Violets for the Soul

A recent trip to the grocery store resulted in more than a shopping cart full of food. In fact, I received an unexpected perk that money can’t buy.

It was the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. I was tired from the holidays, recovering from a second bout of COVID in three months and a bit stressed over upcoming deadlines and obligations. On the other hand, there was the new year just ahead and a family gathering at our house to welcome my husband’s brother, who was coming from Alabama to visit for a few days. As I grabbed a cart and entered the store, I sensed that the mood among fellow shoppers reflected my own conflicted feelings of fatigue and anticipation.

Weaving among customers vying for last-minute cans of black-eyed peas and other New Year’s necessities, I ran down my shopping list as quickly as possible, chose a checkout line and got in place, hoping it wouldn’t prove to be the slowest-moving queue in the store. As luck would have it, it wasn’t, and soon I faced the checker. I smiled and began piling tote bags and assorted items onto the conveyor belt.

“Good morning!” I said in a cheerful tone, using my best Southern manners.

But she was not in the mood for friendly small talk – not even a hello or a “How are you today?” or “Did you find everything all right?” She was clearly in a funk. Her face, devoid of makeup, reflected ennui and utter disenchantment with the world. She made no effort at eye contact, and her expression was as blank as the perceived monotony of her day. Scan, bag, receipt, repeat.

I wondered what might be going on in her life. What was troubling her? Finances, grief, perhaps a lost romance? What could I do to help? I felt a little guilty at the abundance before me to be shared over good times with family and friends.

Suddenly, squeals of laughter interrupted my thoughts. To my right was a woman with three children, two boys and a girl. They were standing in front of a vending machine that releases toys in exchange for tokens, a post-checkout distraction familiar to anyone who’s been to the grocery store with children. The girl, whose face I never saw, was the picture of poise and Parisian chic as she kept her back to the checkout lines, her eyes focused on the treasure before her. Like an Audrey Hepburn in miniature, she was dressed in a smart red overcoat accented with an adorable black velveteen bow. Her dark hair was held back under an equally adorable matching red pillbox hat with black trim. In contrast, her young companions, wearing more casual attire as little boys are wont to do, could hardly contain their enthusiasm. Amid much jumping up and down and giggling, they were like puppy dogs, falling over themselves as they awaited the special prizes soon to be their own. It was a scene of pure, unabashed joy.

I turned back to my groceries and couldn’t believe the sight before me. The checker was radiant, her face alight with a beautiful smile. She too had been transfixed by the children’s laughter. As our eyes met for the first time, we both realized we’d witnessed a little miracle that day. “Aren’t they precious,” we concurred. Still smiling, she handed over my receipt with a heartfelt, “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Life was just a little bit better, for me and, I truly believe, for her.

In “Les Misérables,” Victor Hugo describes laughter as “sunshine; it chases winter from the human face.” As the checker and I experienced first-hand, this holds especially true when the laughter is that of a child, or in our case two little boys and a little girl. Their unbridled joy at the anticipation of a few insignificant toys from a vending machine literally erased “winter” from the checker’s face, if only for a few minutes. I hope she’s held that memory close despite whatever challenges have been in her way. I continue to reflect on the lessons of that moment – an affirmation of the healing powers of laughter, made even more potent with an added dose of childlike innocence, wonder and awe. That’s a value-added bonus we all can use, with no coupon needed and, best of all, no expiration date.