Now that we live in the city, running to the store isn’t the ordeal it used to be.
When we lived in the country, a gallon of milk was an hour away − 20 minutes to drive to town, 20 minutes back, and the 20 minutes in between that it took to walk from the parking lot to the back of the store where the dairy products are displayed.
I’m surprised my children weren’t raised solely on well water.
But when I started working at the BIG school in the BIG city, a grocery store was almost next door to my new job. If we needed something, IT Guy and I (we carpooled) would just make a stop on the way home from work. The farm was still 35 minutes away so we couldn’t pick up any ice cream but we were good to go for most anything else.
One evening as we stood in line waiting to pay for a few groceries, my mind was spinning, trying to think if there was anything else that we needed on the farm. A lady walked by with a bag of apples and my thoughts leaped to pie, a favorite subject in our home.
I turned to my spouse. “If you help me peel apples when we get home, I’ll make you a pie tonight,” I told him.
IT Guy hesitated and squinted his eyes, clearly torn between hauling hay for the cows or peeling apples and eating a couple of slices of warm homemade pie before bed.
“Mister,” the man in front of us said as he turned around and looked at my husband, “if you don’t take her up on that offer, I will.”