The other little blue box

Grocery shopping was one of the hardest things to adjust in my empty nest.

For you, too?

Downsizing meal plans. Shortening the shopping list (read: not stocking up to feed the three or four extra teens who were always around). Choosing snacks and nibbles… just for me.

One of the new things I’ve enjoyed is having time to explore different neighborhoods in my city. One Saturday afternoon, I found myself in a wealthy, old Victorian enclave—deeply treed, with stately, single-family homes. A few mansions tucked in between them. A really lovely residential area.

I turned off the main road and crept along a leafy side street. I discovered a teeny tiny retail nook, tucked in among the houses. Six or eight shops, anchored by a small gourmet supermarket.

I parked and ventured in with curiosity and glee.

I pulled a large grocery cart from the stable. No coin required—always a good sign, I think. I stepped into the store with a delicious sense of possibility. I began my meandering. Up and down each aisle, perusing. Lost in thought. Wandering, wondering, “What do I want?”

Through the gorgeous fresh produce section, I ambled. Glorious bunches of leafy greens, freshly misted. Beautiful richly coloured fruits and vegetables. Giant, brilliant buckets of flowers. Luxurious. Magnificent. So inviting.

Then, the pantry aisles. Chock-o-block full of colorful jars, cans and little bags and boxes. Gleaming like trinkets in a jeweller’s window.

And the bakery… oh, the bakery. The bakery elves were clearly at work all night producing these magnificent sweet, spicy, aromatic morsels. Warm, steaming, cookies cooling on racks.

I hear my young son in my head, asking, ‘Oooh, can we get cinnamon rolls, Mom?’

I strolled. I meandered. I considered.
I wondered what I might want—for myself.

I arrived finally at the cash desk, rolling my large cart forward. I reached into the depths of my cart and pulled out an item—a shiny blue and gold box of Kraft Dinner. That’s it. That’s all. Not another thing. The only item in my cart. One box of KD.

Not a single vegetable. Not even a piece of fruit. Not a carton of ice cream. Not a cookie, cupcake or square.

Thirty or forty minutes of delightfully wasted time. Utterly lost, yet deliciously savored. Like a yummy stroll through Tiffany’s. And what did I come home with, one single box of macaroni and cheese. One of his favorites.

It still brings a smile to my heart. A moment of recollection. Such a heartwarming connection with my son.

I smiled at the puzzled cashier saying, “Clearly, I forgot what I came in for.”

Love it.

Sometimes connection doesn’t need words.
Love? Sometimes love shows up in the smallest, silliest gestures — a quiet little nod to someone who’s not there but always is.

I came in for nothing, really, and left with everything—smiling and a full heart.

Until next time,