The Happiness of Lady Chang

I know she looks like a statue to you.  But she has a story.

It begins with Maggie's hardest year in grade school. The teacher was not adept at creating community spirit, so chaos prevailed. Whenever I volunteered to help with a classroom project, Maggie ran to me as I arrived and held on for all she was worth.

Often when I picked her up at dismissal, she was exhausted, quiet, worried after her tumultuous day at the "zoo." I understood.

Sometimes retail therapy seemed like the best medicine. She rode in the shopping cart's child seat, her hand over mine, as we looked at towels and mirrors and sandbox toys.

One day at the sale table, she pointed to a pile of garden trinkets. "Oh, Mama, look at her. She's so sad," she said, pulling a scuffed white wooden Asian statue from the mix. I agreed. We talked about her perilous journey from China to North Carolina. We wondered how it felt to be beautiful but overlooked among the chintzy plastic lawn accessories. We imagined what would make her happy.

Marked for Final Clearance at $3.99, we were her last chance. We shuddered to think where she'd be sent next. We had to take her home. 

She was lovely in our yard, placed beneath a pink dogwood. Maggie called her Lady Chang. I don't know why. The tree's petals fell around her, just as that horribly challenging school year was ending. Maggie insisted she looked happy for the first time. I could see the difference, too.

When we moved to Minnesota, Maggie started middle school, not an easy thing. We brought Lady Chang with us. She's had a hard time in the front garden.

We don't have a pink dogwood tree. Squirrels and rabbits have eaten the flowers we planted beside her. She has been covered by snow for seven months every year.  Happiness has been elusive.

Maggie moved on to high school. Boys can be rude. Girls can be mean. Teachers can be thoughtless. She didn't always get the part she wanted in the play.  

In desperation, I planted a bleeding heart in the garden last summer. A heat wave took its toll, despite my watering efforts.


Sometimes all a mother can do is wait and hope through a bitter season.

But this spring has been good.

The bleeding heart bloomed.

Maggie attended the prom.

I've never seen Lady Chang look happier. 

Trust me.


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Target Therapy

I spend a lot of time at Target. It has socks and celery and Starbucks in one place.

But more than simple shopping, I sometimes roam the store for inspiration, for head-clearing color. Because I spend so much time alone as a writer, moving mindlessly down their carefully arranged aisles of details has a therapeutic effect.

Maybe that sounds crazy, but it works for me.

You go any place often enough and you notice the regulars. My nearest Target has Charlotte.

She's always there in the morning, sitting in the plastic chair by the west door. She silently watches all of us entering and exiting. Her face is emotionless. It's hard to guess how old she is. She could be 45 or 65 under her short white hair.

Lost souls are beyond age.

Yesterday was unusual because she was walking the aisles with a Target employee. Charlotte wore purple plaid flannel pajamas under her red jacket. She thought she needed something cooler for spring, but she definitely wanted pajama bottoms with pockets or as she asked, "What will I do with all my stuff?"

He nodded understandingly and agreed no pockets could be troublesome. "Charlotte, let's look over here for something that might work. We have some on sale today." He led her to racks of pajamas. I went on about my way.

Then I found her in the dairy section, talking through the opened refrigerator door to the employee who was stocking milk. "These won't be cold enough," Charlotte explained to him. "They should have been put out during the night, so they'd be ready by morning." His answer sounded polite and apologetic. Charlotte said she'd come back tomorrow.

I'm guessing she always finds a reason to return the next day.

When I got home, I looked up Target's mission statement and noticed the part about "exceptional guest experiences" along with remarks about "behaving ethically and with integrity." Their design comments mention dedication to more than looks. They focus on how design "satisfies a need" and how it "makes you feel." 

I know Target has been under fire for the holiday credit card debacle. I don't know enough to weigh in on that, but honestly I'm surprised that stolen identities and banking fraud aren't hourly occurrences, given the cards we swipe into machines all over the place that send the information heaven only knows where. 

I just know that Charlotte, whoever she is, is treated respectfully by Target. She might not realize the importance of her experience, but I do. I'm glad for her.

We both benefit from Target therapy.

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