Losing Steam

Have hit some kind of a wall--am not getting any enjoyment these days from writing. I am forcing myself right now, and I mean forcing because I actually got out of the chair three times to go to bed, and I can't even really remember why. I am going to think about this overnight and see if I can figure out a way out of this.

But for some reason I just remembered how on Saturday mornings, when I was growing up, my father used to take us to the town dump to drop off our garbage; this was how it was done. Afterward, we would stop at the Post Road Apothecary, the town drug store, where we would each be allowed to choose a candy bar. I loved going to the drug store. It was nothing like CVS or Rite Aid or today's big chains where you can buy everything from office supplies to hair dryers to canned soup and cameras. The drug store sold greeting cards, band-aids, cotton balls, hair brushes, medicine and candy.

The candy was the focal point, of course, although I logged plenty of time perusing the greeting cards, and although Alison chose something different almost every time, I almost always chose the same thing: a Charleston Chew. This was for several reasons. One, because I am, and was, a creature of habit. Two, because it is the longest candy bar, and therefore I believed I was getting the best possible deal out of my choice. And three, I liked the whole freezing it and cracking it into pieces for reasons related to number two, i.e. it made the candy bar, and the experience of eating it, last longer.

Anyway. Saturday morning candy bars from Post Road Apothecary. That's all I've got tonight.