The Bag Ladies

I live part-time in South Carolina. When it snows in the South, we become paralyzed. It doesn't happen often, so we really don't have the equipment to get the roads cleared quickly like they do in Vermont, where I live the other part of the time. Mother Nature dropped six inches of the white powdery stuff two days ago, and to us, that's a whopper of a storm. School has been cancelled for the third day in a row, the Governor closed all State offices and manufacturing plants that never shut down have told their workers to stay home. Of course the mall announced it would open at noon. I am still scratching my head trying to understand the reasoning on that one, but I doubt I ever will.

If you are going to get snowed in, you want to be sure you are equipped with the four Fs - food, firewood and funny friends. For some unknown reason, 99 percent of the population thinks that bread and milk are the most important food staples to have on hand in the event of snow. This makes as much sense to me as the mall being open.

In the calm before the storm, I hit the grocery store and the library. At the grocery store, I loaded up my shopping cart with fruit, vegetables, a big old turkey and the fixin's for cornbread, a Southern staple. At the library, I browsed for some good love stories to be read in front of the fireplace. I also surveyed the toilet paper inventory, something you do not want to be without in a snowstorm. Check, check, check...I was ready for Mother Nature to bring it on.

I woke up to a winter wonderland and commenced to cooking, fire building, tv watching, book reading and genuinely enjoying the calm during the storm. This lasted for 24 hours, and then the cabin fever hit.

"I need to go to the grocery store," I announced to my good friend and Southern roommate. "I think we are out of corn bread fixin's and I want to make chili," I continued convincingly. Driving was not an option as the roads remained snow-covered and icy. But the local BiLo grocery store was a mere mile from our house, so I suggested we take a walk. Knowing we could use the exercise after the 24-hour feeding frenzy, we both donned our winter walking gear. Now when you live in the South, you don't have a large winter walking wardrobe, so you peer into your closet and piece together as best you can, the operative word being layers.

My outfit consisted of a pair of Wellies dotted with St. Bernards, a pair of corduroy pants with the legs rolled up, three shirts - a tank, a tee shirt and a flannel button down - a Sherpa coat, striped gloves and a red fleece hat. There was no color coordination whatsoever, but I knew I would be warm.

My roommate, who is much more fashion conscious than me, was a bit more put together. Her purple plaid wellies actually matched the full-length purple coat that covered her pants and layers of shirts. She accessorized with a long red scarf and matching floppy hat.

We trudged carefully through the snow on the streets of the gated community where we live. When we reached the main road, we put some distance between us and the street, fearful a car would skid on the ice and careen toward us. This meant we were walking in snow several inches deep, so it didn't take long before we both were sweating profusely.

We got to the BiLo, gathered the items on our abbreviated shopping list and divided them up into four plastic grocery bags of equal weights. The thought of schlepping the bags for the mile-walk home in the cold through deep snow made us realize that perhaps this was not the greatest idea. But, we had come this far and we had to return home, so we buttoned the coats, tightened the scarves and put the gloves back on.

As we started the journey, like sugar plums, the thoughts of our comfortable home with crackling fireplace, big screen tv and a loyal poodle who would greet us feverishly, danced in my head. Twas not a bad life and I had much for which to be thankful. And then I took a gander at my friend as well as my self, walking with slouched shoulders as we carried our bags in each of our hands.

I started to laugh out loud, realizing that to the cars passing us by, we most probably looked like two bag ladies, laden with our earthly belongings on our bodies and in our bags. I could actually hear people in their luxury vehicles saying, "Those poor homeless ladies, I wonder where they will sleep tonight in this awful weather." I almost expected someone to stop their car and offer us a few dollars so we could buy a cup of coffee.

Life is all about perceptions, and sometimes they are wrong. Try to think twice before you make assumptions. That bag lady just might be your neighbor.