Kat's Rambling Mind

I find myself feeling retrospective this evening. I know I’m not the only one who does this, and by “this”, I mean wandering down the endless paths of my mind; sometimes, I get tangled up in the brambles. But not tonight. This evening it’s just a leisurely walk in my head.

Some people say you should never look back at the past (including me) but once in a while, I’ll relive a happy childhood memory. Moments like feeling the sun on my face and the sweet sense of independence that comes from having the sidewalk under my feet in the summer, sandals slapping out a steady rhythm, walking with my money in my pocket and no worries. I can still remember the sensation.

It’s June of 1977, and I’m twelve. We live one block from the town square on the aptly named Church Street, next door to the First Baptist Church. Down to the stop sign and hurry across Main, also known as Highway 129. First stop, the Dairy Queen for a treat. A Coke, or maybe a Mr. Misty cherry slush. I can’t decide which is sweeter, the treat or my burgeoning sense of pride in realizing that I’ve finally been deemed old enough and responsible enough to explore my surroundings at my leisure. Both are delicious.

After that, a short walk back up to the town square, back across Main Street in front of the old brick courthouse, finishing my treat along the way. I stop in for a visit at the dime store, a general hub of activity in town. I walk through the doors and check out the candy counter, and politely refuse the free samples offered (remembering what Mama said about manners). I finally agree to accept one small sample because the very kind lady behind the counter insists (plus, Mama said that at that point, it would be ruder to refuse). I choose my favorite, cinnamon red hots.

On to the comic book section of the dime store, taking note of new issues that I categorize as “must-have”, “maybe”, and “can do without”.  I move along to the grown-up books section, read a while, and make a list of titles I feel I have to read and/or possess, or else I will absolutely die from the lack of knowing what is written inside them. I remind myself that tomorrow is library day and think about all the adventures in the pages there. This makes me feel a little better.

After I drag myself away from the books, I make a pass through the notions section, where all the fabric, embroidery thread, lace, rick-rack trims, yarns, and other sewing necessities are displayed. So many wonderful colors. So many wonderful textures. Feel the crisp cottons, the softer chambrays, the rayons and dotted-Swiss…I marvel to myself at the many lovely and useful creations these materials could produce with the right touch and knowledge.

Next up, hardware section. So many tools, each one with a purpose. Wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, drills, saws. A couple of tools I don’t recognize, but I make a mental note to ask my father when I get home because I know he probably already has them and will explain what they’re used for. I sidestep the squeaky floorboards in front of the nail display and move down the aisle.

On to the toys. I check out the new summer baseball shipment, each sharply boxed, crisp white with perfect red laces and the smell of new leather. Gloves, too, and gleaming new baseball bats, all of which were waiting to be a prized possession, and the basis for much celebration in victory and much debate in the event of defeat. Dolls. Bicycles. Board games (I love board games). Duncan yo-yos in all the latest designs and colors. Roller skates, from basic to downright fancy (I have my eye on the ones with the glittery wheels).  Fresh new decks of cards, waiting to be shuffled and dealt. I suddenly remember that a few cranky adults, none of whom I know that well, have mentioned lately that I’m getting too old for toys; I turn this thought over in my head for a few minutes, and then decide that I staunchly disagree. No one is ever too old for toys.

In the corner, a small art supply section. I approach this section with a sense of reverence, because it’s my favorite. Stiff new journals, with blank pages just waiting to be filled, preferably with the ink of one of the many pens in stock. Hundreds of stories, waiting to be told.  Sketch pads, Cray-Pas, watercolors, and brushes; crayons, colored pencils, and sturdy construction paper. A collection of oil paints, brushes, and canvases, for those who are really talented. I examine each of these items with the utmost care, then close my eyes and breathe in the smell….and smile.

I wander around and look at the rest of the store, at the kitchen cookware, canning jars, and gardening supplies. I make one last stop, at the cosmetics section. All the hair clips, lipsticks, powders, nail colors, and fragrances. Mama says I can have some of those things “soon”, but not yet. I’ve already decided I cannot wait to become a grown-up lady and be mysterious in red lipstick and smoky eyeliner. For now, I’ll have to be content with sheer pink lip gloss and clear nail polish.

Suddenly, it’s almost closing time, and time for me to head home before it’s time for supper. I head out the door and turn left onto Brooks Street, enjoying my journey and my adventures. I look up at the late afternoon sky and reflect back on my day as I circle back to Church Street and wonder what new paths I’ll travel before the summer ends. A fine walk, indeed.