I don’t remember ever using the word haul. I suppose I heard it when my grandfather was taking grain to town, but certainly I never used it going to the mall.

It was only by her example that I learned it – the joy of “seeing pretty things.” More times than not, we came home from Viking Plaza (Herberger’s) with our hearts full and our hands empty. She knew the names of everyone, my mom. And she spoke them freely. Joyfully. She knew the layout of the store. What was new. What would be on sale soon. Which coupons could be used on what. Coupons that were often given freely to strangers contemplating the price of a future purchase. She knew which dressing room had the best lighting – the second from the right in the denim section. The laughter we shared on what would have otherwise been a lonely Sunday afternoon, was larger than anything I’ve ever seen on YouTube. I suppose that was our “haul” — this glorious time together — something I carry with me to this day.

I’m not perfect. I too can get caught up in the end result. What will I have to show for it in the end? Painting, not for the pure joy of it, but to have a painting. Yesterday, to break that cycle, I told myself, “Today is just for fun. Nothing to be saved. Gained. Or sold. No rules to be followed. It is a Herberger’s afternoon.” With no plan, I just started to paint. The rain beat against the studio and I painted. The music played. I sang. I laughed. I paused. I painted some more. The hours passed without my knowledge. The sun came out. My heart was full. I walked away from the unfinished canvas.

Sometimes when I’d say “I need to see something pretty,” she would reply, “Look in the mirror.” Today, when I do, seeing her reflection in mine, I know I have forever made my haul.