Yesterday I went to the grocery store for a few things and you know how that can be. But on this trip I didn’t come home with a $12 pint of huckleberries or a $25 bottle of shampoo. I got what I needed with my two children writhing in and out of the cart.
Bananas. Yogurt. Oatmeal. Butter.
The next thing on the list: dish soap. I sniffed a few different kinds and settled on one cheap, lemon-scented bottle. I threw it in the cart, told Lucille to stop climbing over the rail of the cart for the tenth time, and I was on my way. I circled the store trying to remember if there was anything I was forgetting. I passed the soap aisle again, on my way to the cash register, and whipped in quickly to exchange my cheap, lemon dish soap for Palmolive, the kind my grandmother uses. Then I headed straight for the clothes detergent and grabbed a jug of Gain. We didn’t even need clothes detergent.
As I packed my groceries into my car, I opened the bottle of Gain just to get a whiff. It smelled like my Dad. The Palmolive, my grandmother’s kitchen.
Standing in the Safeway parking lot all I could think was how much I miss them.
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