The grocery store is where the empty nest hits hardest.
I used to be the shopper. I planned meals every week, and everything came home in one trip. Period.
Now the store is two blocks away. My husband goes daily, and we buy for one meal at a time.
This week I tagged along, and the old me took over. Three meals planned. Every ingredient in the cart. One trip.
We walked home with our arms full, and somewhere around the second block it hit me. I’d shopped like the whole crew was coming for dinner. They’re not.
That’s not the chapter we’re in right now. So it’s home-cooked dinners for two this week. And leftovers. So many leftovers.
TODAY’S PICKS
THE FEATURE
I Wish The Midnight Library Was Real.
Her book club picked a novel about every road not taken. She put it down halfway through, wishing it worked in the other direction.
THE REFLECTION
What My Closet Had To Say About My Life.
A rainy morning and a quick swap of summer clothes for sweaters. Two hours later she was on the floor with eight pairs of brown boots. Eight.
One Shot.
Parallel parked (perfectly) on a Philly street in one try. Nobody saw it. I’m telling you instead.
THE WILDCARD
Of Breast, Bras, and Battleships.
In 1917, the government asked American women to give up their corsets. The reason had nothing to do with fashion.
My answer:
Becoming really comfortable in my own skin. I’m not sure that’s even possible, and maybe that’s a good thing.
