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Random encounter
delivers a little bit
of Christmas cheer

WITH all my shopping done, I don't know what possessed me to drive to the mall.

Must have been the Christmas spirit, the scary one that haunts you with a fretful sense that you've forgotten somebody, even though you've made a list and checked it thrice.

Of course, the place was cluttered with other shoppers, but for once I was lucky, finding a space for the trusty Toyota that wasn't marked for a specified period of time, as many shopping malls have begun doing in their lots lately.

I don't get this rule where parking is permitted for "30 minutes only" or whatever the chosen duration. One retail center brands some of its slots for a mere 15 minutes, barely enough time to order out a five-fruit smoothie with wheat-grass shots or a mocha latte grande, skinny or soy.

I thought the idea was that the longer shoppers cruised stores, the more they were inclined to cut loose with the credit card or checkbook. Whatever the case, it's kind of off-putting to think that if you overstay your welcome, you could be subject to a ticket, just as when you haven't pumped enough quarters into a street-side meter.

There's probably some reason for this, but theories of retailing elude me.

No matter. The shopping bug had bitten me, and I was off my head. So were many others.

The pace through the mall was frenetic, seasonally converted from the usual leisurely Saturday afternoon tempo into delirious agitation. People, mostly women (why is that?), bolted from shop to shop, swinging bags and juggling boxes and children through the maze of stores.

Christmas music from covert sound systems as well as from pine-adorned entertainment platforms reverberated throughout the enclosure that was brightly swaddled with shiny ornaments of gold, silver, green and various shades of red.

The place was a nut house of noise and motion, overlaid with a modern-day frankincense of cookies, pretzels, perfume and pizza. Caught up in the head-swiveling madness, I was quick-stepping past a trendy clothing outlet when I spied a man walking with a barely perceptible limp near the entrance.

In shorts and T-shirt, he looked like a tropical version of Santa, only younger and slimmer with hair and beard more blonde than snowy. He was a friend I hadn't seen in nearly a year.

We greeted each other with hugs and long-time-no-sees.

He told me about his daughter's independence blooming while away at college, fatherly pride dosed with a bit of angst in his voice. He talked about his wife's no-nonsense approach to a bout with an ailment, his face beaming with tender affection, reflecting enduring strength of their years of marriage. Like most men would, he dismissed his own difficulties with a bum knee, preferring instead to tell stories about his travels and episodes of professional coups.

We brought each other up to date on mutual friends and acquaintances, shared gossip and barbs about mutual foes, reminisced, laughed, traded digs and laughed some more while all around us flowed the tumult and jumble of acquisitive activity.

We both declared that we'd been thinking of old pals in recent days. In my case, I know this was true, but I don't doubt he was sincere, too, because that's what the Christmas season kindles.

Amid the material aspects of the holidays, there are moments when we think of those we've missed. They're far away or have passed through this life, but joyful whispers of good times in earlier seasons return again and again through the din of the current.

I left the mall that day without a single purchase. In a chance encounter, I was given a far greater gift.

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