Crossing the Sea to Costco

Yesterday morning I dropped the kids off at school at 8 AM, drove to the ferry landing to sit the required half-hour in line, crossed the ocean for an hour and a half – with a stop for more travelers on Shaw Island – then drove another 45 minutes from the ferry terminal to Costco. Three hours door to door and the shopping can finally begin!

We do this once every several months, packing in as many other stores or doctors’ appointments as possible before getting back in the ferry line for the 6:30, 8:55, or 10:30 PM boat.

We all know this mini-journey well – either cram in as many frenzied stops as possible and try to get back to Orcas before the day is done, or let it go, take our time, and take the late boat home. If you love Trader Joe’s enough, you’ll add another 90 minutes of driving to your day; some things just aren’t the same at big box stores. Though we are thankful for the bulk prices. Never did I imagine I’d be buying a 16-pack of Dove soap, but somehow it seems to make sense. Until I get home and realize I still have eight bars sitting in the back of the cabinet. I’m going to be clean for a really long time. Our laundry room has a neat row of rice bags, pinto beans, canned peaches by the flat, and bottles of olive oil. It’s not like we’re doomed if we shop here on the island. We do all the time for produce; it just adds up faster.

Crossing the sea to shop all day long until my back is weak is actually a pretty enjoyable trip. Given that I don’t own a cell phone or an iPod, I blast music for hours and hours, skimming radio stations for songs I can belt out, invariably transporting me back to distant junior high dances and the accompanying first-love butterflies. Each song brings back a different snippet of my life and I realize how much I miss the various people I’ve gotten to know. People who wouldn’t even know they are on my mind. Before I have too long to dive off the edge of eternal reminiscence, I’m in the Macy’s parking lot to search for the brand of underwear that I know fits the best. You know, the kind that doesn’t ride up. (It can take decades to find just the right undergarments.) Depth surfaces quickly when you’re on the clock.

I walk wide-eyed through all the stores thinking, ‘Whoa…you mean most people have access to all of this anytime they need it? Amazing!’ (And then thinking, ‘Wait, does anyone need any of this?’) Sometimes I even carry around a slinky sequin dress and really cute shoes that I know I don’t need and that Orcas dirt roads would never allow me to wear, and I put them back once I’ve gotten my fix.

At 10:35 I pull back into our driveway, say a prayer of thanks for my safety, do a last skim of songs to end on a good note, and step out of the car to deafening quiet and a phenomenal array of stars above. I unload my cold bags to transfer food to the fridge and leave the dry stuff to unload in the morning with the boys. It’s always like Christmas when I come home and we take trip after trip to and from the car as they ooh and aah over the new influx of sustenance and snack on things we’ll soon run out of again.