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Time Slipped Away

Patricia is someone whose life is centered around family. Each day is one more opportunity to show my loved ones how much they mean to me.

Bill Holland's photo


This memory is as a response to Bill Holland's photo challenge/prompt 5.

Back to the late 50s and early 60s

When I was a wee girl child, I would travel with my Daddy to the hardware store that also served as a point at which prescriptions would be filled. Hammers, nails, watering cans, shovels, hoes, saws, wheelbarrows and so many other items were available. Bandaids, ointments, and even Archie comic books were carefully displayed at my eye level as well.

A Coffee and Ice Cold Milk

A tiny little lunch counter was nestled in the front corner beside the plateglass window. Daddy and I sat there as we could not only enjoy a beverage but also witness the comings and goings of passers-by. I would have a glass of ice cold milk in a 4 ounce glass and Daddy had coffee. Just as he would get exactly the right amount of cream and several spoonful of sugar in his coffee, had a sip or two, here came the perky waitress and filled his cup again! Often a tiny grumble was heard as she sauntered off.

Nestled near the Chesapeake Bay

We traveled there once or twice a week in the summer. It was only a short drive from our home in a very rural, coastal village of Virginia. Fishing was a pastime residents and weekenders on a get-a-way enjoyed often.

A Mold Similar to the one Daddy used to Make sinkers


Make and Take

Daddy made sinkers which were in high demand. After he made them, they were carefully placed in a cigar box for the short trip to the hardware store. It was my privilege to hold that box on my lap.

Locked into my Mind

As I recall this time we spent together, the years fall away. And, once again I am the wee girl watching Daddy make the sinkers and readying them for sale. The time we spent together in the garage where they were made coupled with the trip where the sinkers were sold are among the fondest stashed away in my memory bank.

© 2020 Patricia Scott

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