I’ve done it again. Every so often I grocery shop like I’m still working. When I first retired I loved the previously-not-available option of doing my grocery shopping on a Monday or Tuesday morning. That’s when the stores were nearly empty and I could manoeuvre my cart without constantly bumping into other people. If I found I was missing something or short an ingredient for a recipe on Thursday or Friday I could simply nip over to the store again and pick it up. Market shopping is a luxury not available to most working people because of the time constraints and I grew to love it.

Then, something went wrong. When I went to remove my Christmas turkey from the freezer, I was nearly toppled by an avalanche of frozen meals, meat, bread, and other in-case-there-is-an-emergency food supplies. The freezer was so jam-packed I couldn’t have squeezed in a single butter tart. That’s when I realized I’d slipped back into old habits established during my working days of stock-piling food, even though I no longer needed to.

I blame Costco. As soon as I walk through those doors with that giant-sized cart calling out to be filled, I get unbelievably stupid. What retired couple needs four pounds of butter frozen for future use? When I drag home an entire side of bargain-priced pork loin for $18.00 to be sliced and frozen for more than two dozen individual meals I find myself wondering what on earth the poor farmer makes from raising that pig. For some bizarre reason, I picked up two enormous bags of shredded cheddar cheese during my last trip. I never make tacos or quesadillas. I prefer my cheddar very old, very Canadian, and only from very select sources. Does anyone need some shredded cheddar cheese?

Our freezer(s), fridge(s), and pantry are packed to bursting. I do not anticipate a foreign invasion (although after the recent American election, maybe I should re-think that one!), a nuclear disaster, or a weeks-long power outage. We eat considerably less than we did when we were younger and were still working. We entertain less and now opt for simple meals over labour-intensive grand culinary productions. This all adds up to needing and using less food but that message seems to have slipped through the cracks of my aging brain.

I’ve successfully weaned myself off meaningless mall shopping unless it’s absolutely necessary. I now need to train my brain to adopt the same approach to grocery shopping. With what I have on hand, I could probably survive until 2036 without buying any more food. I admire those people who challenge themselves to go a year without buying anything new. Except for fresh produce, I should accept a similar challenge when I go to the grocery store. If I should die unexpectedly, my beneficiaries will inherit a bonus year’s supply of groceries.

I realize my habit of stockpiling food comes from a position of relative privilege. Even though I can cost-justify it as economizing, I need to reprogram my boomer brain to recognize that I could manage very well with considerably less. So, if you see an old lady in my car pulling out of the driveway heading to Costco, “Stop the car, stop the car”. Take away my car keys. Confiscate my debit card. Calmly offer to take me for a Timmie’s steeped tea and a lovely chat. Do whatever you think will work to abort my mission. I’m running out of freezer and storage space and trying to eat our stockpile does my waistline no favours. Your assistance is appreciated.