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Scene: New York & Company, a women's clothing store in Four Seasons Town Centre

A little boy, about 5-years-old, was practicing his ABCs while his mother shopped. Spotting letters on a large poster board sign, he stopped to try what he'd learned.

"S-A-L-E," he carefully spelled.

"That's right," his mom replied. "That's what mommy is looking for -- a sale."

Gas was cheap a decade ago when I first got my license.

When the tank was running low, you could scrounge around in the seats and cup holders, take the $4.61 in change you found and ride like royalty on a half a tank of gas.

I remembered those days when I stopped to fill up at a Texaco on High Point Road today. The driver before me had pumped $5 worth of fuel. What would once get you by for a week got that person a gallon and a half of gas.

Hope he didn't have far to go.

If an apple a day keeps the doctor away, then Triad physicians could soon see their waiting rooms empty.

Greensboro is getting an Apple Store. The company is advertising "future openings" for a Friendly Center location on its Web site.

That makes this Mac owner super happy. No more random pitstops into the Apple Store in Durham's Streets at Southpoint just to ogle the iPhones. There will be a Genius Bar right around the corner. And it ratchets Greensboro's "cool" factor up a notch. We too will have long lines of fans waiting to see Steve Jobs' newest tech treats in person.

The only thing that isn't giddy is my wallet.

Scene: the Target on Bridford Parkway, Sunday afternoon

An adorable little girl, about 2 years old, was shopping with her family. In her hands, she clutched a new "toy" -- a full size, plastic-wrapped mop. She dragged it along the store's dusty floors with a bright smile and obvious glee on her face.

I wish I could fast forward a dozen years to see if she greets the mop with such joy as a teenager.

A marquee sign at a car wash on Battleground Avenue reads, "Let it snow."

Is that a Yuletide wish or a hope to drum up some wash-the-salt-off-my-car business?

How warm was it this week?

Warm enough for a Candy Candy Hershey Kiss to melt in my car.

My fiancé is from the big city of Charlotte. I'm from the small town of Reidsville. But all it takes is one establishment good at its craft to get hometown bragging rights.

We were in Reidsville this weekend, meeting with florists as part of our wedding planning. When our stomachs started to rumble, I laid out the lunch options: We could grab something fast at a national chain, like McDonalds or Subway. Or we could visit one of the places that puts Reidsville on foodies' maps -- Short Sugars.

He chose the latter -- and he chose wisely. When we entered Reidsville's barbecue landmark, we were greeted by the sweet, smoky smell of pork that had been cooked just right. We both ordered chopped barbecue plates with buns, which held enough meat to have a hefty sandwich with pork to spare paired with tangy coleslaw and crisp, golden hush puppies.

After my fiancé finished his sandwich, I asked him what he thought. "That's some good barbecue," he said, a look of pure contentment on his face.

Of course it is. Score one for the small town.

It was as if it had planned its moment of escape.

After free falling from the sky during the night, the accumulation of ice and sleet clung to the car traveling in front of me this morning. Then, with all the grace of Nadia Comaneci, the ice sheet flipped off the body of the vehicle, somersaulting in the air before landing on the asphalt of Friendly Avenue as a cold, wet splat.

If it was the Ice Sheet Winter Olympics, I would have given it a perfect 10.

A black SUV with an Alaska license plate wound its way through downtown Greensboro this morning. Attached to the back windshield was a blizzard of snowflake static clings.

If you can't get snow from the sky, get it from the store.

Do you have fond memories of grade school cafeteria food?

Yeah, I don't either. More than a decade removed from middle school, I can still do without the monotony of pepperoni pizza rectangles every Monday; hot dogs, fixings and crinkle fries on Wednesdays and vegetable soup with grilled cheese sandwiches most Fridays.

But sometimes the lunch ladies would make a glorious dish, the memory of which stays with you long after you've forgotten those algebra equations. For students in Los Angeles, it was the school district's Old Fashioned Coffee Cake.

For me, its the Apple Brown Betty the cafeteria ladies at the former Lincoln Middle School in Ruffin used to make. The dessert had warm apple slices spiced with cinnamon and sugar and topped with an oats and brown sugar crumb mixture that was to die for. On days when the treat was on the menu, I carefully examined the rows and rows of desserts, looking for one that had more of the Brown Betty and less of the apple.

The Lincoln Middle I went to is gone, replaced years ago with a gleaming new elementary school that shares the Lincoln name. But the memory of the Apple Brown Betty, that'll stay with me for a lifetime.

I am a 26-year-old woman, trying to stay fit and healthy in preparation for a summer wedding.

She is the seasoned receptionist in the office, a woman wise from living life.

I am moving gingerly around a maze of desks, using muscles still screaming from two trips to the gym earlier this week.

She looks at me struggle and gives some advice: "Take it easy. Exercising will kill you."

Day in and day out, emergency personnel tend to Guilford County's most urgent needs, rushing from here to there, speaking a language that's foreign to most.

Their constant communication cackles across the newsroom scanner.

"10-50 PI!"

"Discharged firearm in the area of..."

But when the day is done, they too clock out and enjoy the slower pace of Southern living.

Just after lunchtime Friday, a voice came across the scanner:

"Y'all have a good weekend. We'll do it again on Monday."

"10-4," a different voice responded. "You have a good weekend too."

One of my childhood chores was to clean the bathrooms, a tedious task that required an attention to detail that was difficult for this grade schooler to perform. Or perhaps more to the point, it was a chore that took me away from my beloved Saturday morning cartoons and I was trying to do a rush job.

The chore was dreaded -- until the day I saw a commercial for a product that would help me reconcile the two tensions. A Holy Grail that would give my mom the sparkling bathrooms she required and me the cartoons I desired: Scrubbing Bubbles.

I watched the TV ad for the cleaner with amazement. With just a spray, an army of hard-working bubbles would attack toothpaste-stained sinks and grubby counter tops, whisking away the dirt so I didn't have to.

I had to have some. I begged. I pleaded. I annoyed. "Mom," I said, "this will make your job so much easier too."

"Nothing works better than good old elbow grease," she replied. Party pooper.

But eventually she gave in and I found a new aerosol can of Scrubbing Bubbles at home waiting to whisk away the dirt.

I ran to the bathroom with the can, eagerly coating the sink with a thick, white foam. I waited to see the bubbles go to work, magically moving across the ceramic basin, leaving a trail of clean behind.

I waited. And waited. No army of bubbles. No magic. Same old toothpaste stains.

My mom walked by the bathroom door and laughed. "Nothing works without elbow grease," she said.

Over time, I've learned that she was right. And this weekend, after seeing another ad for Scrubbing Bubbles, my mom started to laugh all over again.

Conversation between two middle-aged women. Overheard in Harris Teeter during the first day of the triple coupon sale. The topic: The economy.

Woman 1, flipping through an envelope of coupons: "I come in here to get $30 worth of groceries and leave out here with over $100."
Woman 2: "I know. A friend said she came in and only got $25 worth of things. I said, 'What did you buy? Toilet paper and bread?'"