Meeting My Maker? Nah. My Manna.

Do you remember that very special birthday present you got as a child?

One that was a real surprise, not one you nagged for week after week. Coulda been anything … teddy bear … an article of clothing … a train set … a sketchpad with colored pencils … a bracelet … a rock ‘n’ roll album … pair of Keds … endless are the possibilities.

As a share, for me it was my first diary, hardbound in presumably faux brown leather, with “Diary” in cursive gold print.

Best of all, it had a little lock with a little key! A key that I assure you never got lost! Even as a child, I was extraordinarily meticulous and organized. It’s the German in me.

The diary was a total surprise. I was at the perfect age for one too (early adolescence). Even if the tag read “from mom and dad,” my mother, I’m certain, was behind it. We had a truly horrible traumatizing relationship indeed. Yet I must give credit where it is due. She had a real knack with gifts. Her gift was the ability to give spot-on thoughtful gifts.

I digress. Back to the question. Do you remember that surprising birthday present?

That’s what I experienced — albeit in muted fashion — yesterday.

I saw … for the first time … in 1-1/2 weeks … in any of some 10 stores I’ve been frequenting, some daily …  {drum roll} …

YES!! YESSSS! YESSSS! {insert Meg Ryan’s infamous orgasmic scene from “When Harry Met Sally}


Here, I’ll show you the (not-award-winning) snapshot so’s you can see for yourself the sight that stopped me dead in my tracks:


Boxes of Tissues. Witnessed for First Time in 10 Days. Recorded: March 26, 2020.

That, my friends, is: tissue.

Boxes of tissues!

Not just one brand but several brands and price ranges to pick from!

As you can see, the shelves were fairly stripped bare already, no argument there. Still. There were SOME! Blog-worthy!

Meanwhile, for full disclosure, the adjoining toilet paper shelves remain as barren as I’ve seen them also for the past 10 days (and growing).


Toilet Paper Used to Reside Here. It’s Since Been Relocated By the Human Hands of Greed. Recorded March 26, 2020.

I saw boxes of tissues!!! You’d think I’d spotted Yeti!

I studied those tags, price per unit, etc.etc. etc.  in a manner unprecedented for (1) one box of tissue and (2) an inherently careful comparison shopper.

Sorta like buying an iPhone! I wouldn’t waltz in and grab the first one that catches my eye. I research. Study. Break down. Discern. Decipher. Calculate. Meticulous Thinking German me.

I chose wisely. I chose well.

And — hear me, world — I chose one box. O-N-E.

1. 1. 1 1 1 1 1 1. ONLY ONE.

I could have taken 2 boxes — the store’s posted limit.


If more’s needed down the road, I’ll take my chance, roll the dice.

My rage at the greed, hoarding, blatant unfettered SELFISHNESS could set the universe ablaze. So I won’t venture there. Suffice it to say that reasons why I hate people are on full 24/7 display.

I walked the half-mile home last night with precisely two items in the bag: a container of ice cream (mistake) and one box of tissue.

I’ll be honest. I wondered what might happen if someone knew I was carrying … and by carrying, I do mean tissues, not heroin.

Hopefully you’ve seen the pix and vids of what people are doing to one another for coveted paper products … the assaults … arguments … fights … glass from a broken bottle in a store held against customers … so’s I don’t hafta explain this mad, mad, mad, mad world.

I arrived home safely. Opened that tissue box with indeed the care and attention I give a gift received.

Pulled a single sheet, whoooooosh! Two came out. I pushed the second sheet back in. Set the box in a place of prominence so I may enjoy its presence.

My single box holds 80 tissues. Each sheet I shall use over and over and over in thrift and mindfulness. I know, so know how to survive in lack and hardship.

I shall say: It is a true pleasure, this single box of tissues.

For what you don’t know in this story — and now shall — is that it’s now high-pollen season here in Phoenix / southern Arizona.

And though I’m not typically allergies-prone, the stuff — from pollens to pollution — in this desert metro sprawl are murderous.

I make due with little to nothing. That’s my nature (survive). My childhood damage. So using rough ‘n’ rugged paper towels as I’ve been doing for blazing allergy symptoms is no biggie.

But a TISSUE on a nose turned raw in this gawd-awful pollens-polluted Phoenix! … what luxury! Soooo soft! It’s manna, man! It. Is. Manna!

Meet My Manna in a Box:


There Is No Heaven. But There Is Manna in My Studio. Recorded March 27, 2020

Then, for a giggle, meet my other Manna in a Box … manna that nobody’s hoarding, stealing, price-gouging, selling on eBay for the price of a monthly mortgage. Give thanks to our blessings where we have them:


Merlot is Manna Too












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