Adults over the age of 30 may recall childhood shopping trips to the local five-and-dime store. The F.W. Woolworth, J.J. Newberry and other stores carried clothes, hardware, candy and household supplies. They were the precursors of today's department stores. But amazingly, we got along just fine with the 1,000 or so items they stocked, instead of the 50,000 plus items that fill up the average Kmart of Wal-Mart.

The old five-and-dimes almost always had luncheon counters where one could get a burger and shake after shopping, or where those who worked nearby could grab a quick lunch.

And these stores were located on streets, not in shopping centers or indoor malls. When you shopped 20 or more years ago you actually had to go outside first. You had to walk along the sidewalk - with other people.

The chances of future generations experiencing trips to the five-and-dime were greatly diminished this year when the New York-based Woolworth Corp. announced that it would close its remaining general merchandise stores in the U.S. (It shuttered about 400, or half, its stores in 1994.)

While most of the items in Woolworth stores were not priced at 5 or 10 cents as advertising led customers to believe, there were still plenty of things to buy for small change, even pennies. These days, a dime hardly buys a nickel, and one of each won't even pay for a phone call. The only thing that costs between a nickel and a dime is the sales tax on a dollar.

My hometown's Woolworth had a long, shiny lunch counter in the back of the store, with red-cushioned stools that spun around, raising or lowering the seat. When I was five years old, I didn't care if the seat went up or down, as long as I could spin it around.

There was a manual cash register on the counter. Yes, cashiers had to learn how to count out change without any help from a calculator. Next to the register was the most important part of the store, at least to a five-year-old)

It was a group of bright-colored balloons attached to long, thin sticks. When you bought an ice-cream sundae, the lady behind the counter would let kids pop one of the balloons. Inside each balloon was a little piece of paper, with a discount amount for the sundae written on it.

Of course, parents were the ones who cared about saving 10 or 20 cents on the cost of the sundae. Popping the balloons was enough of a prize for us kids. Eating the sundae was almost anti-climactic, and I know I left a few on the counter uneaten. I really don't remember any of the sundaes. It's the balloon popping ritual I remember after all these years.

Those memories, like so many others, fade with the places and times they belonged to. We may wonder what memories our children and grandchildren will recall decades from now. I can't imagine trips to the 99-cent store will evoke fond recollections. Likewise, hopping out of the car to get a Slurpee at 7-11 is not nearly the same as spinning around on a red stool at a chrome counter, watching your sundae being built into a tall glass.

Will our descendants fondly recall when people actually left the house to shop? Even if that meant hopping into a locked car, driving to an underground, security-patrolled parking lot and strolling through a climate-controlled indoor mall, it still involved going somewhere.

Will my children smile when they see their own children press a few buttons on interactive multi-media remote controls and order things off the television screen? Children of the future will not believe we lived quite well without computers, video games and even pocket calculators. And most things worked without chips or processors, or even plugging them in.

I imagine my grandchildren will look at me one day and ask not about things like ice cream sundaes in tall fluted glasses, but rather about other strange concepts from the past, such as actually having to leave the house to go to work or school.

"You mean you didn't telecommute by digital satellite cellular modems when you were a kid, Grandpa?"

No, I'll tell them, I didn't. But I used to get a whole handful of candy for just a nickel. And on hot summer days I spun round and round on a red and chrome stool until I spun it right to the top. And there, in front of me, was a giant ice cream sundae on a shiny counter.

And that was about all that mattered in my world at the time. And every week I'd go back to do it again, never event thinking about the future, because I was sure that the Woolworth five-and-dime would be there tomorrow and the next day and forever.