Thursday is my Saturday for those who don’t know or can’t keep track of my schedule.

Since my schedule change— from second shift to day shift— I have met with my friend Nancy (poet and essayist and blind lady with a wicked sense of humor and simple approach to life’s joys) usually every other Thursday to work on her writing commitments.

Recent changes in her life have made that every Thursday now, as I help her with some errands, and then I changed trainers at the gym and the teenager now works out with us so Nan gets Thursday morning while the teen is at school.

It’s automatic in my brain. As automatic as my standing Friday morning chiropractor appointment.

But what happens when we get together is never ordinary. Or the same two weeks in a row.

Like today we were going to see if our local Family Dollar had the individual creamers she likes. Except they weren’t open. So we opted to go to ShopRite.

And somehow— I got turned about driving there and thought I was on the wrong road but I wasn’t. So we zigzagged all over the place and eventually I had to Google map the grocery store.

We finally made it to ShopRite and the first thing I saw was a single serve bottle of orange juice— which Nancy is always looking for.

Then I saw fried chicken, still warm out of the oven. $9 for eight pieces. I had to get it. And I knew damn well I’d probably end up eating in the car.

Nan and I went through the various salads and deli meats— I picked out some broccoli slaw and ultra sharp cheddar for Nan and some black pepper Cooper for myself.

And next we saw small partial loaves of rye bread in the bakery. And muffins.

And so it went.

We found the items we needed, items we didn’t and a slew of things that we want to buy in the future.

The cashier actually addressed Nancy and understood to speak so Nancy could locate her.

And then we were in my car eating warm fried chicken at 9:15 a.m. Nan hadn’t had fried chicken in ages, and she kept saying she didn’t want any. But I insisted and handed her a drumstick.

She said it was delicious and that she’d forgotten that she likes fried chicken. And I said I’d be good on the fried chicken front for probably at least six months if not a year.

And then she pulled wet naps out of her purse.

After retrieving Nan’s laundry and taking her groceries home, I brought Nan back to my house for chai and well, the plan was poetry. But we got sucked into NASA briefings (crew4 and Axiom) on YouTube.

Nan listened to the briefings and pet the dog while I cooked some random items for her to share with the teenager and I. Nan enjoys my cuisine so when she comes over I try to send her home with a meal.

Sometimes you need to have fried chicken with a friend, in the car, for breakfast.