“What do you mean by socialist?” I ask. This word I know can mean different things to different people.
He says that he is meaning as far as healthcare in our country. He feels that the government doesn’t do enough for the people.
A salt and pepper haired man, beard and all, sits behind the counter. I recognize him as a former member of my CSA, which is not “my CSA” anymore. I ask of there is any printed literature on the film festival schedule. I am trying to distract myself from whatever negativity has bombarded me. He says it is at the printers and goes on to bemoan many things, from the difficulties of having the schedule proofread, to the scheduling, in general of everything. I am launching into what I seem to do best, maneuver his energy field to find a way to assuage him and bring out a ray of light somewhere. I speak about the CSA. He mentions that he misses the CSA, but it was a lot of money to have a subscription. He speaks of his son who is in college in Massachusetts, just over the border from us, and that he bought a CSA share for his son over there and how it’s cheaper for a share in MA. I say how lovely it is that he cares so much for his son to make sure that he always has good food to eat, even though he is far from home.
He seems to brighten a bit at that notion. I remind him, even though I say that he is probably not open to such a suggestion, that everything works out. I mention that I am hitch-hiking for food today.
Fortunately the line has advanced since this discourse began and any other chit chat about the usual talk that nearly everyone who doesn’t homeschool has to give about “socialization” and such, I am able to fluff off. And soon it dies down to silence. The woman who was ahead of me is called into the pantry, and I am first and next in line.
“Which way?” she says.
It’s a two mile ride and we talk a bit more, mostly about some of her troubles and I reassure her. I show her where to slow down to be ready to make the turn into the driveway. She stops her car at the end of the driveway.