In today's fast-paced, high-tech world, Cunha's market is a treasure. You'll hear no canned elevator music here, but instead, Frank Sinatra and music from the 1940s, some of Bev and Glenn's old favorites. The aisles are narrow, the hardwood floors well-worn, and if you need something on a top shelf, you'll have to ask for help. But help is always around, whether you want fresh basil from the storeroom or need to know how to make polenta or even what kind of oil is best to season a cutting board.
But what really makes Cunha's stand out from the rest is the people - the people who work there and the people who shop there. You can't run in and out quickly because you will always bump into (literally, in those narrow aisles) at least three people you know. The women at the checkout counter are quick and efficient, but always have the time to ask how you are and really care about the answer. A trip to Cunha's feels like a small personal encounter in a world that is becoming increasingly impersonal.
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As the procession of cars passed by the closed store on Friday on the way to the cemetery, one couldn't help but think that we were saying more than just goodbye to a very special man. Glenn Ashcraft was a link to a way of life that seems to be slowly slipping away from us. Let's hope enough of us remember what makes a town special and carry on in his memory.
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