Aldi – From Armpit to Bicep

I haven't always been an Aldi Shopper. In fact, I must confess that due to my very few experiences in a Northern Illinois Aldi in the 1990s, I used to frequently refer to it as “the armpit of grocery stores.” Back then, it was dirty, dimly lit, poorly stocked with very few freshies (and the ones available were wilted and withered) and they only took cash (which I very infrequently carried.)

I wondered, when they first moved in right in front of the county's only Super Wal-Mart, why on earth we'd need an armpit store in front of the mega discount Wally.

Then a friend (and the sour economy) changed my mind. Now, both in my Wisconsin shopping area and in Illinois, they've brightened the stores up, stocked them well (with even some pretty cool gourmet items) and their produce is fairly plentiful in variety and the prices send me throwing my arms up in “wow-look-at-my-deal” victory.

It took a few trips and the consent to make two lists and two stops (they still don't have EVERYthing I need), but Aldi is almost always part of my grocery shop.

Besides the prices and the better atmosphere, I've found that it's a representation of real world people and it really exemplifies quite a bit of what I value.

On any given day, one might find in the parking lot, several economy sedans, a 1980 VW Rabbit, a beat up pick-up, a 2011 Mercedes, a few mini vans and a Corvette (of any vintage.) What I will report is that I've yet to see a shiny Hummer in the lot. (Why someone needs one of those in a country filled with paved roads is beyond me, honestly.)

Inside, you will find someone pushing a cart filled with nothing but spaghetti dinner fixings. You'll find an elderly couple with calculators out. You'll find a mom reading labels, a teenager asking for pizza puffs and a toddler reaching WAY over the cart to snag a box of cereal.

You'll also find a dad who knows his way around the store like the back of his hand and you'll find a lady in a fur coat and heels with about 11 “staple” gourmet items, giddy at the deal she just scored. You'll also find a man with no cart, three cans of food on the checkout belt and a hand not-quite-full of change.

What a love about Aldi is that, unlike most places in our country, it expects a bit of accountability. You need to pay a quarter to “rent” your cart. When you return it from the weather and dust in the parking lot, you get your quarter back. You need to bring your own bags or find an empty box within the shelves or buy your bags at check-out, or just unload your loot from your cart into your trunk.

You also bag your own groceries. If your hamburger buns arrive home squished or your eggs are broken, it's on you – not the infamous “they” we love to blame.

You can't put your groceries on credit either. Charge-it and owe-it won't fly. It's cash or debit card – a smart way to roll if you like to live within your means.

I find that most people are friendly and there is a mutual understanding that this may not be easy (buying food on a budget, knowing what to buy, going to multiple stores) but we're all here together. We all have to eat.

The first time I saw someone I knew, I felt the same way I did during the only time I walked into an unemployment office – small, defeated, and pretty ticked off at the hand I'd been dealt. Now, I bounce in that place with this wild pride like I've been accepted into a prestigious secret club.

We know what's up. Prices everywhere! We've found a few solutions. One of them is the bicep of grocery stores. They keep it real.

Time to Spin

You know, there are times when one has to be serious. I mean, seriously hunker down and get to the tough discussions. Politics, ethics, putting it out there for mulling over and then taking a stand. Learning about what is really “up” in the world around us.

I live in Wisconsin. There has been a lot “up” here. No matter where you live, I bet you know what I’m talking about.

My husband and I have been into learning more. We’ve been talking with others, calling legislative offices on all (notice I didn’t say “both”) sides and doing an inordinate amount of Facebook-ing. There have been some great, informed discussions and of course some passionate rants.

Since our discussions get loud sometimes, our 8 ½ year-old has caught on to what’s happening. We know this because she’s asked very intelligent questions on the matter. She’s even questioned a teacher who let the kids know that “our governor won’t be our governor for long because he isn’t doing a good job.”

After she sheepishly admitted that she challenged the teacher, we assured her that it was okay and that, as long as she was respectful, she could state her own opinion. We asked her to explain what she thought.

She did (in vast and intriguingly intelligent detail) and along the way, again asked more questions. We answered, giving as much of each side as we could and looked up information when we were stumped. We were surprised by the length of time she remained engaged. It was about 30 minutes of not-very-watered-down political discussion.

Then, she began to spin. Literally. She put her arms out like a helicopter and spun in the kitchen. This was the “I’m now done” cue.

She had soaked in quite a bit and it was time to move on.

I relayed this story to my dad, who often gets WAY sucked in to nothing-but-politics discussions, and he very wisely stated, “We could learn a lot from that girl. Sometimes, you just gotta stop and spin.” I’ve been noticing more joke posting on FB and have definitely indulged in a few complete “cyber vacations” myself.

Sometimes, you just gotta stop and spin. I'm off to a comedy club (one way to spin!)

Balancing on Contingencies

Often I get a plan together and even when it has multiple contingencies, I'm back to the drawing board. I've learned, over time, to make certain plans extremely flexible- sometimes to the point of simplistic and vague.
This is outside of my comfort zone. I'm a planner. It's taken a lot of time for me to be okay with "I have no idea what's next" situations. Currently, I'm on the cusp of embracing this wild, wonderful sea of choice rather than looking at it as a major abyss of aimless unknown, but I still have moments of major angst about plans going awry.
It's helped me to look back at unplanned successes. I never aspired to be a divorcee, but without going through that ordeal, I wouldn't have the marriage and family with which I'm currently blessed. I also gained tremendous empathy for others having weathered that storm.
I never hoped to be laid off from a great job while I was 9 mos pregnant, but being forced into taking a leap and starting my own business years ago was a tremendously unexpected positive consequence. It forced me to really examine what type of work-life I prefer during motherhood.
Recently, my plan to get back to my graduate work was underway. I slogged through the red tape and was in final stages of "good to go." I've had a few wrenches thrown at my plan to fund the endeavor. There's one more contingency left before "Plan F," ("back to the flippin' drawing board") goes into affect. I'm not overjoyed. I've had my angst moment about it. And fortunately, new and different opportunities are coming to light... so, if need be, it's back to making new choices.
This weekend I experienced a cool tool. The balance board. Mine is a tapestry-covered board with two half-moon rockers on the bottom. I can stand on it, sit on it, do crunches or even hand stands on it if I felt like a fun ER trip. The key is to balance your weight through continuous adjustment.
I've often taught this in workshops, but something about this board gives me permission to do this goofy-feeling exercise daily. We need movement. We desire centering and knowing that we each have the power and skill to balance given just a moment to focus.
It's time to be creative and flexible.
Being the analogy queen, I'll transfer this refreshed learning to my current (and I'm sure future) set of contingencies. Time to take off my socks, dig my toes into the tapestry and find center again.

Who knows, by summer perhaps I'll have mastered the handstand without a cast.