In my younger days I protested when a cause or situation seemed wrong to me. I didn’t participate in sit-ins or burn my bra, but vocally you couldn’t shut me up. Everyone knew I stood for equal rights without question and believed America couldn’t be the godfather of the world.

I even refused to use ZIP codes when they were instituted. Finally, I caved in and went along with the masses on the ZIP code thing; it seemed a small step and maybe the mail would really go faster. I never changed my mind on the important issues, though.

And so, into my middle age and the pesky protest mindset, I refused to shop for groceries at the major big-box store that came to Windham. Even though most of my friends told me about all the bargains, it was a matter of principle – I’d rather spend a little more and deal with someone local. Then an English firm purchased one of my favorite shopping places.

Well, the facts of life, reality, the real world – whatever you want to call it, has put my protesting mode on the back shelf. Given that I recently had to take a loan in order to pay for life-saving dental work, I now find myself doing other things I never would have believed possible in my senior years.

Despite my former refusal to do so, I am now routinely shopping for food at the big-box store. It’s part of my new life. But even they have raised their prices on the basics, so I guess it’s time for a different approach. Like the song from my youth, it’s better to “shop around,” if you have time.

My routine used to include sticking a “to get” list on the door of the refrigerator and items would be added so that the weekly shopping trip would eliminate the need for intermittent (and gas expensive) trips.

I now find myself checking out the sale items every other day, and even I don’t need them right now, I will in the future. Purchasing items regularly used only when they’re on sale can be a real money saver. And it’s true what they say – don’t go shopping on an empty stomach. That’s when the $5 bag of pistachio nuts jumps into the grocery cart alongside the big chocolate bar and the money you’ve saved goes out the window.

In the late ’50s and ’60s, I was surrounded by friends who were helping change the world – going to exotic countries for Peace Corps stints, making sure everyone who wanted to vote, could vote. As a group, we were glued to the television (black and white) watching in horror as police dogs and policemen attacked citizens when they tried to eat in a diner, ride a bus, go to a hospital. We watched as our president was murdered.

We had such hope for the future, the reality of which somehow escaped us. We never thought that we’d be any different at age 50, 60 or (gasp) 70. Certainly, I never dreamed that I’d be back home in Maine, writing about such mundane things as grocery shopping or the importance of setting protest aside in order to survive.

These days I listen to all the political promises from people who are well insured, thanks to our tax dollars, and try to push away all the rhetoric to find something really important. How much more are we going to have to pay for a routine doctor visit? How much is bread going to cost next year? Will a postage stamp soon cost a half dollar? But like that naA? ?ve girl of the ’60s, I enjoy each day and remain optimistic about the future, especially for senior citizens. Yet it’s a real temptation to get back into the protest mode again. It worked 40 years ago. Maybe it would again.