But it was still soup weather, as far as I was concerned. And what I hankered for was not out of a can. Not ‘dust’, from a just-add-water-and-stir box. Not store made. I wanted home made soup. Specifically, my mother’s chicken soup. She made THE best chicken soup.
Which meant a trip to the grocery store was in my immediate future. I looked outside and everything seemed to be all right. At least as much as I could see from fifteen floors up. So I fed the cats, had breakfast, read the paper, took a shower, emptied litter boxes; and waited to see if the urge would pass. It didn’t.
So I made a list of all the ingredients I’d need, and got dressed. And dicked around for a while. Much as I wanted the soup, I was in no rush to leave the warmth and comfort of my abode. But then I spoke to a friend and committed myself. Continue reading