The other day I was in the grocery store buying apples. As I filled two big bags with crisp green Grannies and their gorgeous rose and cream cousins, the Galas, thankfulness and something akin to awe struck me. A produce section as large as a house, an overabundance of fresh vegetables and fruits to choose from in the middle of winter—what luxury!
A story I read as a young teenager jumped to the front of my mind. I can’t remember its title, the author’s name, or even much about what the point of the work was—what I retained was a small glimpse into world I hadn’t thought to consider.
A man was telling of his experience of immigrating (I think from a former communist country) to North America and how our grocery stores were one of the hardest things for him to adjust to (and one of the biggest marvels). He described in vivid detail the aisles and aisles of shiny, coloured boxes and tins. He felt something near to disbelief when he saw all of the bins of different fruits and vegetables—and the coolers of meat and milk and cheese and so on. He’d been amazed to realize that all that food was available, that anyone could purchase it . . .
The story startled me. It just hadn’t occurred to me that not everyone had grocery stores like ours—well, maybe not in the “Third World” perhaps, but this guy was from Europe. It also made me feel really grateful. And that gratitude has never really gone away. I still marvel (as you can tell above) over things as simple (and as amazing!) as buying fresh fruit in January.
Another little tale—this one about someone closer to me, my grandmother—affected me similarly. Quite a few years ago, she went shopping for a china cabinet; she’d never had one, had always kept a six-drawer dresser in the dining room with a nice cloth on the top of it, and various things stashed away inside it. But she was a senior now, her children grown and able to care for themselves, and she and my grandfather had worked very hard and lived modestly all of their lives. They could afford a “nicety.”
My grandma looked at quite a few and found one or two she really liked. And then she saw their price tags and balked. She thought of what that same amount of money could do to help someone with real needs and decided to give the money to one of the charities she regularly donated to. Apparently one of my aunts was a little put out. It wasn’t that much money; why couldn’t my grandma just treat herself for once?
It wouldn’t have been wrong for my grandma to splurge—not at all—but I have to admit that story is more of an heirloom to me than any ornate piece of furniture could ever be.
I didn’t really make New Year’s resolutions this year, but I’ve been thinking on things like I just wrote about quite a lot. This year—and every year—I hope I never bite into an apple without feeling thankful. I hope in my goals to achieve this, or do that, or work towards whatever, I never lose sight of all that I have. And I hope that in my own small ways, I always remember to try to pass a bit of my good fortune on to others.