LITTLE CORNER STORES

Dad had the milk money all lined up on the book case. Depending on how much it was at the time (3¢, 5¢ or 7¢) it was lined up in little stacks of coins that we’d take on our way out the door with our sack lunches. We were on the honor system that we would only buy whole milk….not chocolate milk. Nothing was ever said about possibly saving the milk money for candy after school.

We’d walk to school and back every day. That’s just the way it was. If we argued, Dad would go into his story about, “When I was a boy…” He made it sound as though he really had it rough when he was a kid. Our eyes started to roll as soon as he started into this dissertation. According to him, he walked 15 miles to school every day in 6’ of snow, and sometimes with an anvil on his shoulder. Needless to say, we all got a kick out of that story.

Walking to and from school wasn’t so bad. We had our friends and cousins to walk with. One yard on the way to school had the whole front yard filled with mint instead of grass. This was great. We’d just snag some to chew on the way to school. The woman standing on the porch watching us didn’t seem to mind. There were little corner stores every few blocks. The little Mom and Pop stores were scattered every 3 or 4 blocks. If we saved our milk money, we could get penny candy on the way. Mostly, it was after school that we stopped. Each little store was unique in its own way, but all of them sold the same things.

To start with, there was usually a wooden porch bigger than most modern day porches. There was a squeaky old screen door. You stepped in onto a wooden floor that gave slightly as you walked around the store. There were ceiling fans, barrels filled with pickles, dried beans or apples. Up in the front was the cash register. The woman that stood there usually had on a white apron and Dr. Scholl’s lace-up high heals with her hose neatly rolled down to just below her knee. She wore a hair net and had a pencil stuck somewhere in her hair. When we arrived after school, she manned her post at the hand cranked register, ready to take our pennies for the candy we selected.


There were all day suckers, little Tootsie Rolls, Root Beer Barrels, Peanut Butter Logs, Gum Balls, Bazooka Bubble Gum, Grape Gum, Sour Balls, Sour Cherries, Peanut Patties, Baby Ruth, Butter Fingers, Sugar Babies, Red Hot Tamales, …..Well, now I’m getting into the 5¢ candy.

In the back was always a meat market. Everyone knew the butcher. You could pick out just what you wanted, and have him slice up whatever you wanted. There were all sorts of huge rolls of bologna, salami, pickle loaf and cheeses. Today, all that simple stuff is in a place in the grocery store called the Deli, and the price is marked up because actually they have to talk to you and then slice it up for you.

Mom would call the butcher and order whatever she needed…pork chops, ground meat or a roast. We really loved it when she’d order mock chicken legs made from seasoned ground beef and rolled in Corn Flakes. The butcher would mold the ground beef around wooden sticks and shape them like chicken legs before rolling them in crushed corn flakes. What a guy!!!! Later Mom or Dad would go pick them up on large cookie sheets, and then Mom would bake them in the oven for dinner. This way, everyone got a drumstick.

Sometimes Mom would send one of us to the store with about 50¢ to get a loaf of bread and a pack of L&M's for her; with instructions to “Bring me the change.” Believe it or not, cigarettes were only about 25¢, and the clerk actually sold them to us. Bread was only about 10¢, cabbage was 6¢ per lb., coffee was 37¢ lb. (freshly ground), and grape jam was about 20¢.

Gone are those days. I really loved going into those little stores. Just take a mental walk into one of those little stores. The aroma of those stores is unmatched by anything of today’s grocery store. The service was personal and also unbeatable by today’s standards. Look around and pick up something for dinner. You can get anything you need at the little corner store.

SPECIAL BIRTHDAYS!

Birthdays are supposed to be special occasions depicting the arrival of a person on this planet. It is supposed to be celebrated yearly on the day that person is born. I don't know of any culture that doesn't acknowledge this wonderful event.

But alas……, having been born second in a long line of siblings (eleven to be exact), I don’t recall a birthday celebration in my behalf when I was a child other than someone telling me on the way out the door, “Oh, happy birthday!” I will say, that my grandmothers on both sides sent me birthday cards; sometimes with money in them, or took me shopping. I do vaguely remember a trip to the zoo one January. I was told I was 3 years old. Mostly, I remember the otters. I wanted to swim with them, and prepared to do so, by taking off my clothes before my mother could stop me. Believe it or not, I do have a vague recollection of this. She, herself was enwrapped with the antics of the otters, and therefore not paying close attention. Otters have been my favorite zoo visit since then. I do try to keep my clothes on.

Oh, I digress. Here’s the reason I have no recollection of birthday celebrations of my youth. First of all, I was born on January 3rd, 1948. People are broke from Christmas, hung over from celebrating the New Year; and just plain tired of partying at that time. Later, I noted that it was hard enough just being the first middle child of all those other siblings. While the oldest sibling basks forever in the light of being the first, I knew instinctively before I was born that I would not be an only child. Carved on the uterine wall was, “J-the-Q August 1945”. “J-the-Q” stood for Joanie the Queen. She was my only older sibling. Being second meant that I would be the first child not acknowledged for anything other than being the second arrival. Each new arrival after that meant that the one just before was dropped in the dust like an old doll. As our numbers grew, our birthdays were celebrated by going to the zoo or a picnic at Mary’s Creek. I do have fond memories of these outings. I think Mary’s Creek is only a memory now.

With each new arrival, I was more and more distanced from being cute and adorable. I had to become obnoxious to get attention. This included whining, tattling and other mischievous deeds. Never mind that A.D.D. took over and I didn’t have to try. Since I was the only child that didn’t get blue or brown eyes (Mine were green.), I sneaked a peek at my birth certificate to see if I was adopted. I had actually hoped that I was adopted. It never occurred to me that a second child of that many siblings would certainly not be adopted. Besides, I looked too much like my mother, and had inherited other physical markings of our “brood”. No way was I adopted.

I went through my adult life with a few birthday celebrations, mostly acknowledged by my own daughters, and birthday calls and cards from my parents and siblings. These were very much appreciated. I looked forward to the mail daily in the month of January, and didn’t care if the cards were late. I have learned to celebrate my entire birthday month.

One such January on my birthday, it had snowed. This was a rare thing in Houston, Texas. My husband had gone to work, and the kids had gone to school. I looked out in the back yard, and noted that our two dogs had escaped the back yard through a hole in the fence. I went out in a poncho and some leather moccasins to corral the dogs and repair the fence. It had warmed up considerably. That having been done, I headed toward the back door. I heard the phone ring, and started running. There was no way I was going to miss a birthday call. I ran through the living room on the carpet and into the kitchen to get the phone. As soon as my feet hit the kitchen floor, I found myself suspended in slow motion four feet off the floor and falling. I hit the floor on my tail bone with a very loud thud. I actually heard a snap, and thought I’d broken my back. It certainly knocked the wind out of me. The phone was still ringing, and as I turned to crawl to answer it there was agonizing pain emanating from my coccyx.

I answered the phone, gasping for air.

Me: “Hello…gasp…!!!”
Caller: “M’liss?”
Me: “…groan! Gasp! … Yeah…” I knew the voice. It was my sister # 4 … Sibling # 5, Claire.
Claire: “Happy Birthday! You sound like you’ve hurt yourself.”
Me: “I did. I think I broke my tail bone getting to the phone… gasp!”
Claire: “Oooooh! That’s horrible! Do you know who this is?”
Me: “It’s Claire.”
Claire: “Noooooo! It’s Anne!”
Me: “I know this is Claire! Thanks for remembering my birthday. You were first! …gasp!”
Claire: “I’m sorry you’ve hurt yourself. Maybe you should get it looked at.”
Me: “Thanks, I think I’d better go now…to the emergency room.”

That was my 40th birthday. I ended up calling my husband to come home. I couldn’t even bend down to get my jeans on. He took me to the emergency room where I was x-rayed and told … “Sweetie, you’ve broken your coccyx in half! That’s hard to do, since it’s made of cartilage. Were you playing football?” I was given a prescription of pain killer, and told to stay down for 6 weeks. Actually, I had no choice.

So, I lay prone on the couch in a wonderful haze of pain killer. My girls waited on my every whim, and escorted me (one on each side) around the house when I needed to get up. They wanted me to get well fast, since they were having to do everything from cleaning to cooking. In the meantime, I had gotten both boxes of Trivial Pursuit cards and studied them for six weeks. I’m a pro!

That is one of three of the most memorable birthdays I’ve had in my life. The others were a surprise birthday party given to me by Roy when I turned 50, and another surprise ambush at the Brenham Municipal Airport for my 60th birthday. This was given by my siblings and extensions. Each one has been the best birthday party I’ve ever had. January isn’t such a bad time to be born after all.