Mom always knows

I came home last night to find a delivery slip from the USPS. I figured I could pick it up today--the post office is just around the corner, and I'd have the whole afternoon to recover from the exertion before our sally to Chinatown this evening--but monshu beat me to it. It was, as I suspected, a care package from my mother, who sent us an insulated bag for carrying wine stuffed with my two favourite kinds of Kashi bars. Now it might seem a little weak-minded to spend $5 on postage to send commercial granola bars, but I've actually been having trouble finding them here. The Old Man said he didn't see them at the Safeminicks last time he went. So it really was terribly thoughtful. (Not to mention a bit uncanny, because I don't recall mentioning this to her.)

And timely to boot, since the reduced mobility is negatively affecting my eating habits. Junk food is close and good food is farther away. Yesterday afternoon, I found myself in front of the vending machines on the second floor actually contemplating the microwavable sliders. (Fortunately the machine was jammed and a colleague helped talk me into a Payday instead.) I did consider trekking to a nearby cafeteria for something better, but I just couldn't face it one hour before having to make my way home. I fear gopower may be right and I'll be facing some weight gain despite the daily workouts.