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Country Store

Sophie, having inherited profound theatrical talent,
just as all grandchildren do, was co-starring with
thirty other kids in a musical adaptation of something
having to do with molasses and a small town.

Mari and I drove to Decorah separately, to allow me
to go directly to our cabin and do all those things
that cabin owners do before winter.  mow down weeds,
curse and clean up after mice, scrub counters and floors,
and remove what will not be improved by a season of frost.
Mari had to finish her Friday work at the University.

The long row of old-fashioned spirea bushes, once
transplanted from Wilma Slaughter's yard, needed
to be mowed around.  "Mowing" scarcely describes
what it is to attack head-high weeds, brown after
having seeded next year's assault on civilization.

My hair was crumbly with dust and tiny seeds,
but I had forgotten my comb somewhere.
I drove to a little country store, well on its way
to becoming the last resting place for garage sale treasures.

We had trouble locating the combs.  Finally, we found
a three-comb packet of Ace combs.  "What the heck!",
I said.  The whole packet of Ace combs was only a dollar.

The packet had been re-sealed, I discovered later.
Two of the combs--the kind with no brand name, but which
are labeled, "Unbreakable", had been inserted to bring the total
back up to three.  Not only that, but one of the "Unbreakables"
had been used before, probably to test whether it was
unbreakable.  The test appeared to have been thorough.

I think of it as one of the virtues of old-fashioned country
stores:  Pay a dollar for an Ace comb, and get two
Unbreakables absolutely free, and not just free, but with
a Previously Owned Guarantee, good almost forever.

Later, at the little theater, Mari leaned to me and asked
whether she could borrow my comb for a moment.

I said no.

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