You know how a mood or a memory can hit you – like whumph! – one minute you’re fine, and the next you’re not? Especially when you are dramatically hormonally altered because you might be a tad bit premenstrual? (-:
Yesterday I was driving to Safeway, enjoying the beautiful Fall colors. The acoustic version of Sting’s Fields of Gold came on the radio. It doesn’t get much better than that. I just love Sting (who doesn’t?). I love how he keeps continuing to grow up even though he’s already been a grown up for well over half a century now. I appreciate how he keeps on transforming his old songs from their juvenile origins into much better, more mature ones.
Anyhoo, when I hear Fields of Gold, I think of my mom. A few days before she died I asked her if she was afraid, and she said no. “I get these glimpses,” she said, “of windows, these unbelievable fields of gold. I’m not afraid.”
Those words – they comfort and haunt me.
So I had started thinking about my mom, those fields of gold, when I got to Safeway. I was so very pleased with myself because for the first time ever since they implemented the bag tax, I had remembered to bring my 5 reusable bags. This was – headline news, in my world. I was apoplectic with pride – remembering to bring bags to the supermarket is a thorn in my side, a physical reminder of how discombobulated I am, how ADHD, and every time I go grocery shopping I kick myself for not being more on-the-ball, for forgetting to bring the silly bags. Well, not today!
When I walked up to the entrance, I noticed an old man in a wheelchair shopping cart, in front of the pumpkins display. All alone in the hot sun. He was really, really old. He was just sitting there quietly with all of the shoppers walking past him, going in and out of the store, like maybe he wasn’t even really there, you know? You might know that I have a thing for oldsters – I dramatically, quickly fall for them, hook, line, and sinker. I love talking to very old people – maybe because aside from children, they are the only ones left who still have time. And they have so much meaning inside of them. I slowed down and pretended to look at the pumpkins for a while, but what I was really doing was watching the old man to see if anyone was taking care of him. It didn’t look like anyone was getting a car for him, or coming to get him. So I went over and said hello, asked if he was okay.
He looked all sad with relief. The look in his eyes just slayed me. He said he had been waiting for his scheduled ride – waiting there 35 minutes while his ice cream melted – and it hadn’t come. Did I have a cell phone?
I told him of course I did. Now that I was closer to him, I saw that he was even older than I thought – maybe 97, maybe even older. He had really big hands, and dark yellow, ancient, unclipped fingernails that were long. I really have a problem of becoming over-attached to very old people, to their vulnerability, their stories, their proximity to death, and the combination of his untrimmed fingernails and that look of vulnerability in his proud eyes did me in. It really made me very sad. I offered to dial the number for him, because his large fingers had tried but couldn’t – and we finally got through to the taxi company. He spoke to them and hung up. The whole thing took about 10 minutes.
He kept apologizing, several times, for keeping me from my life. I told him I wasn’t in any hurry to get back to my life, and to take his time. He said the taxi company was never late, but today somehow they had forgotten about him. He said he loves Safeway, because he comes there every week, and they always have someone to bring him around the store and to help him. I peeked at what he had in his bag (I always do this with old folks, I don’t know what’s wrong with me) – he had two large bags of Ruffles, milk, ice cream, mac n’ cheese, some frozen dinners. The ready-made loneliness of what was in his bag, oy vey.) I was the only person out of all those people going in and out of Safeway who bothered to stop and help him. That man could have been sitting there for an hour until his ice cream had completely melted. This made me even sadder. I offered to stand there and wait with him for his ride, and he said he would be fine so I told him that I would check on him to make sure he had gotten his ride. Just before I left, he blurted out, “Those are really very nice shopping bags you have there. I’ve been wanting to get some of those for a long time, so I don’t have to pay the bag tax, but I keep forgetting. I’m old, you know. My memory is gone.”
I wondered about him. Who the hell was looking after him? Why hadn’t anybody gotten him his reusable bags? Had his wife died? What about his grown kids? Grandchildren? I hoped he had someone in his life looking after him.
“You can have them,” I said. “I’ve got tons, because I always forget to bring mine so I have to keep buying more.”
I gave him my 5 silly reusable shopping bags.
“You are so nice,” he said.
“They’re just bags,” I said.
He looked at me.
“Thank you for stopping to help me.”
I had to get the f. out of there because I was just about to sob. This man and all the fields of gold surrounding us all touched something deep in me, something about all of us and our mortality, and I hate when I get like this: too goddamn meaningful.
I fled and retreated into the coolness of Safeway, the low-key neutrality of autumnal grapes, of cantaloupe.
But this time when I went to checkout without my shopping bags, I didn’t kick myself.
Fields of Gold, by Sting
You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of goldSo she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of goldWill you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of goldSee the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I’ve broken
But I swear in the days still left
We’ll walk in the fields of gold
We’ll walk in the fields of goldMany years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
When we walked in the fields of gold
You might also like...
I Want To Be Forever Young, Like Ella
What Will The Neighbors Say?!
Motherhood Is Often Inconvenient
Ulysses Isn’t For Sissies: It’s For Children
Fallout
Fields of Gold Everywhere – today’s downer post about mortality, old folks, & reusable shopping bags. http://t.co/tP2YxAYZ via @sharethis
Not a downer at all. Just the opposite. Thanks
Sobbing. I mean honestly, oh Lord, this post. This story. This moment. Well, I am officially a mess. I am so glad you shared this, because it was beautifully written. And you are a wonderful person.
OMG, gulp! I’m still PMSy, apparently. Thank you. (-:
You are such a good person, you know?
I have my massive flaws but I probably make up for it with my kindness to old people. I hope. (-:
I think you’re kind to and conscious of everyone around you, not just the old folk. Remember how you took pity on an overwhelmed Blogher attendee and shared a quiet dinner with her? I rest my case.
(-:
Who was taking pity on whom?? I enjoyed that quiet dinner more than anything. (-:
Oh, heartbreaking. I always notice old people too, but I’m not nearly this good about approaching them and being helpful. I’m so glad you stopped for him.
And this line? “They are the only ones left who still have time.” This makes me want to find a bench somewhere and watch the world.
Love Sting. Hadn’t heard this version – it’s great.
Thanks Robin. (-:
This is one of those posts that makes me very ponderous. Fields of Gold Everywhere by @AdotheMomalog http://t.co/GNo57WjT
Wow, what an amazing story! You are a wonderful person. I love that song and now it means so much more!
Thanks Stacie.
This is the first thing I read this morning, and I cannot stop thinking about it. There have been a few elderly relatives in the family who are ailing or have just passed, so this really struck a painful chord in me. It makes me think about how helpless one may feel when old age has gotten the better of one’s physical body.
Your writing and the sentiments you reveal here is absolutely stunning. It seems like a downer post, though I see so much hope and inspiration from it. I think I am going to listen to Fields of Gold a couple of times today, Ado. Thank you for sharing this with us. (And those shopping bags? I feel the same exact way about them.)
Thank you Sandra. (-: As for those damned shopping bags, the best tip I have came from my 7 year old daughter: just leave them in your front seat so you can’t possibly forget to bring them in. (-:
Read this beautiful post about mortality and elderly folk. Fields of Gold Everywhere http://t.co/vNvry9Oq via @sharethis @AdoTheMomalog
Just beautiful. We are kindred, you and I.
I know! (-:
So beautiful and haunting. It is the sense of loneliness that gets me. So glad you were able to help him.
Hey, so thanks for making me cry! Your heart is so big it is amazing.
Ado, this post rocked me to my core…WOW.
I love that you were an angel in this man’s day. And now I’ll go wipe my tears away.
Wow, thank you. (-:
Fields of Gold Everywhere http://t.co/9MNgcseA via @adothemomalog <<< True kindness the world needs more of.
More people need to do what you did. Beautiful story. Beautiful post.
I agree – we are all so busy in our own lives we often overlook the people who are right under our noses who might need a little humanity. Thanks for your comment. (-:
Delurking to say that it was a very beautiful and touching post. I love your blog and keep coming back to it every now and then.
Best,
Amy
Thanks. PS: I love my lurkers. (-: