In another time, some time ago, even before I used sugar water to comb my fair like Fonzie, and before I had a crush on Julie on Love Boat, back when I used to play cowboy, this town was my summer town where things were done a little differently than at home.

Every summer when we drove up to Grandma, my father’s mother, then way out in the countryside, now a part of this city, we’d be sure to make a stop here. There was a store across the road from Grandma’s but it was a tiny country store, and they didn’t have everything. For everything, we’d get into town and while there, we always made sure to visit the market square, filled with all kinds of treasures.

Like pen knives. Straw hats. Skull rings. Cards. And the lottery. Grand prize? A car. (A Lada, sure, but still, a car!) And pop that wasn’t sold in Helsinki. Afri-Cola.

And then summer ended, and the skull ring got buried in a drawer, the straw cowboy hat didn’t seem as cool as a few months earlier, and Afri-Cola was just a memory.

Then we moved here, and this town became life. Well, not that I walked around wearing a straw hat, or drank Afri-Cola – just a little – but whatever this town had was what I knew.

Even the market square was just something I walked through, although, I still tried to win that car (Lada, yes, I know, but still: a car!) but ended up with only a shoebox filled with red, plastic combs.

Now it’s a summer town again, as Wife and I sit at a café, waiting for Son and Daughter who are playing at a local playground, something we’ve talked about every now and then since January.

It’s summer, the sun is shining, and we’re on vacation. In about 30 minutes, we’ll hit the market square. I noticed on our way here that the Lada is gone, but maybe I’ll find some razor blades. Or at least a straw hat.

Or, with a lot of luck, a bottle of Afri-Cola.