Not in My Song

As I long suspected,
They believed that strange was a word for wrong
Well not in my song....

It's been many years since I've heard Barbra sing "The Woman in the Moon," but I remember every word. In Whole Foods this morning, I found myself singing them. Out loud.

I've spent the past 4 years feeling wrong. Here in the land of W lovers, in a place where pick-up trucks rule and processed food is king, I just don't fit. During the primary season, I was the only Obama supporter in any crowd. Even my family, Democrats all, thought I was WRONG and never hesitated to tell me so. I did not waver but spent a lot of energy not responding to comments that I was "stupid" to believe Obama could be as good a president as Hilary could be.

After 28 years in Minnesota, land of Lunds and Byerly's and Kowalski's, after visits to the lucky lands that are home to Trader Joe's, the grocery stores here are the very worst part of the move to Missouri. The. Very. Worst.

For example, at my local grocery store, there is no organic yogurt. None. Nothing but over-processed, over-sugared, fruit-on-the-bottom, whipped, can't-tell-it-started-out-as-food yogurt. One serving has more sugar than three candy bars, according to Men's Health. When I asked where to get the good stuff, lots of eyes were rolled. You know Jerri. Always has to be different.

Turns out the closest Whole Foods—the closest store that carries much of a selection of organic food period—is on the Kansas side of KC, more than 30 miles away. I don't go often, but this morning was one of those times. Surrounded by dreadlocked, backpack-wearing, organic-yogurt-eating, yoga-loving, Obama-voting souls, wandering the aisles felt like coming home.

Sure I'm strange, but that doesn't make me wrong.

Just in the wrong place.