Times They Are a Changing

May 9, 2008

DPM New DoorsDPMI have never thought of myself as a creature of habit. I am more freespirited, and do things in a random matter except if it relates to work. Even then I am known for a creative flair in matching people with properties, and of course in my staging. I take different routes when driving or walking, I sit in different spots on the beach each day. So when the local market, the Dennis Public Market or “DPM” recently made some changes, I don’t know why I was so thrown off. The Market is on Route 6A, the Old King’s Highway, that runs along the northern spine of the Cape. It is at the end of the street that leads down to the beach, and my house. I have to pass it to get home. There are photos on the walls that look pretty ancient, with DPM wagons pulled by horses. There used to be a thrift shop on one side, but that moved out last year. The changes were gradual. New roofing, shingles and paint. All good. Then they moved the newspapers. Hmmm. They carry newspapers from all around New England and even New York (!) since folks from those places show up here. Then came the new door a few weeks ago. Two ramps lead up to the door, from the front and side parking lots. At the juncture are the community bulletin boards and stands for the real estate books and tourist books. In the Summer the corn on the cob goes out there so shoppers don’t make a mess in the store testing the ears. If you wanted to push a grocery cart or a baby carriage up those ramps you then had to encounter the “old” doors, one for each direction, stalwart and difficult to push so that one employed elbows and shoulders in the process. And the newspapers were right there, so you had to work around them next. The new doors were automatic with a magic eye! New fangled things! Cold air blew in behind you and carried across the magazine rack into the produce section. Magnificent. The first time I pushed the stroller in it was a treat. So this progress was indeed good. Prices at the DPM, unless the weekly special, are a bit higher than the big box store but I like to support local business. And I can get wine to go with dinner in one stop. So I made my nightly stop to see Phil and the crew. And then I came in this week and the magazines were gone, replaced by shiny and bright new check out counters. This was too much. There was no more gradual entry, no separation between the street and the inner sanctum. Once a day I had indulged in scanning the headlines for the latest carryings-on in Hollywood and beyond. I looked at the various Cape Cod local journals for small town news. Gone, stacked vertically on a turning rack where I would have to publicly peruse them. No way.
So my visits are all business now. A few doomed lobsters have appeared in the tank. Soon suntan lotion and styrofoam coolers will line the aisles. And the new doors will whoosh open to mix the hot breeze with the air conditioning blowing out from where the magazines used to be.
*I know the Dylan line isn’t exact-I don’t wan’t the music industry after me!

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