This morning, our bananas are:
__ greener than grass
__ almost ripe
__ ready to eat
__ ready for cooking
__ bruised by wandering jugglers

While she was home for winter break, someone in New York was shopping with sparkly NY vampire teen’s bank account. I thought she would be worried about how it happened. I expected some drama about the loss of her small savings for living expenses in NY. Instead, she reacted with confusion at the thief’s spending choices. “They bought a bunch of new clothes and then they ate at McDonald’s. Why would they go to McDonald’s when there are so many great places to eat in NY?”

Upon returning to NY last week, sparkly NY vampire teen was horrified to learn that during the break, housekeeping threw away all the food in the college students’ rooms. “All my food is gone! Pop-tarts don’t go bad. Who wastes canned food? I was gonna eat that corn!”

I’m starting to suspect that sparkly NY vampire teen is perpetually hungry.

I understand that it is environmentally disastrous to order everything online instead of shopping locally. That knowledge is rapidly being outweighed by my interactions with grocery employees. Today’s grocery employee demonstrated their knowledge of everything except where their products are shelved. Last week, the grocery employee gave me a senior discount. I will accept being labelled as any combination of middle-aged, overweight, hippie, activist, breeder and/or housewife. I am not yet willing to consider that I look like a senior citizen.

Knoxville is gaining three or four new groceries in the next year. The first one to offer the option of shopping online and picking up at the curb will be the winner of our seven person household grocery purchases.

A restaurant or food cart every few feet and the pink haired teen is worried about being homesick for… Bush’s baked beans.

“Vegans will weep.”
“Diabetics will need insulin if they look at it.”
“Why do you hate people with peanut allergies?”

“The band is going to play music and then the football players will run on the field.”
“Are the footballers still eating their popcorn?”

“Why is that lady eating peanuts when there’s popcorn?”

“The band is going to sit while the football players play.”
“The band might get all the popcorn.”

“Do you need to go potty?”
“No. I need to go popcorn.”

Evan leaned toward me with a bit of a pucker, so I leaned closer to him in expectation of a smack on the cheek. Instead of a kiss, I felt his tiny tongue repeatedly tapping my cheek like the world’s smallest jackhammer. I pulled away and looked at his grinning face. “Evan! Why did you do that?” “Because, I am popcorn.”

Relatives who were round and relatives who were built like Jack Skellington ate the buffet of food. None of the children had food allergies. Even though the women were always on a “diet,” they still ate the same food that everyone else there ate.

The food didn’t magically arrive on our plates. It grew on family farms. It came from local livestock and game. It was cooked in home kitchens. Many of the dishes would make today’s nutritionists frown and shake their heads. We didn’t count calories or judge ingredients. Food was love and our stomachs were full.

We can’t reproduce those days. Or the food.

Small children waved at me as we walked past each other. Adults smiled or laughed out loud and I imagined that they were kindred spirits enjoying the splendor of treasures that is a grocery store. The visit was surreal in its normalcy. Even the cashier and bagger were all smiles. “Did you make your necklace yourself?” I looked down and realized I was wearing the necklace that Evan made for me. (“You look prettier now Mommy.”) I smiled and explained that it was a gift from my 4-y-o, thinking that they already knew that. I was mistaken. “Well, everyone likes to make their own jewelry these days.”

*Why, oh, why can’t the social media folks have their gatherings on the weekends?