Just a Jaunt Down Memory Lane

Saturdays were grocery days growing up,

the old A&P near town, like so many things,

no longer there, no longer an A&P in business anywhere

but two of us kids always went with mom, the middle two,

anticipating a candy bar as payment, a reward for going

with her, 25 cents for a couple hours of work, pulling

food from the shelves and loading up the cart,

loading up the car, and homeward bound, a candy bar,

carefully chosen from the candy racks, a Snickers bar

or Peanut Butter Cup, Hersey’s chocolate, plain

or with almonds, or a small bag of M&Ms, a candy treat

for us who helped, easily bribed with chocolate, 50 cents

for the two of us, a bargain for my parents, up and down

the aisles and filling the cart to overflowing, a week’s

groceries for our large family, five kids and our parents.

Time passes, as time does, and with it change, growing up,

moving away, too busy schedules, less eager to help, a candy bar

no longer reason enough to go, a bribe less effective when you turn

10, or 11, or whatever age it was, and I can’t remember now

when that all stopped, too long ago for a failing memory to remember.

But the Snickers and Peanut Butter Cups and M&M’s, Hersey’s

chocolate, plain and with almonds, still line the candy racks

at the checkout counter at Shaws and Hannafords and whatever

else replaced the A&P, the ones I shop at myself, my grocery

list in hand, deciphering my own handwriting scribbled up and down

the page, trying to make sense of the letters scrawled there, up and down

the aisles and filling my cart half full, just the essentials for my little

clan of 4, and time alone, just me, no little helpers for chocolate rewards.

I often wonder how my mother did it, the two of us in tow, “helping,”

getting the sweetest, most sugary breakfast cereal, whining when the answer

was “no,” climbing the shelves to get to the cans on the top, balancing

half a dozen cans or boxes and dumping them crashing into the cart, lucky

to have missed the jar of pickles placed there carefully before. Now, I pack

the cart like I’m packing for a vacation, lining things up, nothing crushed,

no wasted space, constantly moving things around to make more fit in,

not that I need the room, just my own compulsion to pack, to be neat

about it. At the checkout counter, there’s a wait, always a wait, too few

checkers, a coffee cloche of neighbors shopping or that favored cashier,

catching up, and the kid in me scans the candy racks, the old favorites

among the new brands and flavors, the NutRagious, the Wonka Bars, Nerds,

and gummy things, Skittles, Twix, and Kit Kat, M&Ms now with chocolate

and pretzels, milk chocolate or dark chocolate, mint chocolate, too many choices,

so I reach for the Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Nestle’s Crunch or Mr. Goodbar,

and settle on the Peanut Butter Cup, the bargain of two candy bars in one

package, my reward for a job well done, grocery shopping for the family,

midweek, and today, all those years later, I no longer work for 25 cents,

but a big pay raise, $1.50, or more, a big reward for my help, though

far less of a bargain these days, time passing, prices going up and up,

this price we pay for growing older, I guess, growing up,

the price we pay for adulthood.