I remember one of the first times I saw an escalator. I was probably seven. We’d gone to a department store in a nearby town – possibly Traverse City – my sister, my mom and me. Maggie would have been six. It was late summer and we were getting back-to-school clothes. Maggie was getting a lot of stuff, since she was going to be starting first grade.
We’d been shopping at the store for quite some time. This store was big enough so that it had separate departments. Mom didn’t want to look at the good ones, as I recall – you know, the ones with toys.