blossoming periwinkles

About a decade ago, the main employer in town moved its headquarters from a quirky million-square-foot collection of old mill buildings to a more upscale, modern building at the edge of town, and then through acquisition, abandoned that building too. Foot traffic at lunch plummeted, and the downtown suffered. Businesses closed; on some days, it felt like weeds were blowing through downtown. For years now, I've enjoyed seeing signs of life as the downtown mill has filled back up with small and even large businesses, people are out again at lunchtime, and small shops have opened up again.

We now have a lot of fun restaurants to choose from, all within walking distance from home. We also have a lot of "used stuff" stores, ranging on the cuteness meter. A few years ago, an "antiques and crafts" store named Periwinkles opened.

The owner, Susan, hailed from Oklahoma. She had married quite late and produced one son, now a budding teenager. Her store was adorable -- packed to the gills with real antiques, odd little paintings, Native American crafts from her trips home. She had a nice sense of style and you could spend a pleasant hour browsing through the store or chatting with her.

Soon after the store opened, I went in for a look around. Susan's mom was visiting, and every time I asked a question, Mom would say something like "Oh Susan, this place is so crowded, no wonder people can't find anything". She didn't seem to like the wares that Susan was selling. The store just wasn't good enough, and clearly for that matter, neither was Susan.

I was becoming increasingly irritated and finally said "Gee, I think this store is absolutely adorable and I really like it. It's just right." At that point, Susan's mother found a rocking chair, sat down, and sulkily said "Well. I'm just going to sit down and be quiet. Hmph." (Good idea, I thought.)

I couldn't shake this incident. For one thing, I've suffered a lot from the Not Good Enough Syndrome, and I know firsthand how it eats at people. For another thing, I thought Susan's mom was not helping sales at all; in fact, she was close to driving customers away.

A few days or maybe a week later, I went back and said to Susan, "I know I'm not your mom, so my opinion may not count for much, BUT I think this is a great store, and I admire you for putting it together. I'm really sorry your mom was so negative." Susan was very sweet and responded gratefully for what might have been seen as a cheeky intervention.

Over the years, I'd drop in from time to time to say hi or to buy one thing or another. I wasn't what one might call an excellent customer, but I was an occasional one. Truth to tell, Susan carried a lot of very sweet items that were quite appealing to me and that I would have bought had I not already had Too Much Stuff. But during my visits, I met Susan's husband and son a few times. Then one night, Robert was walking downtown with me and I introduced him to Susan. "Oh," she said, "your wife has been incredible. What a customer, and so very sweet."

And then a few months later, I saw signs in Susan's window about upcoming sales, and then the inevitable -- a sign said that Susan's little shop was closing. The last weekend coincided with a visit from Robert's parents. Robert's mom and I went for a walk downtown and stopped by to visit Susan, who along with a few other people was cleaning up the little shop.

Introductions were made. Susan said "You wouldn't believe how wonderful Liz is. She's been a great customer" She told the story again. A woman helping in the back of the shop stepped off her ladder and came over to us. "I'm Susan's mother-in-law. *You're* that person? It's so good to meet you. We heard the story when it happened and we're not fond of Susan's mother around these parts." I told the m-i-l how lucky Susan was to have her and she said how lucky she felt to have Susan as part of their family. We decided right there and then that we had quite a fan club going.

I bought a few last things, and Susan gave me a basket and put a few extra items into it. Then Robert's mom bought a few things too, blaming me all the while for causing her to spend money on her trip. I gave Susan my contact info so that she can let me know what her next adventure will be, and we parted.

It is amazing to me how such a small gesture could last and resonate for years. I am so glad to have made a difference. Perhaps this tiny act of kindness makes up in some small way for so many other acts that were not as kind -- through negligence, obliviousness, forgetting to think. Perhaps these things balance out in the grand scheme of things.