The text was terse: “Don’t ever send me to the store again when I’m hungry.”

My daughter had offered to pick up a few things for me at the market, and by a few, I mean fewer than 10 items.

We’re still unpacking the car.

“These are for when I visit,” Sara said, popping a box of frozen waffles in the freezer.

“Did you remember my English Breakfast Tea?” I asked.

“Mom, anyone who knows you would not forget your tea.”

At least one of the items on my list had been checked off, but what was in the other six bags?

Sara thought it would be a great day for an onion soup and sour cream dip. Maybe a little white wine to go with.

“Is this for lunch or dinner?” I asked. She replied with one of those “Really, Mom?” looks that meant, of course, it was for an in-between-meal snack.

She went on

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