Last week, I went to pick up my mother to take her to the Italian grocery on Franklin Avenue in Hartford. D & D Market has moved to a new location since I was a kid, but it was (and still is) a family staple. That was back when we’d go to Butcher Boy for meat, A & P for groceries, D & D for all that was Italian (and the milk man delivered). I still shop there for their meatball mix, sausage and Parmesan cheese … especially the cheese.
Typically, Mom enjoys going and listening to the old Italians gossiping and the young ones flirting. She says the store smells like ‘the good old days’.
Me – Let’s take a ride to D & D.
Mom – I can’t. My hair looks like hell.
Me – You look fine.
Mom – They washed it this morning and I can’t find my curlers (she hasn’t set her hair in years … refer to previous blog, Musings…)
Me – We’ll just fluff it.
Mom (giving me the look) – You don’t look so good either.
Me – Gee, thanks. Maybe because my neck is sore.
Mom – Oh goody! We’ll be on the highway and you won’t be able to turn your head to see the traffic and we’ll crash and die.
Me – What?! Where did you come up with that?
Mom – They won’t know who I am.
Me – Who?
Mom – Me.
Me – Huh?
Mom – At the hospital … I’ll be on lying on the table and no one will know who I am, my hair looks so bad. You know, like on television. No one will claim me.
Me – Mom, you are going to D & D.
And this time, I give her the look…