“Cheap Cigarettes” – words you’d expect in the window of a gas station, but in the foyer of a library?  $1.50 a pack for Seneca cigarettes it said.  He had examples to show me it said.  Wish I’d taken a picture of that sign for you all to see….

Craving chocolate, I stopped by the local drug store.  No luck in the front of the store, so I wandered to the back where I found I could buy a hot dog at the snack bar.  A couple of people occupied the stools in front of the counter.  A quick glance at the menu overhead told me they weren’t selling chocolate.  That, combined with the “you’re-not-from-around-here” looks the counter staff gave me caused me to move toward the pharmacy.  Bingo.

Oh, but if it were only that easy.  Time moves differently down here.  So I patiently waited as the woman in front of me was helped – not just with her prescription, but then to a nearby bench because she’d been standing on her bad leg too long.  “And can you get me a bigger bag so I can put all my stuff in it?” she asked the pharmacist, who eagerly attended to her every need.  My father would have made some under-his-breath comment at this point, but I have a little of my mother’s patience in me as well, so I didn’t mind waiting – all the more time to decide between a Milky Way and Peanut M&M’s.  I chose the latter – priced at seventy-three cents.  Seventy-eight with tax.  I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten a candy bar for less than a dollar.  But even more peculiar was this:  other candy bars were seventy or seventy-seven cents.  I can only imagine the guy that pores over the books for this place.

Adelaide and I then headed back to the Folk School.  For those of you that don’t know, she conked out the day after I got here.  With a jump, she could get going, but then lose all her power after an overnight in the parking lot.  She’s back to working now.  But there’s a big hole where my radio used to be.  But that’s a story for another day.  The important thing is that today, I got a much-needed top-down drive into town.

In other news, I’m taking a spinning class this weekend.  When I told this to my youngest sister last night, I felt the need to qualify that statement: Spinning as in wool, not bikes.  For those of you that still have no idea, go back to your childhood fairy tale books and re-read Sleeping Beauty.  Pay careful attention to the part where she pricks her finger…