Here I go.

I’m going to sound like some sort of old fogey again.

This is one of those “I remember when…” reminisces that decrepit old guys tend to talk about while playing checkers all day on the front porch or (on rainy days) beside the pickle barrel at the corner store.

Of course, the corner store doesn’t have a pickle barrel anymore.

There isn’t even a jar of pickled eggs on the counter anymore, either.

Indeed, there aren’t too many corner stores left – certainly not like there used to be.

There’s the one over at 232nd Street and Fraser Highway that gives you a bit of feel of what a corner store used to be – is supposed to be.

And there are a few others scattered about in and around Langley, and on this side of the river and across the way.

But they are really only what they used to call “reasonable facsimiles,” and not at all “99 and 44 one-hundredths per cent pure.”

For one thing, these places tend to be a lot cleaner than the old corner stores I remember.

And I suppose that’s a good thing.

But even the ones with real wooden slat floors… well, those wood floors are all shiny now – there’s never enough time left between coats for the varnish to well and truly wear off under the neighbour farmers’ boots.

And a kid is not at all likely to get a sliver from them while dropping in for a gum drop on the way home from school these days.

(And I suppose that’s another good thing, although truth be told, not too many kids walk around at all anymore – let alone drop in to the corner store – in bare feet.)

But you know, it really wasn’t corner stores – and the woeful lack of old codgers playing checkers on the porch – that got me thinking about how things have changed dramatically, even in my relatively short lifetime.

Nope.

What got me going this time was an email note.

Talk about change! Even the faxes that appeared after I was old enough to be deemed an adult (if you ignored my adolescent good looks and youthful charm) have gone by the boards. And I still consider myself a bit of whipper-snapper.

Anyway, the email notified me that a bank branch in Langley (along with a few hundred across the country) is going to be opening on Sundays.

Perhaps you’re old enough to remember the expression “banker’s hours.”

That was a bit of a term of derision, generally aimed at lazy – or at least lackadaisical – employees who tended to punch their time cards late in the morning, but were first in line to leave at the end of the day.

It was a nod to the short hours banks tended to offer for customers to deposit their hard-earned cash.

As time meandered by and bankers grew more and more prosperous, those hours shrank, until – now my recollection may be a bit faulty, so correct me if you will – most ordinary working stiffs who couldn’t get away during normal – one might suggest “reasonable” – working hours started turning to credit unions, which tended to offer Saturday service (as well as other perks more amenable to people less likely to have truckloads of cash).

That former trend relating fewer hours to greater banking success suggests that perhaps bankers’ success has waned.

Or they’ve just figured opening Sundays is as good a way as any to relieve you and me of more service charges.

Yep. It all jest keeps changing.

Visit Bob Groeneveld’s blog, Editor’s Notes, at http://tiny.cc/v7b94

at www.langleyadvance.com