Malls

I finally figured out today why malls are so popular, not that I had particularly wondered about it before. The answer hit me all of a sudden, out of the blue, and probably not as I might have expected to receive such an epiphany.

I finally figured out today why malls are so popular, not that I had particularly wondered about it before. The answer hit me all of a sudden, out of the blue, and probably not as I might have expected to receive such an epiphany. There I was slowly being sprinkled/splattered/covered with the paint Zack was spraying liberally upon our new carport (still under construction).  The weather was warm and windy. I was perched on a scaffold high enough from the ground that stepping off backwards would definitely have left a mark (or worse). My arms were tired from holding the paint can high — attached to the tube of the sprayer —which was attached to Zack. I was trying to anticipate and intuit Zack’s every move, read his mind, stay out of his way, and see that neither of us tripped over the electric cord. I was holding everything high, because Zack can’t do all this himself, doesn’t have the upper body strength he had before he fell ill, nor the balance nor dexterity. He was reaching as high and for as long at a stretch as his recovering arms and hands would allow. (Talk about a challenge. But he insisted on doing this. And honestly, I doubt I could have persevered to do it alone). When Zack tired, we took breaks. The painting has continued for days. It’s this kind of stubborn independence that’s allowed Zack to come back from the complete paralysis of Guillain-Barre. His ambitious projects and recovery are wearing me out.

Oh yes, malls. I’m getting there. I was as protected as possible from the paint. This grew more and more uncomfortable as the day warmed. One bandana covered any stray hair (under my cap). This almost worked. If I had sideburns, they would have been white by the end of the day —and from paint, not gray from the stress of being the trusty assistant to a demanding boss (a close second). As it is, the hair just over my ears was painted, in the area where Dagwood has those trademark “wings”.  Another bandana protected my complaining sinuses from fumes. After a week of massive allergies (brought on by exposure to fungicide (rose spray —no good deed goes unpunished), I was taking no chances. My arms were bare and almost chalky white after hours on the job as painter’s helper. (Zack fared worse than I did). Large sunglasses kept my eyeballs from harm. It took fifteen minutes to clean paint flecks from those glasses when we finally stopped each day, and they aren’t pristine even now. If you’d like to learn more about the best methods of cleaning flecks from skin and hair, just ask.

Malls. My mind wandered, trying to escape the unpleasant sensation of wet paint speckling my skin. No matter which way Zack pointed the sprayer, the wind brought a shower of white upon our heads. Murphy’s Law. I wished I were at a mall. The thought popped unexpectedly and unbidden into my head.

I don’t even much LIKE malls. Well, maybe once every season or two.  Last Mother’s Day, after over a year of caring for Zack in hospitals and at home, I was doing almost all my shopping on the Internet. I barely left the house except to take him to physical therapy or run to the grocery store or some other local errand. Leaving town to visit a mall or large store was out of the question. My daughter and son decided I deserved a shopping spree. Poor Becca, being the closest geographically, was the obvious choice to accompany me. (Josh turns to mush after a few minutes in a mall. Even if he lived nearby, he would NOT have taken me shopping. It wouldn’t have made for a pleasant holiday for any of us).

Last year, Becca and I left “my patient” alone for the first time since his hospitalization. We prepared food and glasses of sweet tea, left everything in the fridge, ready to eat or drink. Zack wasn’t totally helpless at that point. And he wasn’t ready to use power tools, so we figured he’d be bored but reasonably safe. (I wrote about this shopping spree). Becca and I were away for 9 hours, driving for almost two, round trip. We shopped. We ate. We shopped some more. I out shopped my daughter, but it was unavoidable. Zack survived. I made up for lost time, purchased everything necessary to survive a year or more in style (or at least presentable when I “clean up good.” That was the last time I leisurely visited real brick and mortar stores for MY needs, a year ago. This Mother’s Day all I asked was that Becca to help me list some things to sell on EBay. Forty-three things, to be exact. Several of these items were mistakes I made by ordering online during my “confinement”. Mother’s Day came and went, and the painting resumed.

And so there I was, paint raining down on me, thinking of malls. And I know why. Malls provide mindless escape, more interactive than a movie. You can walk and window shop and eat and visit (if you aren’t alone). You can buy things or not. It’s possible to try on outfits for upcoming events or those that will never happen, imagine entire scenarios of sartorial needs that might prove the old adage of anticipation being better than reality. You needn’t think seriously of anything more than what money you might spend. A shopping person is not painting, doing chores or projects, caring for pets or lawns or flowers or loved ones.

And this, dear friends, is why we have malls.

Gene Ellis, Ed.D is a Bosque County resident who returned to the family farm after years of living in New Orleans, New York, and Florida. She’s an artist who holds a doctoral degree from New York University and is writing a book about the minor catastrophes of life. Check out Genie’s blog at  http://rusticramblings.wordpress.com/