Love on Grocery Shelves

         I’ve always hated grocery shopping, but I’m not really sure how my mother feels about it. I’ve never been able to figure out whether she enjoys reading over every label, while lounging around the aisles, slowly making her way around the store at snail place, only to accomplish a simplified task. I’m sure the men before this time could spear a fish and roast it before my mom acquired half of the items on our non-existent grocery list. People who shop without lists have more freedom although the time spent doubles, and you might as well quadruple it when you throw my mom into the equation. Though I have to say how I feel about shopping doesn’t necessarily correlate with how I feel about my mom. In fact, I love her to pieces, yet she wasn’t the ideal mom. She had an illness that made the simple tasks of life a challenge, for most of my childhood she was in her bedroom resting. A mother shouldn’t have to reach a certain standard, nor change the fact that time spent shopping can be cherished.

         I’ve spent more time in Safeway than I’d like to admit. Although thinking about it now, I smile recalling all the times we passed through the bakery aisle. There were luscious goodies at arm’s reach, chocolate glazed donuts covered in pink and yellow sprinkles. I’d never eat the fat saturated treat, but they sure looked pretty. The scent of bread was heavenly. I could devour a loaf if you let me, and mom knew that. She’d always put two loafs in. Mmmm… just thinking about breaking off a piece and drenching it in olive oil makes my mouth water. I associate shopping with my mom by being able to pick out the things that both she and I enjoy eating.

         Mom and I had one connection and it wasn’t through our minds. Believe me if I spoke what was on my mind I’d find myself into a full blown argument that I couldn’t possibly win. Though we did connect by what we filled our stomachs with. We both had a keen sense of taste and had similar choice when it came to food, although mom liked butter for bread while I drenched mine in oil. Saturating bread in some form of fat was necessary for us because it added a flavor that we both enjoyed. We liked grocery shopping because we got to pick out stuff that we’d eventually get to savor.

         The tiles were always the same kind of white linoleum; the carts were always that tan color with the Safeway logo on the handle bar. My mother leaned on the cart for support as she made her way through the store. She’d be wearing nice black pants, a spiffy blouse that she spent hours shopping for, and her hair would be nicely done. With all the black she wore and her skin being pale, I sometimes imagined her as a cow grazing for grass by how slow she moved. If I checked my watch at 5:00pm we probably wouldn’t get out of there till eight or nine. 

         My mom was born a slow shopper, but not having the strength to do simple tasks made shopping difficult for her. There were many tasks she couldn’t do, or maybe it was a question of whether she couldn’t or wouldn’t. I was never sure, but I didn’t listen to my doubts so I just smiled and took on the tasks myself: cleaning the dishes, doing the laundry, vacuuming the carpets, sweeping the floors, these were things that I started doing at a young age. My mom has always been ill, and well... I try not to think of it so I keep myself busy, besides, the tasks needed to be done. It was easier to see her up on her feet maybe doing some laundry made me happy because for that moment she wasn’t in any apparent pain.

         Sometimes I like to imagine my stomach mumbling curse words at me to convince me to feed it, and one can only muse how a stomach would react to an empty fridge. When the fridge was bare we knew it was time to go shopping, but when that would happen it all depended on my mom. If we actually didn’t have anything to cook with, we’d order something to last us a few days until she acquired enough energy to take on grocery shopping. There were a few days when mom planned to go shopping, but she never did go out that day. The pain just wouldn’t fade enough for shopping to become bearable, so I waited. Eventually, she’d get up and spend a full three hours preparing herself for the shopping trip. When she was ready, I would grab the keys and wait for her in the car. The smell of hairspray hit me as soon as she got in the car, but I never enjoyed the smell, though it wasn’t awful.

         Then onward to the grocery store! She’d talk to me while I sat there listening, looking out of the window to watch the trees flash by. I’d have a song playing in my head; it was always a beautiful instrumental piece that my high school band had been practicing. Mom’s words would intertwine with the music and become lost. I knew what she was talking about, but I didn’t want to hear about the pain she was in.

         Once we were in the store, we didn’t talk about her; we just talked about the items that we needed to collect. Thinking about why she didn’t talk to me about herself in the grocery store now, I see why. We were in a public place, and the public didn’t need to hear about our problems. I liked being in that grocery store because I could just look at stuff and not really have to listen to anybody or anything except for the music playing in my head. I loved going down the dairy aisle because of my affinity for yogurt. Once, Mom plucked two raspberry flavored ones from the shelves. I spoke up. “Mom, I like the strawberry banana flavor better.” She smiled, a rare sight, and swapped the raspberry for a strawberry banana flavor. It was such a simple gesture, but it made me happy. She also knew that I enjoyed certain foods and so she got them for me. If I wanted strawberries for a smoothie I got strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries too! My mom was able to provide me with what I wanted it, and it put a smile on my face.

         I could plan out a whole meal with her, buy all the ingredients, but we’d never make it. We would talk about eating healthy and lean meats for the rest of our days, yet when we went shopping with one another the cart would be packed with a variety of junk food. My mom and I were a lot a-like when it came to shopping. Although, when I grew up some I rejected the unhealthy food. I stayed away from it and ate simple vegetables, fruits, and meats. Mom would get a little disheartened when I wouldn’t eat the junk she liked. She knew I had a weakness for mint ice-cream, so she’d toss it in the cart knowing I couldn’t resist putting it back.

         My least favorite aisled had all the condiments in it. I hated pickles, despised olives, and didn’t much care for sauerkraut, but it seemed amongst the olives, pickles, sauerkraut, was my mother’s love on the grocery shelves.

         Finding that important item helped as I grew older and became more mature. I never came to enjoy the actual task of shopping, but there were certain parts that I did like. Bagging up the groceries was my favorite part. That sense of completion thrilled my senses; tingled each nerve. I’d load up the groceries as fast as I could like it was some sort of race; let my mom lounge in her chair to take a well-deserved break. After I finished, I’d find myself in the passenger seat homeward bound. Mom would start talking again, but I wasn’t listening, I was thinking of all the food I’d get to eat.


         I don’t know if your average kid would love restocking the shelves of their fridge with new groceries, but I sure did. I always liked looking at the food that I’d get to enjoy. Sometimes, if I was hungry enough, I’d snack on some bread as I put all the canned goods in the pantry. Then I’d go outside and breathe in the air, full of smoke, to tell my mom that I was all done. She’d say, “Thanks boo.” I’d close the door and run into my room with blatant gratification. Plopping on the bed due to the late hour, I’d think of doing my homework in the morning and drift off to sleep. It was an end to a seldom good day.

         That was how most of our shopping trips would go, some varied here and there, but they all equated to the same product. Quality time. I will always love my mother, and I know that she will do the same. The trips to the grocery store helped me realize this, and I value that realization. I know that, one day, I will find my head down on a grocery shelf shedding silent tears; thinking of all the smiles my mom and I shared there.