Older Than Dirt

I just took a test and scored in the highest percentile. You'd think I'd get some kind of good reward, like an A or Excellent or something like that. Nope, my reward is that I can consider myself older than dirt. You may have taken a test similar to this one. It tests one's ability to remember trivia from days long gone. One of the questions is what candy was the most popular in the 40s and 50s. No challenge there. I remember those wax coke bottles of sweet syrup very well. I thought I was in heaven when my mother would let me buy them. There was something about her hesitation that told me they weren't all that healthy. I was in Marie Oosting's store on the west side of main street in our town gazing into the candy display. Marie was an interesting lady. She wore a lot of makeup. I remember being a bit afraid of her, but she kept the best candy counter in town. There was every imaginable kind of candy. The price of each was a penney or two. Candy bars were the most expensive. We had to give up a nickel for those. The great thing about miniature wax coke bottles was that you had two thrills. The first was slurping the liquid candy from the bottle and the second was chewing the wax like it was gum. It was flavored but it certainly wasn't gum. After chewing it a short time, it fell apart and one ended up with a mouth full of small chunks. Yuk Another of my favorites was rock candy. I'm not sure why. It was probably the interesting look of the stuff. It truly looked like rock; translucent rock. The taste was that of sugar, nothing added.. Candy cigarettes were something I sometimes bought. I loved the taste but there was something about the fact that the real thing was forbidden fruit in my family (thankfully) so there was a bit of rebellion in that choice of candy.

Marie's husband seemed a great deal older than she. I am not sure that was the case but through my ten year old eyes that was the way I saw it. He was a shoe repairman. He had his little shop set up in the dark and dingy basement of the store. Our visits to Marie's wasn't frequent but my dad always went to Herman for his shoe repairs. Whenever the soles of his shoes looked like those of President Truman's, Dad would head to Herman's to have new ones put on. I can smell the odor of that shop when I recall the memory of walking down the squeaky stairway. Herman, standing in his black bibbed apron, would be using some black glue on some soles or some black paint on a heel. The big peddle style sewing machine went into action if a zipper needed repair. Oh yes, he fixed zippers as well.
Herman died years before Marie and she kept the store operating. Marie's store started as a general store but changed over time. Eventually, she focused on antiques and developed a trade for visitors. Her candy counter remained an attraction for many years. After Marie couldn't care for the store, her daughter ran it for awhile. Eventually, Evelyn closed the store. Today, a florist occupies the space. It is old and quaint, such a perfect setting for flowers and the other beautiful things set out to tempt me to take home. I guess I could say that things have improved. The odor of glue and paint has been replaced with the wonderful aroma of fresh flowers and
potpourri.
Yep, when I read this, I'm convinced, I am older than dirt. You haven't lived though, until you've had miniature wax coke bottles. Find them if you can and give it a try.
FYI It turned out that Marie's grandaughter married my youngest brother so now it's "all in the family".