Scene: Wheeling through the produce department at the grocery store.
Poppy: Pears! Pumpkins!
Rockford: That’s right! What else do you see?
Poppy points at the pineapples.
P: That looks like a food.
A: Those are pineapples.
P, as we pass the tomatoes: Stinky Petes! Red Stinky Petes!
Later, she correctly identified lamb chops and steak at the meat counter. That’s my girl.
Monday: Spaghetti.
Spaghetti night is usually reserved around here for when I’m feeling particularly uninspired in the kitchen. This week, though, its appearance is also prompted by the fact that I have three jars of spaghetti sauce in the pantry, and we were trying to cut the grocery bill down a bit.
Tuesday: Chicken pot pie.
I have a pot pie filling in the freezer, but it’s reserved for use after Pete arrives. Pot pie is a little time-consuming, but it’s worth it. I could eat it every day.
Wednesday: Chicken pot pie, Part II.
… Or two days in a row, at the very least.
Thursday: Tacos.
Friday: Pizza.
And our love is in a time capsule
Let’s dig it up …
(Matthew Sweet, “Time Capsule”)
Whenever we move, we end up with one or two boxes of “stuff” — those last boxes thrown together in the kitchen the night before it’s time to go. They’re usually the last boxes to be unpacked, too, because they rarely hold anything essential. They’re full of the stuff that we probably should have just thrown away but for one reason or another never did.
We opened one such box today. It had remained unpacked for far longer than it should have. It was the random stuff box from the duplex we lived in in Missouri. That was at least three moves ago.
Among the box’s contents: