The Nice American

         Americans are really nice.

         I am trying to focus on the good things about living where I do, and this is one of the big ones. When I went to the pharmacy yesterday, I got a big smile and a seemingly sincere, "How are you doing today?" from the young woman behind the counter. She laughed with the pharmacist when the noise of the register tape made her jump, and she told the aged, hunched woman behind me how nice she looked today. Far from being an isolated incident, I can almost count on a pleasant exchange with someone every time I leave the house. The grocery store cashier complements my choice of snack bar, the man at Toyota runs out to see if I need help with my plates, the school secretary answers my questions cheerfully. This kind of friendliness is not a worldwide phenomenon. I notice and appreciate it now in a way I did not before.

        That said, let's move on to the day's main topic. As I said, I am working on appreciating my location. This does not come naturally since, as it turns out, Baltimore is neither Geneva nor Cincinnati, which are at least two of the places ahead of it on the list of Places I Want to Be Right Now. In this spirit of aspirational appreciation, I decided that it was Time for an Adventure. So after dropping Luc and Jo at Co-op last Monday, I set off to see what Central Maryland had to offer.
        Being a mildly goal-oriented kind of person, I had previously googled "vintage furniture Westminster." Our Realtor, who has been the good fairy behind both our home and all our home improvements, had further suggested that I should find some antiques to furnish the living room. So I obediently set out for the Westminster Antique Mall. The Co-op is about an hour from our house, in what, after living in Baltimore County, seemed like the barren countryside of Carroll County. I drove through rolling green hills, past red barns and white farmhouses, under a clear sky of the blue that only autumn brings. When I reached the Antique Mall, it was closed.

Closed, but with a promising look.

       Happily, this was because it was only 9 in the morning. I decided to push the envelope of adventure by visiting the nearest grocery store while I waited for the mall to open at 10. Unhappily for adventure, but happily for efficiency, the nearest grocery was a chain that has become familiar to me in recent weeks.

I highly recommend Giant. Good private-label, veggie sticks, Jones Soda . . . .

            After a successful (measured by the fact that all the groceries fit into the bags I brought) shopping expedition, I took care of answering some phone calls, setting up an orthodontist appointment, and scheduling time for Drew to drive with the instructor.  
   

The mobile office.

       I returned to the Antique Mall, finding it open this time. I am not a seasoned antique shopper. We've always been more the kind of people who wait around for someone to give us furniture. Since we don't really know anyone in Baltimore -- with or without furniture -- that didn't seem like a viable option. Plus, at 42, it's probably time for us to stop behaving like college students and buy our own stuff.  Anyway, I could get into antique shopping. Being at the Antique Mall was kind of like being at my Grandma Emy's, Aunt Nancy's, and Aunt Betty's houses -- all at the same time. I had no idea about the quality or value of anything I was looking at, but I was charmed nonetheless.

What do you think about this for the living room?

How about these? The tables, not the glassware, of course.

        I didn't end up buying anything, being unable to make decisions about anything but groceries or textbooks without other family members weighing in. Plus, now I have a great excuse to go back next week. I traveled back to the church where the Co-op meets through the center of Westminster, which is as homey a country town as I could ask for. I ate a bagel at a place called Sam's, which was right on the main street. The lady tending the counter asked me to help her thread her needle (which I did), and shared her parking woes. A man came in and asked her to sponsor a softball team. She agreed and went back to her hand-towel sewing. She warned me not to put any salt on my sandwich, because the chicken salad was already salty. I felt like a regular.

Sam's

        I made it back to Co-op in time to be the English helper and the art helper (guess which one I'm better at). Maryland is not Geneva. It's not Cincinnati either. And my adventure was hardly earth-shattering -- I didn't even buy a teaspoon. But for that morning, I was content to be where I was.