I was remembering a drug store.
That is what it used to be called.
Somewhere along the line, drug stores became pharmacies.
I like the sound of drug store much better.

The drug store I am thinking about was a social hub.
It usually had an ice cream counter with tall swivel stools.
The drug store that I went to as a little girl had green stools.
I needed help to climb up and my feet never reached the footrest.

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There was only a tiny path to the door.
The walls seemed to be closing in on her.
It used to be much wider, was all she said to herself.
How did it get this bad?

Life happened.
Trials.
Problems.
Issues.

Responses to life happened.
Anger.
Bitterness.
Resentment.

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On a sunny spring day, cool with no humidity, we sat and waited.
Waited for two sons to end one phase of their life and begin another.
Waited with other families who were there for the same reason.
We waited for that one name.

Our family came prepared for the college graduation.
We had our air horns, a small one and one that could signal a boat in thick fog.
We had our cowbell; a man behind us went into a comedic soliloquy about a cowbell.
One person in our family was able to join along.

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A well-known Christian theologian just gave his oldest daughter away in marriage.
Fathers do that all the time.
Weddings happen every day.
What made this marriage touch my heart?

This family has had its share of grief in the past few years.
The wife and mother lost her courageous battle to breast cancer.
Their youngest daughter, who was disabled, died ten months later.
Unspeakable tragedy; Sovereign God.

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Go wash your hands!
How many times a day does a parent say those words to their children?
Before meals, after playing, after sneezing into their hands, and after using the bathroom.
Washing hands is an important practice for good hygiene and for keeping the germs away.

We are a culture that loves to take showers.
We shower in the morning, after we exercise, or after a run.
Some people are bath people; they prefer to soak in a hot tub rather than take a shower.
We are a culture who insists on staying clean.

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With spring approaching, I will inevitably need new shoes.
New sneakers for walking; new dress shoes, just because.
Only a woman understands a “just because” pair of shoes.
Not extravagant, just something to make an old outfit look more interesting.

Shoe shopping now resembles entering a warehouse.
Rows and rows of shoes in boxes that coincide with the sample displayed above.
So often you find just the right shoe only to discover they don’t have your size.
We can get it from another store, is what they promise.

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There is a man made lake near my home.
It was built to provide additional drinking water.
I was built to limit the damage caused by seasonal flooding.

It is now a state park.
Fishing, boating, hunting, and swimming are enjoyed.
There are about twelve miles of beautiful trails for walking, riding horses, and biking.

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The Sunday paper arrives on the driveway each week.
I can almost guarantee its placement as the driver tosses it to each customer.
Like clockwork, it arrives wrapped in plastic; double-wrapped in the rain.

I was sorting through the advertisements, looking for the one of my favorite store.
I laid the coupons aside to look through later.
I stopped when I saw the comics.

There they were with the multicolored pictures, bright and cheerful.
The characters that many have grown to love over the years.
It brought me back to what seems like only yesterday.

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My oldest daughter had a quiet personality as she was growing up.
Not quiet with people she knew, but quiet with people she didn’t know.
Her quietness was never rude or awkward.
She was fine playing with a few friends and just as fine imagining on her own.

She likes her own company, was said about her and about me growing up, as well.
As a little girl she wrote stories and tied her books together with yarn.
She loved to draw and do creative things.
The quiet afforded her the space she needed to dream.

In her teen years, a well-meaning person asked her an interesting question.
What is it like to be quiet?
That question has been put in perspective now, but then, it was bothersome to her.

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I saw it hanging next to the door as I passed the house.
It seemed out of place, but it was practical, no doubt.
It was a whisk broom.

A whisk broom is usually made out of broom corn.
It is tightly sewn into a fan like shape, knotted, and bound in string.
The knot at the top makes a handle for the person using the broom.

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