Mim, Mom & I made our autumn bop out to The Dutch Inn. A small statue - about 6" high, of a little child in a hooded winter coat climbing a large rock - had captivated Mim, who regretfully decided against buying it.
On the drive home, it hit her that she REALLY wanted the captivating piece. The next weekend, the two of us lit out on a return trip to Mill Hall just to get that one piece. A 400-mile round trip.
Neither Mom nor Dad said, "Are you nuts? Call Prof. Hills, have him set it aside & send a check, including postage." Instead, Dad gassed up the van & handed Mim the keys.
Everyone acted like it made sense to go all that distance - the cost, the wear & tear on the van, the time & energy - just to pick up something that Mim knew she wanted. She didn't have to look at it again, didn't have to consider whether or not to make the purchase. Why drive all that way to do something that could be accomplished with a phone call?
Maybe that question occurred to me, but don't remember that it did. Instead, I took great delight in riding shotgun to & from, in spite of the fact that all we did when we got there was buy the statue, turn around & go home. No lunch, no trip to the Tasha Tudor Room, not even a good chat with Ned Hills.
That sort of targeted driving was already a norm for me. Mim would drive us all the way to Cape Canaveral for a space shot. I don't remember a trip down when we were there for more than much over 24 hours. Mim was, when she drove & I flew down to meet her for a launch. She toured Cape Kennedy, which was open to visitors EXCEPT for the day of launch. I never got that chance. We'd arrive, park in a good vantage point, watch the launch & head home. As crazy at is sounds, it made sense - I was still in school, had to get back asap. Still...
It wasn't until I was in my mid-30s that it hit me how much that the return trip to Mill Hall was questionable. I was dating a dashing, cosmopolitan fellow. Alas, I had to miss doing something with him one Saturday because I was heading up to Manhattan with Mim "to pick up coffee at Zabar's."
When I told him, he said, "You're kidding, right?" Oh, yes, I assured him - Zabar's was the only place that Mim could get a particular coffee she wanted. "You can get that in the Italian Market. Driving all the way to Manhattan is just pretentious."
Now, I am still not sure "pretentious" was the best word to make his point, but it succeeded in giving me pause, made me step back & look at the situation in a different light.
For everyone under 50 - this was in the days before Wegman's & Trader Joe's. Good coffee was Maxwell House, Heineken was the only "quality" beer on the market (Jim Koch was still working in consulting, Sam Adams was just a glimmer in his eye), and the Pennsylvania State Stores featured a miserably small selection of wines & spirits. There were no premium bakeries in grocery stores (what we take for granted today started out at Macy's, Herald Square). Imported brands were basically only available at places like the Italian Market in Philadelphia, or Zabar's - Balducci's - Dean & Deluca in NYC.
And supermarket coffee came in regular & decaf - no French Roast or Italian or Espresso, Hazelnut or French Vanilla.
Mim might have said she wanted me to drive her to NYC to get coffee at Zabar's when what she actually meant was she wanted to go to NYC - period. But it was her story. What I find shocking is that driving all that distance to pick up a bag of freshly ground coffee beans made sense to me. There was no hesitation taking her at her word (I have a sort of bad habit of taking people at their word when they aren't really expecting me to) & thinking it reasonable.
Inspired by David's response, I did suggest to Mim that we head down to the Italian Market for the coffee instead of up to NYC. She pointed out right back that it wouldn't be in the iconic Zabar's bag.
No arguing with that. But it did seem strange to me that she wanted the coffee less than the packaging.
This morning, I woke up with an image in my mind of that adorable statue of the small child climbing atop a large rock & the fresh awareness that I'm still dogged with a bad sense of how to make good use of my time & energies. And the realization that foolish use of such precious, limited resources was accepted in my family as... acceptable.
This memory writing adventure is taking me in unexpected directions & long-overdue AH HA moments. Universe, keep 'em coming!
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