Feeding the Gilberts

Maybe because Daddy is never satisfied with my mom’s meals, or maybe because my mom grew up in a family who habitually forgets to eat, whatever the reason, my family hardly ever goes grocery shopping. But every two months or so, when we do go, there is a whirlwind of excitement that courses our veins like alcohol. Previously, I didn’t draw the connection between near starvation and the wondrous excitement of Shop Rite. Now, though, I can see how Libby’s knees giving out and her subsequent collapse to the tile floors in aisle three is not due to random joy, but rather because stale plastic containers of soy nuts won’t be our sole source of nutrition. Running through the aisles, we are like squirrels in autumn, gathering our food supply for the coming season. Hours later, we regroup only to have my mother rush off again, right as the cashier is scanning the last of hundreds of items. At which point, my sisters and I busy ourselves, trying not to show our genuine concern that my mother will forget to return. Eventually she’ll come back, pay the bill, and the wonderful ordeal is over, at least for a couple months.