The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked. ~Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle
There are a lot of ways of measuring time, and I’m using some now that I never could have imagined. Not infrequently in the morning I know what day it is by the label on my pill container (mostly vitamins) before I come anywhere near a calendar. More happily, since I no longer spend time in a windowless office, often I ignore the clocks because I know what time it is by the angle and the intensity of the sunlight that I try to follow around the house all day. I can measure the weeks since I’ve seen my granddaughter by the new things she can do and the new expressions on her face.
Today, coming home from an afternoon appointment, I stopped at Schorling’s for some orange juice. I’ve known the store was up for sale, and I’ve even noticed that the shelves were getting barer. But today all the groceries are 30% off and there was NO orange juice. (I stocked up on ice cream and toilet paper.) I don’t need any more evidence that a LOT of years have gone by since we moved into this house and opened a charge account at our neighborhood grocery. The whole family, including kids, could shop with a signature, and I’ve been writing a monthly check to Schorlings for three decades. They’re still running charges this afternoon, but I have a feeling the next statement I get may be the last.
I’m sad, but things run their course. At the other side of Ottawa Hills, just west of the railroad tracks on Bancroft, I also used to shop at another grocery, Velmar, which closed a LONG time ago. Now the space is occupied by a middle eastern market where in one visit last week I bought French feta cheese (my favorite), cumin cookies (really wonderful), and almond hair oil (still haven’t tried it).
Live is wonderful, isn’t it?