So I’m in a camera shop, buying a couple of frames and some picture folders.  The clerk gets the folders and we chat about her grey streaks which are so much cooler than my platinum blond, while she rings my purchases.  She tells me about her sister who has been a hairdresser (not a stylist) for 35 years, and lives in Spring Hill.  She says her sister gives her a family discount.  I ask if she brings the coffee, and she tells me that her sister always says, “Oh, I don’t need anything,” so she’s stopped trying or offering.

As I hand her the two frames that I chose from the sale table, I’m a little hesitant.  I’m going to use them for pictures of me and my in-laws, one per frame, and the frames are a little wild for Jay and Joanna.  But I trust my instincts, since these will be at my place, and the one for the picture of Joanna and me has charming little flowers on the edge.  I think she would like that.  As the lady adds the frames to the total, I mention her necklace and she fingers it.  I see her getting a little misty-eyed and ask if the pendant is jade.  She confirms this, and says, “It’s a cicada.”  She’s smiling but holding back some strong emotion, and I ask her if the cicada has special meaning for her.

“It does,” she acknowledges, her hands now inputting the merchandise that I’m buying, but her eyes looking off, to some far away place where the katydids sing in the evening.  “They symbolize transformation.”  I understand; I am partial to butterflies, myself, for just that reason.  I nod, and smile, and without glancing down, sign the ticket she’s handed me.

I’ve thanked her and I’m turning to go when she suddenly gasps. I turn back, and see she’s looking at my ticket in dismay.  “Those frames are on sale,” she exclaims.  “I charged you full price!”  I hand her the sales slip, my debit card, and the frames, and in a few minutes, she’s done the transaction properly and I’m twenty-eight bucks to the good.

I tell her goodbye and catch a lucky break on State Line, and head south to Latte Land.  The guy at the counter greets me and asks how I am.  “I’m two shots low on caffeine,” I tell him.  “I just jabbered my way to an over-charge at the camera store!  Luckily the lady caught it!”  He laughs, and takes my order.  A few minutes later  I’ve got an Americano in a real cup with a comfortable handle, and I’m sitting at a little table near the door, listening to music on their satellite radio and thinking about transformation.