The Land of Milk and Honey, and Produce and Cereal and ...

Am I the only person who has a love-hate relationship with the grocery store? During the school year I am relegated to evenings and weekends at the supermarket. At these times the store is invariably noisy and filled with rude customers who would rather tromp over someone than utter a simple, "Excuse me." Even the clerks are agitated and grating because they're listening to these whiney people complain about how long it takes to check out. If I could shop on Tuesday, Thursday, or Friday morning around 10 a.m., the grocery store would be my favorite place to go. Imagine strolling leisurely up and down the aisles, pausing whenever you choose to read a label, find a coupon, or study the differences among six brands of mayonnaise. It would be glorious.

As a matter of fact, this is just what I do during summer break. Donning my favorite denim skimmers, slip-on tennies, and a soft cotton tee prepares me for the adventure of grocery shopping. Armed with my trusty coupon organizer (cleverly disguised as a worn out photo album) and a detailed list of food and sundry items, I gleefully hop into the car, pop the top on the convertible and let the wind ruffle my hair in anticipation of cruising through the edibles emporium (a.k.a. Fry's Food and Drug). I realize this sounds inane, but the joys of shopping in a nearly empty grocery store are numerous and immediate.

Obviously, I never have to bring a cart in from the parking lot since they are lined up - row upon gleaming row - waiting for my arrival. Nor do I have to carry along my own disinfecting wipes for fear the container at the store will be empty. And, after I have procured by metal chariot and thoroughly wiped down the handlebar, I may stroll through the silent automatic doors to a cheerful "Good Morning, ma'am" from the person standing just inside the blissfully cool respite from the central Arizona heat. Some 80's pop music filters through the background and I begin humming along. (My son says I know every song played in every store we visit.)

The produce section - one of my favorite parts of the store - greets me with a riot of color and texture as I glide fully inside the structure. I can (and frequently do) meander here among the fresh fruits and vegetables - smelling the peaches, husking the silver queen sweet corn, and carefully selecting the best portabellas from the pile. In the midst of summer, this place is loaded like a farmer's market, only better because you don't have to get up early and stand out in the heat.

Of course other parts of the store draw my attention as well. The bakery is always lovely since the smell of yeasty warm bread wafts from its interior beckoning me ever closer to the fresh, fragrant loaves. I seldom leave with only one. The deli, too, which stands adjacent to the bakery, is fun to browse because of its large selection of imported cheeses complete with full-color recipe cards and wine pairings to help the novice nosher. Advancing through the store, each successive aisle has something interesting and entertaining to offer up. The baking aisle has spices from all over the world while the row set aside for South of the Border devotees has dozens of salsas ranging from milquetoast to fire. But, one of the most iconic symbols of American decadence and privilege lurks elsewhere -on the cereal aisle. Most countries (so I am told by my well-traveled, jet setter friends - both of them) have a basic selection of cereal like corn flakes, crisped rice, shredded wheat squares, etc., but this is not so in America. Even in the small bedroom community of Queen Creek, Arizona, we have hundreds of choices for cereal. The row runs half the depth of the (enormous) store and is stacked four shelves high, each crammed with box after box of sugar, fiber, fruit, and nut crunchy breakfast foods.

Actually, the most amazing thing about this aisle (and the entire store) is that I take it for granted. I expect that aisle - and every other - to be brimming with choices. Not only that, but when the store doesn't have exactly the brand, size, color, flavor, or price that I'm looking for - I'm annoyed. Yes, truly annoyed. I guess this is evidence of how spoiled I have become. There was a time when the family budget was so tight that my husband and I walked through the grocery store with a calculator keeping a running total. Whether or not we could treat ourselves to a bag of cookies or a box of flavored herbal tea depended on that little glowing number. Nowadays we still live on a budget, checking for the best price and purchasing generic when it doesn't make a difference, but we no longer worry we won't be able to cover the bill. This is real privilege.

We are so privileged, in fact, that our local grocery store sells cookware, kitchen towels, and pretty seasonal plates in shapes like sunflowers, playful kittens, lacy hearts, and autumn leaves. Right next to the toilet tissue and paper towels, I can buy scented candles and wrought iron sconces. Just one aisle over boasts comforters in 20 colors and 400-thread-count sheet sets to match. The home decor items abound for several more rows before reaching the garden area which sports outdoor swings, grills, tableware, and palm trees. The health and beauty area brings a shopper back into the center of the store with row upon curving row of lotions, creams, cosmetics, and nail polish not to mention the (hundreds) of basics like shampoo, conditioner, cotton swabs, and deodorant. I'll bet there are 50 kinds of toothpaste, alone.

I think these trips to the grocery store should be something we learn to appreciate. It wasn't so long ago that people had to make a separate stop at each store to purchase produce, meats, cheeses, bakery items, etc., or even had the ability to get these items in a shop rather than having to raise or make them on a farm. When put in perspective, the modern grocery store is a marvel, and all those cranky, snippy shoppers who occupy it on Friday evening should learn to see the beauty and richness it provides. Perhaps they should stop by the floral department and literally take a deep, cleansing breath over a bouquet of sunny yellow roses.