The letter:
My dearest Bill,
The other day, around 3:00pm on a random Wednesday, I was headed to the grocery store to get something to make for dinner. As you know, I’ve been slacking on the food front for some time and can’t seem to get organized the way I used to. Remember when I would go through our cookbooks every Sunday and plan the meals for the week, and then shop once for the entire week? I know, I know, I always made a second trip; but still, the bulk of the food was in the fridge.
I did that for more than a decade, but it was such a monotonous task I can’t bring myself to keep up with it. So now I play ‘catch as catch can’ and, as you like to say, shop like a French woman who goes to the store each day for that night’s meal. This has its own annoyances, but at least there’s food on the table.
Anyhow, on my way there Wednesday I was thinking about how grateful I am to have never, in all the years since we had kids, had to face a trip to the grocery store in the evening or on the weekend. I have always gone on a weekday—always—which has made the quality of my life so much better not having to deal with the stress of long lines or having to make sure I get to the store at the final hour. There was always the next day.
I’ve had this life because of you.
