Month: June 2018

I really like your writing although there doesn’t appear to be a clear thesis statement. I do like the amount of details you used. You also referenced Gladwell’s work numerous times. After reading your essay, I feel like I could’ve written mine differently. I saw many notes that I missed and will correct in my own essay. Well done.

I load the kids into the car, drive past other stores that sell the exact items that I am going to get. Yet, I drive an extra 7 minutes to the store I LIKE shopping at. “You’re not getting any toys. Keep your hands off the shelves. Madeline, try using the potty as soon as we get there.”, I yell to the backseat. This shopping trip, like all others before it, is aggravating already. I don’t like shopping but the easiest shopping for me is food shopping. We’ve arrive, pulling into the first entrance in order to try finding a shady parking spot close to the front. I wonder if we will fall into the shoppers that Malcolm Gladwell writes of in Paco Underhill’s findings. Do we all “shop like we drive” as Gladwell said?

Before we can get into the store, the kids ask to ride on the mechanical horse and truck out front. Great! I haven’t even entered the store and I’ve spent $1.00. Well played, Market Basket! As we enter the first set of sliding doors, I take note of this space. Grills! According to Paco Underhill in Malcolm Gladwell’s writing, this is the “decompression zone” where Paco says to never put anything of value because no one will buy it. Viola! Not only are we walking to fast to see what’s here, we won’t stop to buy a grill! I find a shopping cart, the kids hop on and we move like migrating cattle. All shoppers follow the given path by the store designers. No one can go left because the “wire fence” of cash registers stops us. On the way to the right of the store, we pass a dining area. An open invitation to stay longer, spend a few more bucks on a freshly made sandwich, relax. Is that what this is supposed to be? A vacation? No, but it puts us in the mindset that it isn’t just for food shopping, but a fun shopping experience! I remind myself and the kids that we need food, not an experience, and walk on. The wider walkways lead you to the major points of the store. The items we need are on the outside perimeter of the store. Fruit, meats, and milk, but the center aisles draw us in deeper.

After bumping into the end caps full of useless products, we make it to the first center aisle. Notice how much thinner this aisle is than the others to put shoppers closer to the product. One lane of traffic, all I need is water, but something bright and colorful catches my eye instead. I’m drawn to a beautiful display of Pepsi boxes lined up to make the American flag. That’s pretty, I think I want some Pepsi, as I put a box into my cart. The dreaded cereal aisle is next. I try to persuade the kids that Oatmeal is tasty and delicious. As they tell me no, Eli brings me a cereal that the box turns into a race car, Madeline is next and wants the shiny unicorn box even though she has no idea what it tastes like. She knows she likes it because the shiny unicorn is her soul mate. Ha! Yes, get those gross boxes of sugar coated cardboard, just please stop yelling in the store.

Finally, after weaving in and out of aisles we don’t usually go into. We get to the deli in the far back corner of the store. Take a number, wait, wait, and more waiting! “76!”, the deli lady calls out. I raise my hand, place my order and continue to wait. I could’ve chosen cheese out of the pre-cut food cart but who wants a pound of Munster cheese? Of course they wouldn’t want it to be that easy. The deli lady hands me 2 individual slices for the kids because they apparently look hungry. After getting the last of our needed items (milk from the outer perimeter of the store) we head to the check out line. We return to one aisle because I forgot hot dogs when I realize I forgot rolls too! Luckily, I remember what Gladwell wrote on Paco’s thoughts. He states “if you can sell someone a pair of pants, you must be able to sell them a belt, or a a pair of socks, or a pair of underpants”. Right above the hot dogs are rolls, ketchup, and mustard!

There are 24 registers, 8 open, and about 52 people waiting in lines. Why can’t they open more registers? They want you to be taunted by the impulse items. Buckets of balloons that no one could possibly need. Adirondack chairs for sale. Who buys Adirondack chairs at the grocery store? Someone who didn’t think they needed one until they were waiting in line at this particular store. The kids can reach the candy while we wait, making me repeat “No” more times than I ever thought I would have to. It’s then that it hits me. Grocery stores are almost unlike other retail stores. The setup is the same, but the types of product have to be more broad spectrum. Everyone shops here, not just men, not only women: it’s also families. They have to hit all the targets, have it all to appeal to everyone in your family. They have directed me through the path the marketers created to make sure I passed it all and had the options not to say no. There were sales people, but rather than ask what I needed, they make sure the shelves are stocked, so that I can have ALL of it. I have been tricked into spending $140 when all I came in for was fruit, milk, and meats.

 

In the reading provided, it is apparent that shopping is all about the psyche of consumers. Marketers use product placement to get shoppers to buy items they did not go in the store for. They place fast buy items where you are waiting long enough to browse near the check out lines so that it’s quick, cheap, and easy to grab. Also, the sales people are confident to direct shoppers, yet laid back enough to seem approachable. When you go to the store for a few things, you always comes out with way more than intended. I find myself doing it all the time. In the walk to the back of the store for toilet paper, I also picked up shampoo, cat food, and a protein bar. None of which I needed right now! The kids and I are waiting in the check out line as I tell them over and over again to put back the $4 toy that was right at their eye level. “Fine, put it up there so I can pay for it!” I caved, the marketing team won again!

I wake up before sunrise to the aroma of home-made pasta sauce and fresh garlic bread. I hear Nana Nana banging pots and pans. She cranks the radio when Jimmy Buffet “Fins” comes on. I can picture her dancing around the kitchen with her hands in fin shapes atop her head. I go out to the kitchen. The air is filled with cigarette smoke and laughter. The tiny kitchen table is surrounded by Nana Nana, Uncle David, and my mother. Nana Nana (my mother’s mother) is on the right. She’s is always well dressed and wouldn’t be caught dead without her bright red lipstick. Uncle David (Ma’s brother) to her left is always wearing his best sweat shirt and shorts regardless of the weather. Ma, across from Nana Nana, in her denim coat with matching denim pants. Uncle David is smearing ricotta cheese between layers of pasta for lasagna. Ma is preparing the tomato gravy. Nana Nana has made so many cavatelli, she has to lay them across her Queen bed on baking sheets. Sunday dinner has always been very important in our home. Nana Nana felt it made us a closer family, coming together as one, stronger. I didn’t know why this would all be so important until I became a mother myself.

Nana Nana was the matriarch of the Covells. She was a 1st generation Italian immigrant and held on deeply to her beliefs. She had olive skin, pitch black hair (that never seemed to gray), and a captivating smile. Don’t let her 4’7, petite stature fool you. She had an Italian temper to accompany it. It all started slowly with her. First COPD, then becoming dependent on oxygen tanks. The hospital visits became more and more frequent. Seeing your strongest family member become weak and ill is beyond what anything can prepare you for. After 2 years, she was no longer strong enough to fight. The family had Hospice involved. From then on, it was comfort measures only. Uncle David, Ma, and I rotated shifts staying with her, giving her medications around the clock, listening to her delusional stories from the Ativan and Morphine. I felt important. Nana Nana had 6 children, 4 of which wouldn’t help, so I was there when she need someone. She needed me. There were days filled with anger that no one saw she needed them. Other days I felt like the Grimm Reaper was literally next to me on the couch watching her fade. Waiting. The day she passed away hit me so hard, even though I knew it was coming. I got the call while at work. There was nothing more I could do. She was at peace now, although her passing forever changed the shape of our family. No one made sure to call everyone on their birthday. On Thanksgiving, I couldn’t hear her say “Gobble, gobble. Happy Turkey Day.” There were no more Sunday dinners. It was no longer the one family unit, rather each family’s own unit. Broken apart far from the puzzle Nana Nana once fit each piece perfectly into.

I most likely learned selflessness from Uncle David. Nana Nana’s only son who helped care for her when she needed her children most. Uncle David, the cool uncle. David was always the life of the party. He brought me to a Bryan Adams concert for doing well on my 2nd grade report card. Being so close to him, I considered him like a second father. I was his “Cookie”. “Alycia’s 21!”, we all yelled from the limo he had rented for my birthday. Between Maggiano’s in Boston and the comedy club, I swore I would never drink again! Uncle David got me my first real job at the dialysis unit he worked at. To this day, I can go to any dialysis unit and hear how well liked he was and known to all the patients. David helped me so much in my life, I wish he asked for my help when he needed it most. We had fallen apart for about two years until my son was born. Unfortunately, he kept his cancer hush hush until it was too late. The family called for Hospice. Ma, myself, and my fiance took shifts to help David’s girlfriend care for him. His passing taught me not to hold onto regret. We had our ups and downs. I wish I had mended our relationship sooner. In his last days, none of that mattered, I still loved him like a father.

Ma is the youngest and only girl out of 6 children! Needless to say, she was Nana Nana’s princess and my best friend. Soon after David’s passing as if it were a horror movie, my mother started coughing up blood. After countless tests, procedures, and too many doctors to keep count, we had our answer. Non small cell lung cancer. Ma has a special case that is inoperable with a survival rate of 20% after 5 years. Living after 5 years is unheard of. Ma went through rigorous chemo treatments three times a week for twelve weeks and radiation for four weeks. Losing her hair was the least of her concerns. She wants to beat this. Ma is 4’9, dark brown hair, loves to eat, and has Nana Nana’s Italian temper! We are on year 2! Caring for her is different from caring for Nana Nana and Uncle David. I feel strong and in control. I feel important, not because she needs me, but I need her.

Caring for loved ones who are terminally ill has taught me lessons that nothing else could. Patience. Not to hold grudges or regret. Live life to the fullest everyday. Family is who is there in the long run, when life gets tough. Had I known the valuable lessons years ago, would things have changed? No. The outcomes would have been the same. Would I have reacted differently? No. I’m still this person who cares, who carries on even when I feel I can’t. I have learned who my true family is. It’s not the people who text “I’m here for you” at the time of diagnosis. It’s the people who come and sit with Ma, bathe her, make sure she’s eating. As a mother now, I can see why creating this home was so important to Nana Nana. I find myself repeating the same mantra to my children. I want them to have the same feeling of home, where family is everything. It all sounds cliche, until you live it. When there are no words, you have family. Nana Nana taught us all this from the beginning; only some learned the lesson.

I like your piece a lot. I enjoy that we can relate our essays due to similar subjects. I found it an easy read with many details. I especially like that you look forward to sharing the same experiences with your daughter in the same house. One correction I see, is the first few sentences seem to have doubled? “The large off white…with my family to care for her” section is repeated. The grapevine in the garden and as an analogy to growing in life is clever. Well done!

Sitting on a shady bench watching the pink Dogwoods sway in the breeze. Listening to the faint water fountain splashing, slightly muffled by the traffic and chaotic drivers beeping their way around the Taunton Green. A place once known for the silver mills, Reed and Barton (where my Nana worked), and the Taunton State Hospital, where Lizzy Borden wrote about staying during her murder trials. This once vibrant city is now almost unrecognizable.

Outsiders may only see the rough edges of the city. The homeless people have turned the land behind the bus terminal into “Tent City”. There is trash blowing down the sidewalks. The streets have pot holes large enough to swallow a minivan! Shoppers no longer come to browse the latest trends at the mall. People passing through see the routine drug deals during broad daylight or the ladies of the night on the corners of Harrison Ave. and Harrison Street.

My city is much more than that.  It’s endless summers spent filling up on Caldo Verde or Chourico at one of the seven different Portuguese Feasts. It is knowing where the older Portuguese generations live by the perfectly cut lawn adorned by a pristine Virgin Mary statue in the front yard. The laughter and smiles shared over a glass of homemade wine at Desa’s Fish Market.

My favorite time to go back to Taunton, is in the Winter. The center of the city transforms into a magical Christmas City. The green grass is softly blanketed with powdery white snow.  “Winter Wonderland” plays over the town speakers. A huge Santa and Christmas lights hung by Bristol Plymouth High School students decorate the green.

Mark Cook runs The Mission. The homeless people can go there to thaw from sleeping in the cold. There are numerous soup kitchens to make sure no one goes without a hot meal. My city has once again come together for all the right reasons. Taunton is not perfect, but the people of Taunton try to make it better for everyone. This is no longer where I live, but I will forever have these memories of where home once was.

I want more. It reads easily but I feel like it could’ve been written about any town, had you not mentioned Raynham. I was waiting for you to dive into specific details of what you caught at the fishing derby. You say you had so many memories in that town but you don’t share them in detail. I do like that you want to share it with your children, that was a sweet ending.

Sitting on a shady bench watching the pink Dogwoods sway gently in the breeze. Listening to the faint water fountain splashing, slightly muffled by the traffic and chaotic drivers beeping their way around the Taunton Green. A place once known for the silver mills, Reed and Barton (where my Nana worked), and the Taunton State Hospital, where Lizzy Borden wrote about staying during her murder trials. This once vibrant city is now almost unrecognizable.

Outsiders may only see the rough edges of the city. Shoppers no longer come to browse the latest trends at the mall. People passing through see the routine drug deals during broad daylight or the ladies of the night on the corners of Harrison Ave. and Harrison Street. My city is much more than that.  It’s endless summers spent filling up on Caldo Verde or Chourico at one of the seven different Portuguese Feasts. It is knowing where the older Portuguese generations live by the perfectly cut lawn adorned by a pristine Virgin Mary statue in the front yard. The laughter and smiles shared over a glass of homemade wine at Desa’s Fish Market.

Come wintertime, the center of the city transforms into a magical Christmas City. Softly blanketed with powdery white snow while “Winter Wonderland” plays over the town speakers. A huge Santa and Christmas lights hung by Bristol Plymouth High School students decorate the green. My city has once again come together for all the right reasons. This is no longer where I live, but I will forever have these memories of where home once was.

Growing up I never loved writing, as an adult, I still don’t care for it. I find it amazing that authors can create a realm for others to get lost in. Everyday, we read and write just to get through the motions of day to day life. A great pen and paper are my preference. Penmanship is beautiful, no matter how messy or what tool is used. But, to read to your hearts desire and be brought to other worlds through the thoughts of a person you’ve never met, that is an art.

Personally, I’d rather read than write. It’s all about how it LOOKS on paper. The feeling of the paper as you turn the pages, the smell of the book, the slight crackle of the book’s spine as you open up. As a young reader, I took reading for granted. I skimmed through summer reading chapters to get the main idea and pass the test once school started again. As an adult, I want more and can’t get enough. We all read “Harry Potter”, as we read it individually, we all became sorcerers in our own minds! As an adult with two young children, I yearn for their bedtime so that I can have a moments peace and get lost in a world without stepping on Legos!