I walked up and down the aisles, picking things off the shelf with the casual ease of someone who’s just gotten paid. I was thinking about how my parents would take us to Cub Foods when we were little and each of them would have a cart and they would fill them as we walked between them and either they would bicker or we would bicker. Cans of corn and beans and boxes of Jiffy mix for Sunday morning muffins, crackers and ground beef and cream of mushroom soup for my mom’s meatballs.
I’m distracted by the memories, and trying not to worry about my dad.
I’ve lost my dead people. My red folder full of the photos I saved from the garbage at my grandma’s funeral and I can’t look for it in any reasonable way, because the longer it takes me to find it, the more I start to panic and the more I start to panic, the more useless my searching becomes.
I also cannot find my parents’ will, but I’m not searching for that at all.
I got home to unload my groceries and found in my bags, crackers, ground beef, and cream of mushroom soup. Comfort food.
That won’t get eaten before we head north, I’ll bet.