Reminisce

Reminiscing on childhood days never fails to take me back to Nisson's V&S Mercantile, affectionately known as Old Nisson's by us Dogtowners. A highlight of my early existence was the gathering of many tangle-haired, bucktoothed, and barefoot neighbor kids to the corner of Cottonmill and Scenic Drive for our display of entrepreneurship. Packets of Flavor-aid mixed and ready to sell- maybe a quarter a cup, probably less if we wanted any kids to purchase. If the heavens were smiling upon us on a particular day, one of our mothers would let us make popcorn to add to the menu- air-popped, butter-smothered, and table salt-sprinkled. Sister Bourgoin would buy two bags and likely pay us three times more than we were asking. 

Once the plastic pitchers were emptied, we'd divvy up the profit, find some form of foot-wear, and make the mile trek to visit Quentin. Up the red-dust road past the ball diamond, through the cemetery (stop for a drink from the hose), down the steep hill and into the original Washington park, carefully across Telegraph... AND THERE WE WERE! Old Nisson's. Penny candy to our hearts' content! Slap Stix, Laffy Taffy, Smarties Pops, Fun Dip, and boxes of Lemonheads and Cherry Clan candies. Airheads, Whistle Pops, Chick-O-Sticks, and the Popeye Sugar Sticks we weren't supposed to buy because of their resemblance to cigarettes (we were rebels). I can smell the store now- old and sweet- as I recall our countless visits. 

Poor Quentin patiently put up with us and our frugal shopping. Determined to make the very most of our funds, we returned numerous times to the counter, budgeting very strategically to dodge the tax system. I'm certain I made out with at least five more swedish fish each trip then I would have otherwise. Come to think of it, the old shopkeeper may very well have trained us on how to work the loophole. "If you buy six Sourpatch Kids instead of seven, you won't have the penny tax," I remember hearing. Brilliant. 

Loaded brown paper bags in hand, we'd stop at the park to swing in the shade for a few minutes, or hang out on the antique fire engine fixed in the gravel of the playground, before heading home- uphill this time- in the heat. At journey's end, we'd sprawl out on the grass admiring our good fortune and giggle into the night watching the stars come out. 

Originally posted on Facebook May 3, 2011