BRATTLEBORO — June 14, 2012: I walked through the Co-op tonight for the last time. They've started moving without me. They're closing the old building today at 7 p.m. For good.
Apparently, they had already moved quite a bit. Every dry good aisle was empty, and only the refrigerator and freezer cases remained stocked. There was a makeshift counter in the deli; from there, we ordered a sandwich in a wrap because there was no more bread. There were no chips either, except for bags and bags of mesquite barbecue ones, which obviously need to be discontinued.
We ate our dinner on one of the benches facing the new store in the soft evening sun of early summer. We watched John Hatton, president of the board, walk back and forth from the old store to the new store and then across the bridge toward Dottie's.
Ah, Dottie's. That's the same.
But then again, it isn't. It hasn't been around that long. It's a spring chicken as far as the Co-op goes.
* * *
After finishing our wraps, we went to a fabulous movie about aging and India and love and growth. My heart was overflowing by the time it was over.
I'm getting old. Not quite as old as the brilliant characters in the film, but I've been in Vermont long enough to see things really change.
Like the new bathroom at the Latchis, which took me by surprise, even though it's been renovated for quite a while now. I miss the old narrow entrance and tight corners of the wooden stalls and tiny porcelain sink. It was terribly impractical and very charming.
And like the Co-op. It's grown three times since I first started shopping there, almost 20 years ago.
Twenty years! How did that happen?
When I arrived in the Green Mountains from the Jersey Shore, I wasn't even 30. Since then, I've watched young children become mothers and middle-aged friends become elders. I've lost some, too.
It's not that I'm nostalgic. I love change. I can't wait to enjoy the new store. Good riddance to those grimy bathrooms and that over-seated cafe.
And yet, in the passing of the Co-op, and in that of old friends, I can feel my own self slipping away. I'm part of all that is passing, because it was once a part of me.