If there was such a thing as reincarnation, I have
substantial evidence that I may have been a far-East trader in another
life. I say this because while other
women like purchasing items, I have
an unbridled zeal for searching for items. Something deep within my soul needs a
mission, a project, a quest. All of
those things that Don Quixote sang about, but most particularly the “going”
anywhere is in my DNA. And in the
context of these searches, I meet people – perhaps the most fascinating find of
all – members of the human race in all their glorious quirkiness, generosity,
stinginess, crabbiness, and the like.
And I drink all those experiences in like Kool Aid to a five year old on
a summer’s day: there is never enough.
On one such mission I traveled to what I would consider a
run-down industrial city in New York state.
I was going to a “Catholic shop” to find a statue that the parish I was
in would use in its missionary trips from home to home spreading family prayer. The statue of the Blessed Mother lived in my
mind as a Platonic image: it existed in
perfect color and facial demeanor and I intended to find it, accepting nothing less.
Needless to say at the first store I went to, the one that put out the
high-gloss catalog, I did not find it…. But I could probably order it online
for an arm and a leg.
So I went around the corner to the “other” Catholic shop…. the
one that had more of the demeanor of an eclectic Catholic flea market. And the woman minding the shop greeted me at
the door and put it right out there that she was just minding the shop for the
day, it sounded as if she was being held prisoner. As I made small talk with her, I shared the
idea that I had considered having my own store in the area where I was
from. She jumped on me like the gorilla
in the luggage commercials: “You’d have
to do it for love, because there just isn’t money in it. You practically lose your shirt,” she
proclaimed almost bitterly. Then, in
conspiratorial tones, she confided, “And you know who are the worst to deal
with? Priests! They want everything for free! They don’t pay their bills! How can you run a business like that?!” Her sweeping generalization was not only
shocking, but kind of over-the-top disrespectful.
She marched me around the perimeter of the store. I expressed an interest in statues. She showed me the Infant of Prague
statue. (A rendition of Jesus as a child
in kingly robes holding an orb of the earth in his hand.) “I sewed all the robes for him. (The robes are changed throughout the
liturgical year to match the altar linens and priests’ vestments.) I used to make First Communion dresses and
bridal gowns, too.” I was
half-listening. I rounded the bend and
found a statute of Our Lady of Fatima and began to examine it very, very
closely. After all, this was the mission
for which I had come. I dabble in
painting, and I wasn’t liking what I was seeing. The Blessed Mother’s long cream colored robe
was supposed to be trimmed in a bit of gold and studded with small rubies. The robe itself was not cloth, it was just
one solid statue, painted. And I moved
my face in very close to that robe and began to wince.
The shop keeper caught up with me and
demanded: “What?!” I swear to you, she sounded like she could
work in a bar room in the Bronx.
I looked up at her and calmly stated, “You are asking $250
for this statue. And frankly, whomever
painted this gold trim did not have a steady hand….” The woman shouted, “Are you married?” (no.) and then roared in within a foot of my
face and bellowed: “And you NEVER WILL
BE BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO DAMN FUSSY!” I
excused myself and left the store. I
wandered about the street a bit to get my land-legs back. I floated back to the store minutes later to
see a man handing money over the counter and taking the imperfect statue
away. He seemed happy. I wonder if he was married.
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