There is a corner store a couple of kilometres from my family cottage and it is family operated. Every morning in the summer I run by it and pick up a newspaper on the way back. Day after day all summer, year after year. If I could tell you that in that time nothing ever happens, nothing ever changes -you would say-‘surely something changes’ but really nothing ever does, apart from the stuff that happens without effort. People get older, weeds grow, children grow up and move out and paint chips. Some years the water is high and some years it is low. There is weather to talk about, chatter about the price of gas, an embarrassing sports team and not much else beyond that.
It is comforting when things at the cottage stay the same when everything else changes all the time at home. When things stand still here, I can remember my childhood, when the days melt into each other and the birds chatter early in the morning. There is no other noise. I swim deep down where the water is cold and can’t remember my age because it feels like 10 when I do this.The view does not change or the smell or the colours. It is part of my story and I remember it acutely because my senses fill with it in the same way that it always has.
When I get to the store to get the paper the same four people will be in there. There will be the 80 year old mother with emphysema on the cash, her fat son pseudo stocking the shelves with things that are already stale dated. There will only be one of each thing because they can’t afford deep inventory. Her husband is sitting talking to a local about the same things but will look up when I walk in, smile and say, “Out for a run? Good for you” He says this every time without fail.