Inn Trouble - Best-Laid Schemes...

My son-in-law has a history of thwarted good intentions. Three years ago, his idea of an anniversary gift for his wife wasn’t deemed personal enough by Rayanne. Neither the portable phone nor the alarm clock earned him any points with my daughter. At that particular point in time, Rayanne had admonished Anson they didn’t need to spend any money on each other
for their anniversary, as money was in scarce supply for their household. The flowers sent the next day, an atonement effort, proved as futile as did the less-than-personal gifts he’d given to his wife, and it took a surprise birthday party days later to get him out of the doghouse.

Anson’s parents celebrated their Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary on February 9^th in Belmont, Mississippi. Barbara and I attended the affair to congratulate them on their marital milestone.

While we were there, Anson pulled us aside to share, "Next Friday night, I’m taking Rayanne out to a nice restaurant in Alabama for our Twelfth Anniversary. What she doesn’t know is we’re spending the night in a nice motel. That’s the surprise."

How priceless was the look on his face. His pleasure in his secret plans could not be contained. Something so well thought out had to express itself, and it virtually erupted as a broad smile across his face.

As a guy, I admit to admiring his scheme and could only imagine that his every expectation for the grand evening would be realized. What could possibly go wrong? Arrangements had been made for his parents to keep the children, dinner and motel reservations were made, and there was surely a plan in place to sneak the luggage for the overnight stay unnoticed and into the family van. It was beautiful, I tell you, beautiful.

But as the Burns stated, "The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men...(are often thwarted – in today’s parlance)."

I don’t know at what point in the evening Anson shared with Rayanne his scheme, but I would imagine it would have been near the end of dinner.

And, I can picture him leaning toward her in a candlelit Kodak moment and exclaiming, "Guess what? We have the rest of the night to ourselves. The girls are spending the night at Gran-Gran’s, and we’re sleeping at the Starlight Inn, the swanky new one up the street."

And I can equally envision my daughter’s reaction. "I don’t have
my makeup or a change of clothes. You know I don’t like surprises, and I especially don’t like sleeping in a motel bed somebody else has slept in. It freaks me out."

"Don’t worry, honey," he surely must have said, "I’ve packed everything you need right down to your favorite jeans. Our bags are under the blanket in the back of the van. Anyway the motel is almost brand new; the bed may never have been slept in."

I have no official word on what transpired in the waning hours of the evening and really no official word until after nine o’clock Saturday morning. That’s when Rayanne phoned her mother to give her an update.

In that conversation Rayanne stated much of what I attributed to her above, adding, "Anson didn’t pack my hairbrush so I’m stuck here with a wet head until he gets back from Wal-Mart or wherever he finds one. And, my ‘favorite jeans’ he brought have bleach stains all over them."

The gist of it was Rayanne was not the happy camper one might have expected. When Barbara pointed out what a nice gesture it was on Anson’s part to have planned a special time for them, Rayanne stewed, "You’re taking his side, just like his mother did."

To which I would’ve asked, "What’s wrong with you, girl? For most women, Anson’s sort of thoughtfulness would have been joyously received had their husbands done the same for them!"

Alas, I can’t be too hard on my own child. I did help with her raising, and her gene pool does have a few of my ornery genes in it. So it’s not like she’s perfect, which is something Jason will be proud to know I said, but I admit to being a little perplexed by her response to the situation.

Perhaps, it’ll be as Barbara said, "You need to write this down, Rayanne, so in ten years or so, or when y’all celebrate your Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary, you can read it and laugh about it."

For me, I don’t have to wait; I can laugh about it right now.

Annie Up Close

I have never been fortunate enough to be near enough to a celebrity to rub shoulders, so to speak, and by celebrity I’m thinking of movie star, professional athlete, a governor, or the President of the United States. But then, I don’t go looking for them just for an autograph or photo opportunity. Oops…I thought of a pro athlete.
Tim McCarver of the St. Louis Cardinals was at the Sunflower Food Store #43, on East Main Street in Tupelo at the time I worked there in 1963. He was autographing 8 by 10 glossies, and I had him sign one for my then little brother, James. And, I was in within a few feet of Ernie Haase of Signature Sound fame, the other night at the Gaither Concert in Tupelo, but that’s all the famous people I can think of that I was near enough to have touched, until I ran into Annie last Thursday.Annie, for those of you who don’t have email or haven’t heard of "you tube," is something of an Internet celebrity. She arrived in my inbox a couple of years ago as an attachment to a forwarded message. Okay, she didn’t arrive in my inbox, but she was the subject of the humorous video clip in which she was featured. The video clip was named "Why I Quit Court Reporting." It is approximately two minutes in length, but it’s very apparent that the title fits the situation. Annie, who lives in Ruleville, Mississippi, is sworn in for a legal deposition, the nature of which is not revealed, but she is asked to verify whether the signature on a certain piece of paper is hers.
Annie may have a speech impediment or else she may be a special-needs individual, and if either is true, I apologize for any humor I find in viewing the clip and would have her know I’m not laughing at her but rather laughing at the predicament of the court reporter. Annie, when asked to raise her right hand, raised her left hand, and when asked a second time to raise her right hand, she raised it and kept both arms held high over her head. When asked if she promised to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, it was evident she agreed to do so, but her answer which I would perceive to be along the line of "Yeah, I promise to tell the whole truth," is unintelligible speech, and my translation is purely guesswork based on the circumstances and the question she had been presented. Continue reading>>

Urban Lepers

You see them standing outside, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or two others, and sometimes their numbers are larger. They are defiant but orderly. Society has deemed them unfit and a danger to its greater good. We find their habit repugnant and unclean, but they refuse to change their lifestyle to meet our demands. Cold weather, hot weather, mild weather, rain or shine, outside is the only public environment where their behavior is acceptable. Pity these—they are smokers.

Tobacco use, particularly cigarette smoking, was once considered chic and fashionable. Smoking helped settle ones nerves, so the military encouraged its use among servicemen during wartime. Hollywood icons smoked, as did all of filmdom. Businessmen smoked, and while smoking among the fairer sex was once risqué, it grew to become acceptable as the popularity of cigarette smoking grew. Juvenile delinquents smoked, but so did juveniles who were not delinquents.

Smoking was considered manly, and advertisements for cigarettes often portrayed men doing things such as riding horseback in Wyoming or Montana then pausing to light up a popular brand of cigarettes. Smoking was a form of sociableness whether found at a nightclub or a country club or the Elks club. Smokers smoked with little regard for persons who did not smoke and often were careless where the ashes fell or where burning stubs were crushed.

Until medical research pointed to tobacco as a possible cause for cancer, most smokers did not realize the risks associated with smoking. Even after written warnings by the Surgeon General of the United States were mandated on each pack, most ignored the message until the evidence overwhelmingly supported the earlier research. And today, the evidence still goes unheeded by some, in spite of more research linking heart disease to smoking.

Sociologists are better at explaining the differences between generations than I am, but I believe the political push to ban smoking from all public places, even in small towns such as Pontotoc, is directly related to a characteristic of the generation of Baby Boomers. I’ve heard enough speeches on trends and generational differences over the years to remember one of the defining aspects of a Boomer is the "it’s-all-about-me syndrome." And, it’s a characteristic I see again and again in those born between 1946 and 1964. These are the generation born from the time GIs returned home after World War II until shortly after the Kennedy assignation. Today, Baby Boomers are the ones in leadership positions in churches, schools, and in local governments. Continue reading>>

Mayor Stafford

Helped Jump Start Pontotoc

The death of Howard Stafford caught me by surprise. After all, had not Barbara and I talked to him roughly two months ago as we were leaving Sunshine Health Care in Pontotoc? Stopping to chat came natural to Howard Stafford. He was never one to talk ones ear off, but he did show enough concern and interest to make one feel appreciated.

It had been some time since I had seen our former Mayor, but he looked well, clad in what one might describe as a western look, though in his case his rugged features and wide brimmed hat reminded me more of an Indiana Jones figure.

"I came to check on my sister and a brother-in-law," he responded when we asked the nature of his visit.

Ours was not a lengthy conversation and was more of an exchange of greetings that happened to consist of expressions of concern for our respective families.

Howard Stafford was a member of America’s Greatest Generation which consists, in part, of individuals who survived the hardships of the Great Depression only to be confronted with stopping fascism in Europe and imperialism in the Far East. Howard served his country in the Army, spending four years in the South Pacific. When he returned to the States, Howard maintained a Standard Oil dealership for several years before turning his attention to
politics.

Howard Stafford was elected Mayor of Pontotoc in 1965 and served as Mayor for 28 consecutive years. Pontotoc and Pontotoc County owe its years of "industrial revolution," largely to the efforts of Howard Stafford.

Howard’s management style distinguished him from all who had previously held the mayor’s office, and his uniqueness has not been duplicated since. Mayor Stafford was not one to take no for an answer. Persons who knew him far better than I have called his methods unorthodox.

At his funeral, on January 26, 2008, Judge Charles Thomas noted Howard’s heroes were Geronimo and Gen. Douglas MacArthur and drew upon similarities of each. Like Geronimo, Mayor Stafford was fearless and like Gen. MacArthur, defeat was not something he could or would accept. Continue reading >>

Dennis' Dislike

Ruffling Feathers

Other than an occasional vegetarian, I don’t run across too many people who don’t eat poultry, chicken in particular. And, if the next Great War fought on this earth is anything like the apocalypse many feel it will be, then I’m going on record to
say vegetarians are going to experience a change of heart and a change of diet.

Meanwhile, I’ll try to be more tolerant of those whose dietary preferences clash with mine. That’s something that would have made a good New
Year’s resolution for me, had I thought of it sooner.

Since this article is a continuation of comments last week on how I consider friendships formed in the workplace an unheralded corporate fringe benefit,
perhaps, it’s time to resume the adventure of my travel to Kenosha, Wisconsin a few days ago.

When Wayne Hunter and I departed Cape Girardeau, Missouri, Tuesday morning we knew we would be meeting Mark Frank and Dennis Conn in Champaign, Illinois, before continuing the drive to Kenosha. Mark is a relative newcomer to the team of retail technology consultants in our region, but Dennis Conn came over on the Mayflower (joke).

I first met Dennis when we both had managerial positions in our respective wholesale divisions. Dennis managed the Retail Technology Department for J.M. Jones in Champaign, and I was his counterpart for Lewis Grocer Co., Indianola, Mississippi. In 1990, our companies were already a part of SUPERVALU, spelled Super Valu in those days, but our retail customers knew us better by our division names, J.M. Jones and Lewis Grocer.

Somewhere on the Kenosha trail, Dennis shared with us, "I don’t eat chicken."

It was a nugget of knowledge I had allowed to slip my mind, but as soon as he mentioned it, I remembered hearing him make a similar comment last year at one of our regional meetings.

Dennis forgave my forgetfulness and commented, "But, you’d think my parents could remember I don’t eat poultry! Yet, every Thanksgiving, Mom tries to push some turkey on me. Sometimes, she puts chicken or turkey in something thinking she can fool me into eating it."

<Continue reading>

Fringe Benefits

Were the income derived from my employment the sole benefit found in my working for SUPERVALU, I’d be grateful, but that’s only a small part of the big picture. Few, who work for others ever feel their income matches their worth or contribution to the success of his or her employer and perhaps their claim is valid, but I decided long ago to be content with my earnings and to strive to live within my means.

That’s not to say I’d turn down an annual raise with, “No thanks, I’m already making enough to meet my needs,” or another foolish comment, but there’s more to a job than income alone.

These days, benefits are a huge consideration, especially health benefits. Health benefits have become so huge that employers struggle in striking the proper balance of coverage for all employees, and in the face of ever-rising costs often pass some of their costs along to employees.

Medical insurance, prescription drug coverage, dental, and vision plans, along with flexible spending accounts, savings, and retirement plans are other offers corporations use to attract and keep employees. I’m lucky enough to qualify for a company car and all the benefits associated with it. According to SUPERVALU, their share of my total benefits is fifty-five percent of my annual salary, with thirteen percent of this for health care and none of these calculations include the company car. But, there’s more to work than wages and corporate benefits.

In any organization, people make the difference, and in my working for SUPERVALU over the last half-century, or there about, people have certainly made a difference in my life. Some of the finest people I know, I’ve been privileged to work with in an office setting, or as a field associate, and I must include a few of my bosses along the way. Certainly, I would be remiss in not including those customers I’m also privileged to know and serve. I’ve been blessed with friendships and employee relationships in the workforce. <Continue Reading>

Having An EGD

For a number of years, possibly fifteen, I’ve experienced difficulty in swallowing certain foods. Meats, when not sufficiently chewed, such as chicken and beef were among the foods most difficult to ingest beyond the esophagus. However, I have also experienced swallowing problems with cornbread and spicy foods.

Rather than see a doctor about the condition I generally describe as “my swallowing problem,” I chose to explore ways to reduce the occurrences of the problem. I discovered that whenever food felt lodged in my esophagus I was in no danger of choking for my air passage was not blocked. I found that by consuming a carbonated beverage at mealtime, there would be enough gas pressure in my stomach so that a self-induced burp could coax the blockage loose. I learned to chew food more thoroughly and to not hurry my eating. This past year, I also learned to talk less while eating and to concentrate more on chewing and swallowing.

My swallowing problem was not life-threatening, and I considered it a minor inconvenience to the enjoyment of eating. It was something to respect rather than fear. I might not have done anything about it in the way of seeing a doctor, except that in thinking some recent chest pain might be related to my heart, I described my esophageal experiences to my cardiologist. He convinced me I needed to have my esophagus checked by his use of a single word, cancer.

As I recall he stated, “What you have is not normal…if unchecked and untreated, it could turn into cancer.”

I laugh off my chances of contracting certain diseases and disorders, but cancer gets my attention. There have been too many folks in my family diagnosed and treated for cancer (some died with the disease) for me not to take cancer seriously. And, having personally survived prostate cancer, I’d just as soon not take on another cancer challenge.

My cardiologist made an appointment for me to see a gastroenterologist in early December. I was told a test would be needed in order to render a diagnosis and/or treat my swallowing problem. I had hoped to get the test completed prior to 2008, but I was told by a “scheduler” (not only are physicians specialists, now office personnel are specialists, too) that was not possible and since the new appointment calendar had not arrived, I would have to wait a few days before setting a date for the test. <Continue reading>

Rediscovery Orange

It had been so long since I had eaten a freshly peeled orange that I had forgotten how good one can be. And, I probably wouldn’t have eating one recently had it not been for the head cold that came my way the week before Christmas. There was a time when a common cold lasted seven days if untreated, and if one went to a doctor it would take a week to get over the cold. I believe my recent head cold lasted twelve days, and I let it run its course except for a couple days in which I took a few Benadryl.

As good as Christmas Dinner was and as many sweets as we had to go with meals or simply to snack on, I really didn’t overeat. Perhaps, my sense of smell was reduced, but the foods I would normally have greatly enjoyed, just didn’t make the grade. Instead of enjoying meals, I came to rely upon snacks to satisfy my hunger cravings. The best snacks I could find were salted nuts and party mix, and an occasional glass of eggnog.

Preparing for Christmas, Barbara bought a sack of juice oranges for use in a fruit salad and for a decorative touch, piercing some and inserting cloves band-like around the oranges. I think Barbara was inspired by a Martha Stewart TV program to reproduce something she had seen her mother do. I think both the oranges and the cloves suffer from such an arrangement, though remaining edible for anyone who can tolerate the mixed flavors of orange-scented cloves or clove-scented oranges. Personally, I try to limit my consumption of foods flavored with cloves to pickled peaches, which is the only food I still enjoy that is laced with cloves. Continue reading>>

Cheryl And Jerry Wed

Somewhere in the ancestral gene pool of my dear wife, there must have been an overabundance of “designer” genes. And, while Barbara Anne has a fair touch when it comes to home decorating, her daughter (Rayanne) and her niece (Cheryl) got double portions. Obviously, whatever talent my daughter has for decorating is something that did not come from me. Once I get all the home furnishings set in place, I’m good for life or the life of the furnishings.

If there were but three objects in my living room, Rayanne would long ago have run out of possible ways to arrange or order them, as there are only six different ways to arrange three items. Four items would present a greater challenge and allow for twenty-four possible arrangements, but with eight items (five pieces of stuffed furniture and three tables) the task would require 40, 320 possibilities. I’m pretty sure Rayanne’s past the twenty-four mark, but is no where near the 40k amount. Note: The eight items mentioned do not include an almost immovable armoire or the piano or the many lamps and set-abouts.

Cheryl has a good eye for room décor and arrangement, but she doesn’t come to see us as often as Rayanne, nor is she inclined to redecorate our place unless asked. But, rest assured, Cheryl will add her creative touch to any house she calls home.

After graduating from high school in Ripley, Cheryl married and moved to Memphis and found work at the J. Strickland Company, where she’s worked for more than thirty years. After her marriage faltered, she and her husband divorced. After a few years, Cheryl found an ex-athlete from Ole Miss. The two were happily married for several years, before developing a marital problem. They parted ways via a legal separation and were eventually divorced.

In her second single-again period, Cheryl found herself supported by a group of close friends and a few relatives, and she thrived. She bought a new house in Southaven, joined a Baptist Church nearby, and led a fairly active social life. She wasn’t exactly looking for a third husband, but she found one among the overlooked four-leafed clovers in her life.

Cheryl originally knew Jerry and Terri Gowen as friends of her and her husband. Jerry and Terri parted company a few years ago, and at the time, neither Cheryl nor Jerry ever thought they’d fall in love with each other. Perhaps, they might not have had Jerry’s daughter, Ashley, not recognized the opportunity to match-make her dad and Cheryl. As I understand it, Ashley gave Cheryl and Jerry each other’s email address and suggested mutual contact. The result was Cheryl and Jerry met for lunch, renewed their friendship, began dating, and in a relatively short time discovered they were in love. <continue reading>

Belmont Turnout

The folks at First Baptist Church, Belmont, MS, are supportive of their church’s music ministry, which includes a strong and vocally powerful Adult Choir and a budding hand-bell program. My daughter, Rayanne Adams, has served for the past few years as organist and occasionally fills in for the pianist. From what I hear, the small church is quite proud of its organist, and I wasn’t surprised to learn the church planned to provide its church van to transport a group who wanted to hear the Pontotoc piano program in which their organist would be playing.

A few weeks ago, Rayanne phoned her mother to ask about possibly using our home to entertain those traveling to Pontotoc from Belmont to hear her play.

“I just thought about it,” she shared. “They won’t have time to eat anything before they leave Belmont, and rather than having to stop somewhere to eat on the way home, I think it would be a good idea to invite them over to Mama and Daddy’s after the program.”<continue reading>

Golden Eagle Syrup ~ The Pride of Alabama

Drawn Using Microsoft Paint

November 08, 1997
Ridge Rider News Volume 75

Pontotoc, Mississippi is my birthplace, but I lived there only two years before my parents moved our family to Corinth, MS. Over the next nine years, we lived in Iuka, Starkville, and Okolona for varying time periods. I was eleven when my dad bought an interest in the Market Basket retail grocery store in Pontotoc, and our family returned to Pontotoc. Located on Main Street, Market Basket was soon renamed Carter and Austin Grocery to reflect the names of the new owners, Henry Carter and Colonel Austin.

Dad had worked for Kroger during my early childhood years, an era of change for Kroger, Inc. In the Forties, Kroger stores were in many of the rural county seat towns of Mississippi and other southern states. During the Fifties, Kroger began to close large numbers of their small grocery stores and concentrate their marketing efforts in larger metropolitan areas. It was this new marketing strategy that resulted in our moving from Iuka, where a store was being closed, to Starkville. Transferring from Starkville to Okolona and after managing the Kroger store in Okolona for almost three years, Dad found an opportunity to join the ranks of independent retailers.

At some point during our first year back in Pontotoc, we were introduced to a different and delicious table syrup. I have tried, unsuccessfully, to remember the name of the salesman who stopped by Dad's store each week to pickup the grocery order for Malone and Hyde of Tupelo. The name "Willis" sounds like it could have been his last name, but I cannot be certain. I can remember his face and slightly overweight appearance.

I remember that he was the first person I ever heard say, "A good grilled steak doesn't need any steak sauce or ketchup. It just needs eating."

The incident for which I best remember Mr. Willis occurred the year Ole Miss beat Tennessee, thirty-eight to nothing in Memphis after a week of taunts by Tennessee players that Ole Miss players were just a bunch of mules. Mr. Willis was staying in the Peabody Hotel along with a host of other people who were there to see the game.

In the lobby of the Peabody on Friday night before the game, a Tennessee fan, inebriated and loud, kept challenging, "I'll bet a hundred dollars that Ole Miss won't even score."

Most of the crowd present were Tennessee fans. Mr. Willis, a fan of Ole Miss, stepped forward and peeled off a hundred dollars to show his acceptance of the bet. The two men put their money in an envelope and gave it to the clerk at the registration desk. They explained the conditions of the wager and asked the clerk to keep the money in the safe for one of them to claim the next day.

After seeing Ole Miss score their first touchdown, then a second one, Mr. Willis became concerned about the two hundred dollars in the safe at the Peabody. He left the stadium and claimed the money, without returning to the ball game. He claimed he did not trust the other bettor, believing him capable of bribing the desk clerk.

I am reasonably certain that Mr. Willis is responsible for our introduction to Golden Eagle syrup, since he represented the company that supplied our store with grocery products, and I vaguely recall my folks mentioning his name in connection with the syrup. I had eaten Blackburn table syrup for years, along with the rest of our family. My last childhood memory of eating Blackburn syrup was during the time we lived in Okolona. Blackburn was a sweet, but dark syrup with the appearance of thin molasses. The transparent Golden Eagle syrup was quite a visual contrast to the Blackburn brand, and the addition of honey to the other ingredients made it even more appealing to our family. The folks that bottled the syrup also declared it to be "The Pride Of Alabama." Through the years, many a quart of this tasty syrup has been enjoyed by our family members.

After Barbara and I married and began a family, my older brother, who made a career of the Air Force, moved to central Minnesota. Whenever we vacationed there, we were asked to take Fred a supply of Golden Eagle syrup. Minnesota is famous for many things, but Deep-South food is not among them. Grits and Golden Eagle are not found in Minnesota homes that do not have strong ties to the South. Yet, even my brother has discovered that Golden Eagle is not stocked on all grocery shelves in the South. Fred now lives near Orlando, FL, but has to drive to Alabama or Mississippi to find what is also his family's favorite table syrup.

Table syrup is probably less popular today than fifty years ago, primarily because many families do not take the time to prepare homemade biscuits. Table syrup of any variety is enjoyed best when consumed with hot, buttered, hand-made biscuits. Various techniques are employed by members of my family, who eat Golden Eagle syrup, from ladling the syrup over the biscuits to knifing the syrup on the biscuits, one bite at a time. Regardless of the eating method, one rule must be adhered to at the Carter home "Always pour the syrup away from the label of the syrup jar."  This assures the next person, who uses the jar, a clean, non-sticky surface to grip. It takes a bit of practice to cut off the syrup at the mouth of the jar without it rendering a gooey rim that makes the jar lid hard to remove the next time your family wants to have syrup and biscuits.

Once the syrup is poured onto the plate, I recommend a smidgen of butter (a smidgen is slightly less than a fourth of a pat of butter) be added by stirring it into the syrup. Though not a necessity, this adds a bit of color and flavor, plus the biscuits usually are not buttered edge to edge. I do not recommend using as much butter as Lillie Belle slaps on her syrup, since the end result looks more like whipped honey than Golden Eagle syrup. Neither do I recommend you eat your syrup by cutting up the biscuits in a sea of syrup or drizzling syrup over broken or cut biscuits. Either of these results in a different taste sensation than simply spooning the syrup on the biscuit, one bite at a time. I don't think I have cornered the market on the best technique, I am just sharing my years of experiencing the various ways to eat biscuits and Golden Eagle syrup.

Actually, I do not use a spoon to transfer the syrup from the plate to the biscuit, I use a table knife. Of course I know that proper etiquette states to avoid eating with a knife, but that's the way my dad ate his and his father before him. The knife method has also been passed down to my children both of whom find this to be preferable to other techniques. It's pretty handy when you think about it, especially since you just used the knife to cut off the syrup and maybe the same knife to stir the butter into the syrup. And yes, if I ever have to pour more syrup to make it come out even with the biscuits, I lick the knife blade clean before cutting extra syrup. (Make it come out even is an expression establishing the fact that the proportion of syrup to biscuits exists in a one to one ratio—one portion of syrup for each one bite of biscuit.)

It does not matter to me how you enjoy your biscuits and syrup or even whether you ever eat such as this. I do hope that if you have never tried the combination, you will at least try it. And, if I have flung a craving on you for some hot biscuits and syrup, then go and fix yourself some. If you cannot purchase Golden Eagle in you supermarket, let me know, and I will ship some to you.