Commentary: A little shopping led to friendly interactions

I need to get out of the house more.

Except for playing bridge, lunches and movies, and an occasional book talk, I’ve become a recluse!

I should run errands more often. By the time I get around to it, I’ve accumulated quite a list of stops.

The other day, I’d reached a half-dozen, and I had such delightful experiences while I was out and about. Two in particular.

After buying saltwater taffy at the candy shop on Balboa Island, I was drawn to the array of sweatshirts in a window nearby. I don’t really need a sweatshirt. I own lots of them because they are the most comfortable attire since Eden.

But it’s getting hard to find crew necks, not hoodies, and there were several in the window.

The saleswoman watched as mysterious forces pulled me reluctantly into her store.

I shrugged, “I’m a sweatshirt magnate.”

She laughed. “I’ve never heard that before! Come on in!”

What a lovely woman!

“I only like crew necks,” I explained. “I especially liked the one with the small motif on the front.”

“It does have a big design on the back, though,” she said. “All of our sweatshirts do. We just sell our own sweatshirts. Our supply is low because the summer stock isn’t in yet.”

“Hmm. How large is the design? Maybe I wouldn’t mind it on the back.”

“What size do you want? I might have a few.”

She showed me a white sweatshirt. I was skeptical about the big ad decal. I avoid paying to advertise for clothing manufacturers.

“I don’t wear white ones. I’ll browse a sec ... Oooh! You have some gray ones with smaller designs on the back!”

“I forgot we still have those.”

She showed me sweatshirts with four smaller back designs in different colors.

I chose one with a red diamond, and she took it to the register.

“I’ll write a note to call you when our delivery arrives,” she said, opening her book to a new page.

I gave her the information she’d need if she receives a red or black crew neck.

“I like the sweatshirt you’re wearing. Were you a teacher?”

People often ask me that when I wear my sweatshirt that says, “Grammar Police. To correct and to serve.”

I laughed.

“No I’m a writer. Let me give you a bookmark.”

“‘A Widow’s Business,’” she said of my book. “Did that follow a personal experience?”

“Yes, my husband, Lee, died, and I needed a book, so I wrote one.”

Renée told me she had estates and trusts on her mind because of her father’s health.

We talked some more and I felt as if I’d known Renée forever. By the time I was ready to leave, we were laughing about something else, and we hugged goodbye.

Happy in my new relationship, I forgot my shopping bag and my credit card. Renee chased after me.

“Well, at least you’d have had my phone number!” I said.

My final stops were Rite-Aid and Gelson’s.

As I walked to my car, I saw an older woman trying, I thought, to unlock my trunk. But no, our identical cars were parked side by side.

“We’re twins,” she said cheerily.

She remarked that she loved her Mercedes C-300, and I said I love mine too. I told her they call them C-300 because every day you see 300. She laughed.

Her 2010 has only 4,000 miles on it, mine about 44,000. I was about ready to ask her if I could buy her car when she was tired of driving, when she said that her son wants the car when she stops driving.

She said she’s 98 and her driver’s license is good until she’s 102.

“Well, good for you, dearie! I want to live to be 120,” I said, “My mother lived to be 100.”

The woman’s name was Jeanne, with -ne, and I mentioned that that was the name of a friend I’ve known since I was 7. We found we had a lot in common. We are both widows, and we are both Leos.

Then she’s mentioned one of my bumper stickers, “Another Old Lady for ... “ Uh-oh. Was I in for a lecture? But she said I wasn’t old from her perspective.

I said, “So, is the bumper sticker is OK with you?”

She said that she felt the same way.

I hug people who comment that they like my bumper stickers. I’m sort of a bumper-sticker-magnet too. Gelson’s parking lot is a partisanship arena. Sometimes people hate me and sometimes they love me.

Fortunately it wasn’t a busy day for Gelson’s because Jeanne and I must’ve talked next to our open trunks for half an hour.

I commented that it was a good thing neither of us had bought ice cream and hugged her goodbye.

I hated to leave.

I’d really connected with Jeanne.

And Renée.

Author LIZ SWIERTZ NEWMAN lives in Corona del Mar.