SB writes:

It was a tiny, old, one-story building with foggy windows that looked closed. The place was near the corner of a nondescript commercial side street on the outskirts of town. I found it while walking with my oldest daughter as we waited on the day before Christmas for her sister to stand outside with a mask in a long line to get (another) ear piercing (viruses only live inside small places with too many people).

The “open” flag hung outside. As I entered the warm shop on a grey winter day, my face shield and glasses also fogged up, and I could not see. I removed them apologetically to wipe them off, finding a gentle older shopkeeper with impeccable English surrounded by foods and crafts from her native Poland. She wore no mask. I explained that it was hard to see, and she, without missing a beat, said it’s been hard for all of us to see.

The restaurant part of her tiny business was shut down by our gubernatorial dictator, so her few small tables (where she would ordinarily serve home-cooked Polish fare) were barren. I was glad to see a couple of other customers, not just me. I looked at the remainder of a big box of home-made donuts that was still sitting out uncovered, reminiscent of a time in the recent past that was less “sanitary” and more unrestricted.

I proceeded to do some impromptu shopping, buying food that was unusual (all from Poland and other Eastern European countries with labels only in their native languages).  I thought these items could serve as adventurous Christmas sweets, in lieu of the cookie baking I would ordinarily do, but just didn’t have the inclination to do this year.

As I stood at the old register where she rang me up, I took in the mannequin in bright Polish garb and the bucolic hand-painted wall mural (presumably of the Polish countryside she left) that set the stage for the whole tiny eatery. She was quite ordinary looking, but glowed and there was something fierce and beautiful in her face. She offered me an ornate Christmas card. I have no idea what the card says, but the gilded picture of Mary and baby Jesus and the memory of her bright countenance will remain with me.

I told her how grateful I was to find her, thanked her for operating a wonderful alternative to the big “essential” box stores (especially now that my shopping habits have changed)  and I asked her how business was. She said she had quite a few loyal customers and that it helped that she loved her work. The coronavirus political situation has caused her to lose friends. She has spoken out about it, and I said that the same has happened to me.  She told me that she left Poland 35 years ago because it was getting bad, and she recognizes the signs today. Unprompted by me, she said slowly and deliberately that she believed that what is happening in our country is the takeover of Communism (she blames the Chinese). I was not surprised by her words, and agreed with her.

I felt a little brighter on that dreary cold day for having met someone whose kindness and conviction radiated outward in word and deed.  I said I would stop in again next time I was in town.

I found myself thinking of her on Christmas Day. I said a prayer for her, and for people like her with small businesses throughout this country.

And I didn’t even know her name.

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