and thither so much, it’s hard to slow down. I find myself caught up with the, “let’s go, let’s go” attitude, always having to be rushing off to the next thing or next appointment, new stimulation.
To overcome my impatience I go Zen shipping with my mom. Go into any store with her and she will look at EVERTYHING. She will talk to EVERYONE. She will spend hours searching for the perfect item. If you go into a shoe store with her, expect to help her try on every shoe in the store. I kid you not.
It used to be my mom would ask me to take her shopping and I’d cringe. I always slapped a time frame on it by telling her I had an appointment to keep us moving along in the store. Now I look forward to her shopping sessions because it is really a massive test for my patience. It’s like a person who has fear of cats being locked in a room with cats for eight hours.
The funny part about being in Pet. Co. with my mom for six hours was the fact that, when we finally went to the check out, all my mom was getting was pet food! But understand, she didn’t just look at pet food. She looked at all the dogs, the cats, the dog and cat toys, the birds, the fish, the insects and creepy crawlies, the mice the rats, the bedding, the cups, dishes, dispensers, shampoo, soap, cages, etc., etc. She looked at twenty five different types of food. She asked clerks, who kept switching because one shift would end, another would go on break, another would sneak off, exasperated by so many questions and stories.
My mom doesn’t care. When she enters a store her concept of time disappears. She can go into a Wal-Mart and if someone isn’t there to escort her out, she could be lost for months in there. Like that Japanese soldier on the island in the Pacific after the war is over, he has no reference point of time, so forty years after the cease fire, he’s still fighting on.
Time stands still for my mom in a store. It is never the mercenary way of get in get out. That’s the way I like to handle my shopping. My mom is all about infiltration. Like a spy who has to personally handle every detail and talk to every contact. That’s how she gets the job done.
The other day we went into Trader Joes to get my mom’s special butter. She has to have organic, raw butter that hasn’t been pasteurized, for health reasons.
Four hours later she is leaving with a full shopping cart of food and other items she found along the way.
I am going to recommend my mom hire out her services to people who are impatient to train them to overcome it. She could make a fortune.

My aunt sent me a gift in the mail the other day. I opened the package and found a bright yellow satin sock with tiny holes in it. Along with the sock was a box of tiny dark sunflower seeds. My aunt informed me this was a “Wild Finch Feed Sock”. My first thought was, my aunt had gone nuts. How were finches going to feed on a sock filled with seeds?
My aunt lives in Northern California and I had only seen and talked to her rarely. I pondered what could have pushed her over the deep end. Maybe some sudden traumatic event? I had no clue but I went along with it.
I assembled the feed sock and hung it from the veranda on my back porch. I watched I waited. Nothing. The sock just hung there, gently swaying in the breeze. I called my aunt up.
“Hey, what’s the deal with this feed sock thing-a-majiger?”
“You have to be patient,” she reassured me.
“It’s been like a week and I haven’t even seen a single bird sniff around the thing. It’s a sock. I don’t think birds are finding it very appetizing.”
“You just have to be patient.”
“How long do I wait? Maybe I should move it to another spot? Put it in a tree or something.”
“Patience, Jay. They will come.”
If I build it, they will come.
Now I was really thinking my aunt had lost it. There’s no way. Plus, how is the bird going to get the seed out of the sock? Forget it.
“Alright, sounds good. I’ll check it out. Thanks for thinking about me.” Take care. Good bye. Avoid sharp objects.
I forgot about the feed sock, going about the daily rush of activities.
As I was sitting on my floor one afternoon, perusing Time Magazine, I looked outside and couldn’t believe my eyes. I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.
The yellow feed sock was covered with Goldfinches! They clung to the sides and pecked at the seeds in a bundle of energy and excitement. A blanket of scattered seeds decorated the cement patio directly below the sock. I watched the sock, mesmerized for a good half hour or so. I called my aunt immediately and told her my success.
“Birds! It’s covered with birds! They must have picked up the scent finally.”
“It just takes them a little time to find it.”
“Wow. I’m really impressed. I was thinking you were absolutely nuts. That there was no way birds were gonna feed on this crazy sock.”
“Have patience. You expected instant results.”
I had to admit I did think that the second I strung it up, it would be a feeding frenzy.

Slow down and smell the flowers. That’s been a toughy for me over the years. I know I get caught up in the mad dash to the point where I feel I’m missing out on life.
Our lives are too complicated in this modern existence that we have to rush about at a breakneck pace in order to get everything done. Trouble with that is, suddenly you stop, look around, and realize ten years has gone by and what do you have to show for it?
If we can foster more patience, I think it can make the journey more fruitful. We get a little more out of the whole thing. We can weather the bad times if we know that around the corner there is a light of hope.