I've purchased this paper three times since my last post.  Each time, I've been coming out of New Seasons.  I'm at the store, usually, for my peanut butter cup fix.  Justin's Dark Chocolate.  I'm sorry.  It's my addiction.  And then I walk over to my classes at The Attic and talk about writing.   It's a little routine.   

Last night, I was with my daughter Jo.  It was girl night.  We rented The City of Ember .  "It's so cool, Mom," Jo promised.  "We read the book in class."  And then we stopped at New Seasons to get her some good bread, a red velvet cupcake and for me--a bit of the Flat Iron Steak which is just about the best hunk of meat in town.   

As we paid for our purchases and loaded them into my purse, she reminded me that I had seven dollars that belonged to her.

"I forgot," I said.  As the checker gave me my receipt, I gave her seven bucks.  All ones.  She looked at the money, happy and full of plans.  Jo loves to spend her cash on stuffed animals these days.

"Put it into your pocket," I said.  "That will keep it safe."

I fished one more dollar out and pulled my purse over my shoulder.  Jo watched the dollar, as if it might be coming her way. 

"It's for the guy on the curb," I said. "I'll get a paper."

We moved around the checkout stands, settled in side by side and no matter where I am, it's cool to walk with Jo.  She's big enough now I can sling am around her back and hook her hip with my hand.  In fact, walking with Jo is just about the best thing because I get to be super close to my beautiful girl.  She's ten years old, has long creamy brown, blond hair and the biggest blue eyes that are full of who she becomes--this even, present, calm, happy, creative and complex young girl.   Don't even get me started on the lovely, long, sweetness of her hands. 

"Should I get a paper too?" Jo asked. 

"Do you want to get a paper?"

She shrugged.

"I could."

She did not sound convinced.

As we neared the front doors, the place was packed.  Men, women, old, young, kids, parents, tall, short, they were all at the doors in a stream.  I passed Jo my dollar.

"Buy mine," I said.

We went into the night and the man on the curb was mid-move into a funky dance. He was a small man, all bundled up and he wore a stocking cap.  The dark black wool of his cap glistened from the light rain that misted the street.

Jo smiled because it was funny.  The man was dancing and we were coming his way.

His face was full and stubbled.  He was a bit short and round but he had the moves.  He was snaking a little, where he stood, arms out like, "look at me, people, I'm right here."

As we got a little closer, Jo held her dollar out from her body, her arm stiff.

The thing about Jo is this.  She's shy.  Killer introvert.  I'm shy too but I'm more like an adapted introvert.  You'd never know we are the same, Jo and I.  We are inside people who don't like to talk to other people all that much (although when we do, it's fine, it's even very nice).  We hate to answer the phone or answer when someone comes to the front door and we are happiest when we are quiet (like we are right now as I write this and she makes her Christmas list).  We are introverts.

The man stopped with his dance and out came a paper.  Sam Adams.  Vote.  My third this week.

He said something to Jo but once the dollar was gone, she lowered her head and leaned into my side.

"Have a great night," I said.

I took Street Roots, tucked it under my arm and we continued on our way.  Side by side. 

Once down the sidewalk with our bread, our red velvet cupcake and our newspaper, she looked up at me.

"What will you do with the paper?"

"Use it for the BBQ, I guess," I said.

"You just bought fuel then," she said.

"Nope, you did," I said.

At the corner, Jo slipped away to push the button to get the green light and then she snugged close again.  I moved my arm around her back and hooked her hip.  

"I just bought fuel," she said.

"And you helped a guy who was asking for a little attention too," I said.

The light changed and even though we had the go ahead, we looked both ways.  We did it the same way, bent forward a little, look right, left and then right again.   Still side by side, in the dark, in the rain, we didn't say anything else.  We just crossed the road together and got to the other side.

TIME:  60 seconds
COST:  $1.00