The Commitment Revisited

Come Friday morning, my sweet daughter and I will load up my car and head north and slightly east for our eagerly anticipated yearly sojourn to Maine where we will enjoy a four-day weekend. It was during last year’s trip that we made a commitment to each other that we would cease and desist our compulsive clothing-shoes-bags-cosmetics buying for one year.  I had been thinking about it for several weeks before I unveiled my plan to her. It took her less than 24 hours to come willingly on board.

Neither of us can believe the year is over already.  I thought that I would spend more time writing about it as I grappled with urges and impulses. Strangely enough, there weren’t that many.  Yes, there were a few times when I came close to cheating.  As winter dragged on, seeming never to end in the northeast or anywhere else, I lusted after spring clothes in the few catalogs I hadn’t cancelled.  After months of moving them directly from mailbox to garbage can, I started browsing again. I began to get emails from my favorite stores with subject lines,  “We’ve missed you”,  along with “Just for you” coupons in the mail if I’d only return to the fold. But I didn’t succumb to the enticements and the urges went away once I was able to wash those sweaters one last time and unearth another season’s clothing from storage.

A trip into a Kohl’s in early May where I stopped to look for slim chinos for my skinny brother almost got me into trouble.  I was in a hurry, since I was en route home from seeing him and still had 4-1/2 hours to go. As an infrequent visitor to Kohl’s,  I didn’t know where to find the pants  so I just turned right as I burst into the store, figuring I’d run into them sooner or later.  At the end of the first aisle, displayed on a model was a turquoise and navy striped casual top, the colors heather-like. I stopped. Anyone who knows me well knows I like any color as long as it’s blue or purple. Anyone who knows me well would have stopped at this display and thought, “That top looks just like Jan.” My sister or my daughter or my best friend, had they been the ones stopping at this display might actually have bought it, thinking it would be a great gift.  I looked at it closely, found my size, thought, “No, keep going.” I kept going, found the pants, bought the pants, and went back to the top.  I argued with myself  -- “That’s so cute. You don’t have anything like it. It would go with so many things.” “Yes, it’s cute, but there will be other cute things. You don’t need it.” “But I WANT it.” “But you will feel terrible if you cheat. “ So I wrote down the brand and all the identifying information I could locate and got out of Kohl’s, integrity intact.

But it was not the end of it. I REALLY coveted that top. I looked it up on line, toyed with putting it in my shopping cart, and went through the same argument with myself all over again. “You don’t need it.” “But I WANT it.”  Two weeks’ later, pulled by a magnet into the same Kohl’s store, it was still there.  I picked it up, thought about trying it on, put it down.  My heart knew that I really would feel worse cheating than leaving it behind. I resolved to stop torturing myself.

Then I went to Paris in June with my best friend. Wherever we go, we shop. Before leaving, I formulated a plan. My daughter had been to Paris several years ago and came back with “stuff” for me – a small replica of the Eiffel Tower, a print of Degas’ sculpture of the 14-year-old Dancer, a trendy bag, a magnet.  I promised myself that I would be selective – perhaps if I found a small piece of inexpensive art in Montmarte, or another Degas print from Musee D’Orsay, I would buy them. But this would not be a trip of accumulation. Since I already had some things from Paris, I didn’t need to overdo it.  I did well and wasn’t tempted by too much. Things were frightfully expensive anyway, always a deterrent. I got vicarious pleasure from watching my friend shop.  I had fun buying some things for my daughter. And then I saw “The Dress.” It was in a corner store, displayed on a mannequin in the window -- a blue and white sun dress.  Just the type of dress one might wear to a polo match (not that I’ve ever been to one).  Feminine, pretty…… and blue.  We saw it one evening after dark – the store was closed. It was drizzling slightly outside. We were tired and eager to get back to our hotel. But afterwards, I could not get the dress out of my mind.  We spent time during the subsequent two evenings looking for the store again – we had failed to note its location the first time around, and only knew the general neighborhood.  The night before we left to come home, we finally found it --  open this time.  The dress on the mannequin was the only one left in that color. I checked the price tag – 150 Euros. Gasp. There were other dresses in the same style, different patterns on the racks, so rather than undress the mannequin, I tried on one of those.  I gazed at myself in the dressing room mirror, not really enamored with how the dress looked on me. Maybe I would have liked it better ten years ago. I was disappointed and also relieved.  150 Euros.  I’m not a math whiz but I knew that was about $215. I left the dressing room and put the dress back on the rack. “How’d you like it?” my friend asked. “Nah,” I said. “Not quite right.” Leaving the store, I peeked at the size tag on the mannequin model’s dress. It was not my size.  More relief.  As we walked down the street, I thanked my friend for her patience in helping me find the store again. She wanted to know what I would have done had I liked the dress on me AND had the blue one been the right size.  I told her that I hoped the fact that I wouldn’t spend over $200 on a dress in the United States would have deterred me ultimately from spending that amount on a dress in another country.

Two near misses.  One solid year without shopping for clothes I did not need.  This is notwithstanding the underwear and shirt my brother’s and my little side trip to Cody necessitated (see You Forgot My Suitcase, 7/17/11).   

My daughter and I have considered what the end of this commitment means. We’ve both been cleaning out our closets, getting rid of things we don’t/won’t wear, things we shouldn’t have bought in the past but did. She assesses she needs a new black bag for work. I need new sneakers. I actually noticed a hole in mine early this week. I know that I still, even a year later, do not need anything more. I can easily go another fall, winter, spring and summer on what I have. Am I bored with some of my things? Perhaps a little. Can I manage that boredom? Absolutely. Does this mean I’m signing on for another year of a no-shopping-commitment? You bet.

You Forgot My Suitcase

It had not been part of the plan to stay overnight in Cody.  After all, I had already paid for seven nights at our motel in Jackson.  We started out earlier than usual for the long drive because everything that involves going through Yellowstone Park takes longer than you think it should.  Getting to Cody requires a right angle drive into and out of the park – there is simply no hypotenuse way to get there, unless mountain climbing is your forte. And it’s not ours.   

By myself, I would not have been particularly drawn to Cody but because of my brother’s interest in Buffalo Bill, it was pretty high on the must-do list. We pull into town about 1 p.m. after navigating hairpin turns and curly-q roads for five hours. I have already made up my mind – no way will I be driving back on that road tonight. We have plans to see a musical variety show that will not begin until 8 p.m. If we get out at 10 p.m. and it took us over 5 hours to get here in daylight – well, you can do the math.  Like I said, no way, no how.

As we roll into town, the first mission is to find a motel for the night. I have no idea how much in demand rooms are in early July but I am not going to take a chance of being without one. We drive up and then down the Main Street, locating the theater where the show will be, perusing restaurants and shops. On the way, I fill my brother in on my thoughts. “I don’t think I want to drive all the way back to our motel in Jackson tonight, Dave. It took so long to get here, and it would be very, very late if we wait until after the show tonight.” I let this sink in. “Besides, “ I say. “I don’t want to take the chance of hitting a moose in the dark.” His face gets all serious, “Oh no,” he breathes.  He knows I hit a deer once and totaled my car. Then he brightens.  Staying here appeals to him. “Is ok, Dee,” he says agreeably. Choosing convenience (a place in town, in walking distance of our later destinations) over cost (Super 8 outside of town), we book our room and go to dump our stuff—oh, we don’t have any stuff.

For now it’s time to concentrate on what my brother wants to do – all of which involve the town’s tourist destinations. But late in the afternoon,  I suggest a trip to Walmart. I explain that we are going to need some things in order to stay overnight.  He considers the idea. “You forgot the suitcases,” he scowls slightly. “No,” I correct him. “I didn’t forget them, I just didn’t plan on staying here tonight. So we need to get some toothbrushes and stuff like that.”  “My pjs,” he says.

Inside Walmart, I grab a cart, tell him to stay with me, and head off toward the “health and beauty” section.  Toothbrushes. What color do you want, Dave? Blue. Guy after my own heart. Two blue, slightly varied, toothbrushes, check. Travel size toothpaste. Check. Travel size deodorant, Secret. Check. Travel size deodorant, Degree. Ch…. My brother objects, “Sport” he says.  “Oh Dave, they don’t have Sport kind in these small sizes. This will be ok for tonight. It all works the same.”  He doesn’t put up a fuss. Check.  I zip around the corner to hair care products. We need something to run through our hair in the morning. “Do you like long combs or short combs, Dave?” Give him a choice when he has a choice. Long comb, check.  It will work for both of us. Shower cap, check. I need this anyway, the  elastic is shot on mine at home. 

“We aren’t going to get a razor,” I tell my brother. I hope he isn’t going to argue about this.  He uses an electric one. “You’ll have to skip shaving in the morning and do it when we get back to Jackson tomorrow.” He laughs and rubs his chin, “I be Santa Claus,” he says. “Yes, you will,” I agree and keep moving.  I do a u-turn and head toward the clothing department. “Whoa,” my brother says – he’s not one to move too quickly. “Come on,” I say, “we’re in a hurry.” “Yes, Captain,” my smart-ass brother responds to my order – and adds a salute for emphasis.  I roll my eyes.

In the men’s department, I dart from display to display, very indecisive. I don’t want to spend much money here – my brother, like me, has way more clothes than he actually needs. New things are not on the agenda. I decide that we need a shirt for him to sleep in, a shirt for tomorrow, socks, and underwear. The shorts he is wearing, which are not yet dirty, will have to do.  I hold up a few t-shirts, different colors. “You like this? You like this? You like this?” He shakes his head at each one and says no. I sigh. “Back there,” he points. “Where?”  He retraces our steps and I follow. Stopping at a display, he picks up a black Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. It has a huge eagle and an American flag in the middle, and Lynyrd Skynyrd emblazoned underneath. “Oh no,” I say. I imagine my mother rolling over in her grave if he were to venture out in that. “We are not buying Lynyrd Skynyrd.”  He sighs loudly, I’m such a pain in his neck. Now, my brother doesn’t even know who Lynyrd Skynyrd is, I know that. It is the eagle and the flag that have caught his eye. He has probably six at home with similar decoration, minus the band.

I pull him back over to the more conservative displays but I am still vacillating like crazy. Maybe I even look a little crazy, careening from display to display, picking the same things up over and over again, and rejecting them.  I pick up a polo shirt – cheap - $5. “What about this?” I beg my brother. “Look, they have it in light blue;  it will look nice with your shorts.” I hold my breath. “OK,” he says, “I pick that.”  We head toward the boys’ section to choose sneaker socks – my brother has really small feet so I grab a pair of plain white ones from the display before he has a chance to notice and tell me they are for “kids.”  Now we need something to sleep in. I look at the sea of colorful displays and do not want to wade back into the maze. I feel I am losing patience and I don’t want my brother to bear the brunt of that.   I glance at him. “OK,” I capitulate, “I will get you that eagle t-shirt if you promise to wear it only to sleep in.” “Oh, I do,” my brother says in all sincerity though  I’m sure he’s thinking what I don’t know won’t hurt me.  He fetches the t-shirt and carries it like a treasure.

I grab a pair of underwear, some sneaker socks, and a $5 t-shirt for myself. It’s blue, and I know I will wear it again. I feel badly about this as it violates my no-shopping policy. However, I decide that this doesn’t really count as “cheating” and congratulate myself that I have expended minimal funds on this unintended adventure.  Except for the motel, that is.  Before we head to the cash registers, we veer back to the pharmacy section to grab some nexium, which my brother will need in the morning.  The vitamins and calcium will wait until we return later in the day.  

Now we have something to put in the motel. My brother lays out the Lynyrd Skynyrd  t-shirt and smooths away imagined wrinkles. I remind him, “That’s to sleep in tonight, David.” He gives me a dramatic sigh.  “You forgot my suitcase,” he says again. I glare at him but laugh too.  I can’t win.

Shopping behind us, we head out for dinner and our show at 8, pausing along the way to look in stores and admire all the souvenirs and hand-made items. When we finally return to the motel later that night, my brother seems confused. “My medicine,” he says. “We bought you the nexium, which is really what you need,” I said. “You can take the rest of the stuff when we get back to the motel. You’ll be fine,”  I reassure him. “Oh, ok,” he says. Then he laughs. “My pjs,” he says. “No suitcase.” I remind him of the eagle t-shirt he can wear to sleep in tonight with his underwear. I tell him that I don’t have all my regular things either, including my nightgown. And I will sleep in the t-shirt I have on. “Ok,” he says again. He’s not really one to go with the flow – he likes his routine.  “Isn’t this an adventure?” I say to him as I climb under the sheets.  Mmmm hmmm, he says while flipping through the channels with the remote. He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Don’t stay up too late,” I tell him as I plump my pillow and settle down.  I can sleep through anything, including the SciFi channel he’s stopped on. “Yes, captain,” he teases.  “Smarty,” I answer back. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he says. I turn over. “You forgot my suitcase.”

On the Road Again Though I Missed Alien Creek

    

We sit side by side in a former movie theater in Cody, Wyoming, which is now used for what has been billed as a “Branson-style” variety show. As we wait for the show to begin, I broach the subject with my brother. “You know,” I say, “Tomorrow is our last day of vacation.” I hesitate an instant and he  actually growls at me. I tease him, “You’re the first bear I’ve seen on this trip.” He scowls. “You missed dat,” he says accusingly. “I missed what,” I say, bracing myself. My brother is really good at pointing out things that I forgot, although mostly it’s things that he wanted for his birthday or Christmas that I couldn’t find or drew the line at. “Alien Creek,” he sputters. I am truly puzzled. “Alien Creek?” “No!” he sounds indignant, “ALIEN Creek.” I take a deep breath. “Dave, I am sorry but I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me.” My brother puts his flat hand over the front of his mouth and makes a monotone noise as he pumps his hand in and out. Ah-wa-wa-wa-wa, comes out. I get it. “Indian Creek,” I exclaim. “Yes,” he says, again indignant, as if I am a moron. “Alien Creek.”

I can feel my blood pressure rising. “There’s no Indian Creek.” I am feeling mad myself. I have just spent six days and a lot of money doing everything on this vacation to please him that I can think of….. a float trip on the Snake River, a chuck wagon dinner with western show, a chair lift up a mountain and an alpine slide down the same mountain, miniature golf, finding a 4^th of July parade, sitting for 3 hours listening to bluegrass and patriotic music, fireworks, and at least six hours of driving for several of those days in Yellowstone National Park stopping at almost every overlook, waterfall, and geyser so he can take photographs. I don’t want to hear about Indian Creek.

I repeat, “There is no Indian Creek.” “Yes there is,” he accuses. “Is in the book.” Oh for heaven’s sake, I think. “The book” could be any one of a number of slick, glossy travel enticements and brochures that he’s been picking up along the way all week. He loves them and delights in showing me what he wants to do. So I am used to saying, “Yes, of course we can do that.” Or “No, that’s across the state, we can’t go there this time.”  But Alien Creek, I mean Indian Creek is news to me. And since my brother is very concrete, I also surmise what else he’s thinking as he accuses me of missing dat.

I take another deep breath. “There may very well be an Indian Creek, David,” I say slowly because I am trying to control my irritation. “But we don’t have time to find it, AND there-are-no-Indians-in-Indian-Creek.” I emphasize this last clause. My brother is a western movie fanatic. Cowboys, Indians, horses, guns, bows and arrows. He loves it all.

“Yes there are,” he shoots back at me. Now I feel like growling. Another deep breath leaks out of me. It’s hard to argue with someone who’s concrete. So I say what comes to mind, “There are no Indians in Indian Creek just like there were no snakes in the Snake River, and no yellow stones in the Yellowstone River.” We have been in a raft on the Snake River together so I feel safe drawing this analogy and I add the part about yellow stones for good measure.  

For once, he doesn’t argue. He puts his head on the back of the padded burgundy seat and stares up at the ceiling, ignoring me. I stifle a giggle. Let him be mad, I think. He’ll get over it. After a couple of interminable moments, he puts his head up and gives in, “OK, Dee,” he says (that’s what he’s always called me, go figure), “no aliens in Alien Creek.”  “Good,” I say, “I’m glad you see it my way, you old bear, you.” He giggles and then goes serious. “I love Yellowstone,” he says. “I do too,” I assure him. “And we’ve had a lot of fun, haven’t we?” “Yes, Dee,” he says. I tell him that we do still have tomorrow and we’ll drive slowly back through the park from Cody to where we are staying in Jackson and stop at every place we didn’t have time to stop earlier that day.

  

This is an annual event, this vacation we’re on, the sixth one since our mom passed away. It is his time to ride shot-gun in the front seat beside me, his time to be the partner in any conversation that takes place in the car, waiting in line, sitting in a restaurant, or relaxing in the motel. Our time is planned around things I know he’d like to do and experiences I want him to have. Yes, there are occasional frustrations – he can’t read a map so everything has to be planned out carefully ahead of time (though this year I carted my GPS on the plane with me); the conversation isn’t always particularly stimulating and sometimes feels like playing charades (see above), and I always have to be on my toes, thinking for two, but I relish this bonding time on the road with my brother. And maybe next year, we will find Indian Creek.