Arriving in Scranton and Planning the Tour

We pulled into the parking lot of the hotel at that wonderful time when there is plenty of time for a few glasses of wine after checking in and before dinner. God's in his heaven, all's right with the world. The hotel name escapes me now, but I remember that it used to be a Sheraton, and not so long ago. So, to me, it will always be a Sheraton. It is ideally situated between two of my favorite "must see" landmarks, these being Lake Scranton and Chick's Diner, and directly across the street from the most wonderful wine and liquor store. This store has an astounding array of those little airline bottles, so you can mix and match your way to nirvana. I tend to be more of a wine person, and they have a good selection of that, too. This is rare for Pennsylvania, which still clings to "state stores", and has the most antiquated set of blue laws in the country, except for the antediluvian places with dry counties. I can remember when you walked into a state store and were met by a solid, intimidating counter, behind which were shelves upon which were displayed the paltry selection of wines and liquors. Now, you can take a shopping cart and browse the aisles, as you would in any other state. You still have to face the state employee at the counter, who still gets paid far too much for doing far too little. This is why PA voters will never get rid of the state stores; they provide jobs as good as those held by the highway guys who get paid for leaning on shovels.

We had two full days to spend in Scranton. What we did there was more of a look back at our youth than it was any kind of mourning for our parents. We had come to forgive and love Cella and Jack in spite of all their flaws in the parenting department, and were more intent on memories that we shared and favorite places we both wanted to revisit. These were: Nay Aug Park, which included the Everhart Museum, the huge Lake Lincoln pool, and the small zoo and amusement park; Lake Scranton reservoir, with its running path and almost-tame woodland creatures, like something out of Disney; Chick's Diner, an institution, and the place to go for breakfast after an early morning run around Lake Scranton; Bistocchi's Ristorante, where our friend Brenda Bistocchi held court and served up the third generation of astounding Italian food; and the Lackawanna coal mine tour in McDade Park, a staple here in anthracite country and a must for the two granddaughters of a man who had started as a breaker boy when he was just seven years old and finished with the "second reader".