Measurements matter at the grocery store. Ray and I can each buy a sixteen-ounce bottle of kombucha and finish it before we get home from the store. With some onion, green pepper, two or three pints of marinara sauce, and some pasta,…
Don’t ask me what this photographer was aiming at when he took this picture, but here we are, Mother, Steve, and me, in front of Boyd’s Market. I must have been about six years old. I’m sure that Mother had…
When I was a girl, I went to Daddy Leland’s grocery store almost every day. I felt at home all over the store–in the aisles where Daddy put up stock, at the checkout stand with Earlene the checker, in the butcher department with…
