I had to use my vacation days by the end of September or lose them, so I took several sets of four-day weekends. They weren’t vacations but “stay-cations” because I didn’t go out of town. Instead, I enjoyed reading, watching old movies, cooking new dishes, sitting out on the deck and having lunch or dinner with friends.

One Tuesday when I was off, I went to Sears at the mall to have two new tires put on my truck. They were busy so I had to kill a couple of hours at the mall, which I normally don’t like to do. But this day was different. My dog Idgie had died the day before, and I was still very sad and pretty much in a daze.

I realized it would do me good to get out of the house for a while, so I went to get the new tires. I ambled from store to store, not really taking in much of what I saw at first – not until I noticed that people were reacting differently to me than they normally did.

I don’t like crowds. Normally when I’m in a store or at the mall, I walk with purpose, head down, straight to where I need to go, get what I need, pay for it and leave – never interacting much with the people around me.

On this day, however, something was different. I don’t know if was my sad expression, my unsure gait, the lost feeling I had knowing Idgie was gone or what it was. Whatever it was seemed to make me more approachable to others. Store clerks, shoppers, people eating lunch at the food court all seemed to want to talk to me or smile at me.

Like a lot of people, I’m not very attuned to my own feelings. I only knew I was sad about Idgie. What I hadn’t realized was that, in my grief, I needed to be with people. And that day, I actually looked at people. I actually smiled at people. I actually talked to them. And they responded in kind.

Nothing extraordinary happened, but I felt like it had. I felt somehow changed.

I talked at length to a friendly patron in the bookstore about a book I needed to find for my book club. She was interested in our combination book/supper club so I offered her some tips on how to start one with her friends.

A young clerk at the music store asked if I was a Led Zeppelin fan when I picked up one of their CDs, and we debated our picks for the best Zeppelin tune.

A salesman in the health food store applauded my purchase of SoyJoy bars, and we agreed we loved the company’s offbeat but cool new TV commercials. He said he made his own protein bars from a recipe a friend gave him.

A woman at a kiosk selling a mineral-based nail care kit asked me to give her my hand. I normally say “no thanks” when sales people come at me like that and hurry away, but I amazed myself by holding out my hand to her. She applied her products to my fingernails, making them incredibly smooth and shiny, and I smiled. She was still nice when I thanked her but turned down her sales pitch.

When my truck was ready, a young Sears mechanic who had tattoos covering both arms led me to where my truck was parked. “So you’re a Georgia fan,” he said, grinning and showing off a tattoo of a Bulldog on his shoulder. “Me, too.”

My interaction with people that day sounds mundane, I know. But it was meaningful to me. I had spent the whole day connecting with people because I needed them.

And it dawned on me that people just might need me, too, and I felt a lot less alone.

T&D Region Editor Carol Barker can be reached by e-mail at cbarker@timesanddemocrat.com or by phone at 803-533-5525.

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