Debra Pickett

We stopped in Davenport for lunch (I recommend the small taco salad at Ganzo's) and realized we needed to pick up a couple of Christmas-in-Iowa supplies: a bottle of champagne to enjoy that night while assembling the some-assembly-required toys our 8, 5 and 3-year-old nephews would be getting from Santa; plus some scratch-off lottery tickets to stuff in the older kids' stockings.

We ran into a HyVee (for the uninitiated, that's a big grocery-and-drug store, like a Jewel) for a minute, thinking we'd be able to knock both items off our list.

Here's the thing about walking in to a grocery store in Iowa: everyone says hello to you. And they say it in such a pleasant and sincere way that you're sure they actually know you. (Or, in my case, I'm certain they know my husband, even though he hasn't lived in Iowa for almost 20 years.)

But they don't know you.

They're just being nice. Which I always find freaky. Because I don't know how to respond. Should I stop walking and start a conversation? It sort of seems like that kind of hello. But what would we talk about?

It took four hellos, which R., speaking Iowan, answered pleasantly (but not conversationally) enough for both of us (apparently it is acceptable to smile, wave and just keep going), to get to the liquor section to look for the champagne.

We arrived to find a woman whose gone-on-to-college-and-gotten-some-citified-ways son was coming home for Christmas. She was nervously trying to select a wine to serve with Christmas dinner, since he now drinks wine with his meals.

She'd enlisted two store employees and several customers in the process and had (with their help) just about settled on a selection by the time we walked over. But she still needed affirmation.

"So this merlot (pronounced "mur-lott") is pretty good then?" she asked no one in particular, as we scampered away so we didn't have to answer. Or recommend a cab-ur-nett instead.

We found some Washington State bubbly. (Advantage of HyVee: nothing costs more than $15. Disadvantage of HyVee: this includes the wine.)

And then, after hitting the ATM for some cash, we used a vending machine to buy $20 worth of scratch-off lottery tickets.

Getting back into the car to continue our drive, we had to wonder if the stop might have qualified as a punch line for one of those "you might be a redneck" jokes, like "If you're spending more money on lottery tickets than on wine for the Christmas celebration at your brother's place . . . ."