Blog 143 – Saturday, May 23, 2009 Sun and showers continue, temperatures in the upper 80’s.
Having recently re-connected with classmates from the past – including grade school - my mind has been flooded with memories that have not surfaced in years. One memory in particular included the old drugstore down the street from my house. Many decades before I was born, this establishment was a thriving pharmacy with an upscale soda fountain – quite the fashionable meeting place for an ice cream sundae or a progressive glass of soda, namely Coca-Cola. I can vividly remember my mother standing at the alleyway that separated our sidewalk from the walk to the drugstore, waiting patiently as I made the trip to Stewart’s Drugstore for a Popsicle. Clutching a shiny nickel in my hand, I usually skipped toward the store, feeling quite important and independent. Pushing on the big brass bar on the door, I would enter the store, black and white mosaic tiles in fancy patterns on the floor. Big oak and shiny glass cases ran along the perimeter of the store, stopping only to make way for a huge soda fountain area with a white marble counter. In the center of the floor were round tables and chairs fashioned of wrought iron, the chairs inset with red leather seats. I was met by a very old woman, Mrs. Stewart herself, who would trade me a Popsicle for my silver coin. Smiling, she would escort me to the door, where she would open the large double door and stand on the sidewalk waving at my mother who waited just beyond the alleyway. Popsicle, dripping on my arm as I made my way back down the walkway, I was a happy little girl who, for a few moments had been a consumer – a shopper – a woman on her own.
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