Going Marketing

"Going marketing" it was called in my youth. It often involved trips to the bakery, the butcher, a place that carried fresh fruits and vegetables, a "milk man" delivered milk and would leave eggs and butter if you left him a note, and the "super market", really a tiny place by today's standards, was where you mostly bought canned goods and things that came in jars. Every decent sized town had a place that roasted and ground coffee beans. Many families had no car, most of the rest had but one, and it was the rare and adventurous woman who even drove. Marketing was a daily ritual of visiting shops within walking distance, or perhaps an easy bus ride away.

My friend Mary stopped driving a year or so ago. At 83 her eyes aren't what they once were. She gets around fine otherwise, and the city has a free bus service for the elderly. Once a week, sometimes more, I take her to the market. We try to decide which market has the best buys of what we need, but if she had her way it would be a daily excursion, this place because eggs are on sale, that place because the meats are better, someplace else because...well, I guess because when she was a young woman that's how it was done, except all those stores were within walking distance, not spread out all over the county. And then we go to the gas station where Emma likes Mary and sells her cheap imported cigarettes for only a buck a pack, tax included, which saves Mary a few dollars a week.