Instacart: Worth it?

Not sponsored. Just my own curious musings.

For a few weeks now I've been getting coupons from Instacart for Convenience Orders. I've used a few, but this latest one I decided to skip and go to the store myself. The coupon expired a few days ago, but I was curious what the actual cost difference was had I used delivery vs. going to the store myself. 

Here are my actual grocery trip items purchased. I've written beside the items I had special discounts or coupons for. Everything else was normal store price. Please note, this is not a normal weekly grocery shopping list...we definitely eat more than bagels, orange juice, and eggs in a week. 😅

Bagels - free

Paper Plates 

Plastic Cups

Napkins

Shaving Cream x3

4 lb Sugar x3 - store had a special coupon

Half Gallon OJ x3 - store had a special coupon

Dozen Eggs 

Total: $24.89

*Same Instacart Convenience Cart with **coupons:

*There was one item I could not match exactly so I found the closest match I could which was still cheaper.

**I'm going under the assumption that I would be purchasing with a coupon. If I didn't have a coupon I would probably never use this service because it would be significantly more expensive than if I went to the store myself. This order screenshot is showing you what I would have paid if I had used Instacart to purchase. Just a reminder, my coupon expired so I could not actually apply it to the order to show you. However, I did the math myself below. 

If I add in my own math with the coupon, subtracting $20 from the total would have equalled $26.15. For this specific shopping trip, I had a coupon for free bagels, so by physically going to the store myself, I could use it and get my free bagels. I actually did not include the bagels in the Instacart order because it was going to add an extra $5 which would most definitely skew this experiment. 

Instacart ended up being only $1.26 more expensive than my in-person shopping trip. However, as I mentioned before, I would not be able to get my free bagels. 

From my experiences using it, these would be my personal pros and cons with Instacart:

Pros:

- delivered to your door

- the coupons they send you can be really great

Cons: 

- you don't get to pick your own produce

- every item is marked up, sometimes by over $1.00 from actual store prices

- can't use store coupons/flyer special prices

Keep in mind this is specifically for Convenience Orders. These are the only orders I've ever received coupons for, but they also include special pricing and extra fees. 

My personal conclusion is probably 50/50. Sometimes I would pay the extra premium to get groceries delivered to my house. Sometimes, I would rather get the savings (and/or free items) and go to the store myself. I will say, if it weren't for covid, I would have never even given a second thought to grocery delivery companies. So...I guess I'd have to thank the pandemic for introducing me to an extra level of convenience I would have never known otherwise.

🙂

Very Interesting

So this weekend we went on a whim and we decided we wanted to make some breakfast sausage because we had leftover biscuits from a previous meal. However, I didn't have any actual breakfast sausage. I had regular ground pork, and that was it. I decided, why not? I'm a pretty good cook. Let me just add some spices and make my own breakfast sausage. 

So I took a portion of the pork and added lots of seasonings, salt, pepper, and the whole nine yards to it. 

I cooked it out in my skillet and then saved it for another meal. That night, my husband was thinking to himself, “Ohh, we have some breakfast sausage! Let me make myself a little breakfast sandwich. That sounds delicious right now.” 

It looks like normal sausage. Looks can be deceiving...

So he heated up the sausage patty, cooked an egg, and got a biscuit to make himself a nice breakfast sandwich. After he put it together and ate it, I asked him how it was. He said, “It was interesting.” And I just looked at him and kind of laughed. 

He asked me if I had tried some and I said no. So then I asked him if it was bad. He responded once again with, "It was interesting." 

Then, I was curious. I still hadn't tried it myself, so I decided to break off a small piece, heated it up, and tried it plain. Boy, was it interesting.

It was so interesting that after chewing it in my mouth and tasting it, I laughed. Yes, that's right. I laughed! Strange reaction, right? Indeed. 

I laughed because as I ate it, the initial flavor was actually okay. It didn't taste like the store bought breakfast sausage, but it was okay. And then as I continued to chew and taste in my mouth, the flavor started to change. That's when it became interesting, weird, and strange, all at the same time. 

Neither of the flavors individually would have been considered bad, but when all 2-3 flavors were mixed in together in this piece of sausage, it was weird. It's like those flavor changing candies that slowly melt into different flavors as you suck on them in your mouth, except this was multiple flavors that did not exactly complement each other. So it was just a weird wacky whirlwind of flavor changing.

***

A few days later, I heated up a second patty (I made 3) and ate it with some ketchup in a biscuit as my lunch. My husband vowed not to eat my "interesting" sausage anymore so the last two were mine. As I ate it in my biscuit sandwich, I really thought it tasted fine. Not like the store-bought and not easily identifiable as "breakfast sausage" but it tasted fine. So either my taste buds adjusted or it really wasn't as bad as my husband and I originally made it out to be.

I guess we'll never know. I bought two store-bought breakfast sausage rolls today for future use. I will refrain from making my own spice mixture for breakfast sausage in the future. 

Missed Calls

In my first book I published, I wrote a story entitled Three Missed Calls. I reread it recently and refreshed my own memory on what it was like to date in high school. I "wasn't supposed" to date and the guy I was dating definitely wasn't supposed to have a girlfriend, so we created a system of how we could call each other in the evenings. We both had cell phones, but we still took advantage of the free minutes after 9 pm. His cell phone was also on prepaid minutes to be used for emergencies only, not for talking to girls on the phone for multiple hours a day. This was 2006; we were a little behind. 

Our plan was pretty genius. He would call me in the evenings when he could get a hold of his home phone and not be noticed by his parents. If I didn't catch the call on my cell phone, I'd call him back on his cell phone to let him know I was ready. Instead of picking up on his cell phone though, he would reject the call to save his minutes and then call me back on my cell phone using his home phone. Brilliant, right? I mean, how many other 14 year olds are able to think like this? 

My first cell phone. 

In the story I wrote, the title was derived from one specific detail where I had been practicing piano downstairs and left my phone on my bedroom floor upstairs. He had called me three times that afternoon to try and talk to me and I missed all of them because I was studiously practicing piano downstairs. Well, in retrospect, I'm glad the piano practicing paid off even if the guy didn't end up sticking around. 😏

***

That was 16 years ago. I never thought I'd feel that same excitement I used to feel to get a phone call from someone as I do now. But I do. 

He's not a boyfriend. He's not my husband. He's not related to me. But he is dearly special. He has walked with me through dark times in my life. He has helped me deal with grief I didn't know I had. He has mentored me. He taught me how to value myself and how to see myself as worthy. He has taught me how to love music. He has taught me most of what I know about music. In some ways, he has been a better father-figure to me than my own biological father. He has the biggest heart and is the most selfless person I know, probably to a fault. We used to be able to talk on the phone for an unlimited amount of time. I used to be able to send him a text message about whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. He used to be able to send me a text message about whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. 

But not anymore.

The other day I missed two of his calls. I never thought in my life I would feel that same frustration at having missed so many phone calls in the year 2022. But I have. I can't call him back to signal that I was ready to chat on the phone. I can't call him back at all. There are no free minutes. Our calls, when I pick up, are limited to 15 minutes. And after the call ends sharply after 15 minutes on the nose, sometimes without even enough time to say a proper goodbye, that sad, empty feeling, the dropping inside my stomach comes and settles itself for a bit. Unsettled. 

And I wait for the next one in a few days. Or a few weeks.

I don't know.

Momma Cat

Today's blog is a guest entry. I didn't really ask for permission, but I don't think he would mind. Also, it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. 😉 Cats are very dear to him and this is the beginnings of a story of a very special cat who infiltrated his life for a period of time.

***

First time I saw that Junkyard, I was amazed at the old cars I saw: a Citicar (a 70's electric car that flopped on the market) several Studebakers, Perhaps 15 Corvairs, a terrific-and ancient-VW van, a Packard, a drivable 'top-line 73 Gremlin, and animals...lots of animals.

The junkyard owner is rather simple, and his idea of feeding the animals is to toss a bunch of chow into the trough and let the four-legs go at it, and devil take the hindmost.

That means, of course, that the big dogs are fat and the little cats starve. 

The kittens were emaciated and filthy, and the mother cat was scrawny as she could be, yet she was beautiful with the glow of maternal love, and had a sweet and tender disposition, like any mother does. She sat in the same shady place on the porch, as if glued to it.

She obviously loved her kittens, yet she could do so little to take care of them, against that canine tidal wave.

Whenever I visited the junkyard, to buy parts, or haggle about this or that car, or just to look, I'd take food for the cats.

And I always fed Momma cat first. 

I could, possibly, have lassoed each of those myriad kittens in turn, and fed them one by one. The result wouldn't have been very successful, though, because they didn't know or trust me, and I didn't even know where they all were.

But I knew that if I fed Momma Cat, if I gave her the help she needed, if I put her first, then she would have the strength to take care of her babies, far better and more completely then I ever could, no matter how deeply I cared and wanted to help.

So I fed her first.

I also had some very stern words for the simpleton in charge. A 2-pound kitten loses to an 80-pound Doberman every time, so he had to feed the babies away from the big'uns. He's not a bad guy, but "junkyard owner" is probably the top of his intellectual potential, so I can only hope the lesson sunk in.

But the overall lesson is the important one: Feed Momma cat first, even if we ourselves are Momma. It's not just OK, but necessary.

Memories In the Wild

I had received a text message from the mom of one of my piano student's. She was asking me about lessons for a friend and then asked me if I had written a book. I was astonished as how she found out that information as it's not something I broadcast publicly. She told me it was the first thing that came up when she searched my name on the internet.

Well, then. 

Before I leapt to incorrect conclusions of being a famous author, I correctly put the pieces together.

- she paid me via PayPal and my maiden name was still attached to that account.

- my maiden name is quite obscure. I'm no John Smith or Jane Doe.

I actually searched myself using my maiden name and low and behold, it came up. My book was being sold on a book reselling website. I found the listing. The seller had put in the description, "A paperback book SIGNED and inscribed by author to previous owner on the first page in very good condition that has some bumped corners, wrinkling and crease, light discoloration and shelf wear. 8"x5", 177 pages." 

Immediately, I felt slightly betrayed. Who would part with a personal, signed copy of my book? I had personally ordered 25 copies and sold them only for the price of printing. I kept one copy. 

I told my husband about this and he asked me if I would buy it just to take it out of circulation. I said, "Of course not. This person is trying to sell it for twice what I charged my friends and I didn't care whether it was in some random person's possession or not."

But it was still eating away at me who had given away their copy of my book. I understood he/she could do whatever he/she wanted and it didn't matter if it was my book or not. But I still felt hurt.

My biggest accomplishment before I had kids. $0 profit but 1000% satisfaction.

I loved writing, and I wrote these books at a time in my life when I needed them the most. They were my therapy. I didn't care to become rich and famous. I just wanted a place to catalogue my writing and keep it close to me. And I did exactly that. These are stories of my life, my experiences, my loves lost, my sadness, my anger, my joy, and my adventures. 

When I wrote the first one and shared them with interested friends, one friend gasped and said, "You used their real names!" I did. The reason why I did was because I had nothing to hide. These were true stories of my life. I said nothing incriminating about anyone in my book. In fact, I mostly said good things because that is how I remembered them. The bad things came with the sadness they made me feel. It didn't make them a bad person. 

I didn't realize it then, but there would come a day (now) when I would forget parts of my past experiences. Had I coded their names, I would not be able to remember who it was. And that would devalue the memory. Writing it the way they happened allowed me to save the memory and keep it true to the person. 

I reread them every now and then. Reading my own writing from so long ago makes me cringe. I see places with errors I failed to catch. I see unpolished works I once thought were "pretty good." I think only 1-2 pieces in total still impress me the way they did when I wrote them. But that's the power of wisdom. I know I can see things now through a different lens than I could when I was 18 or 20. 

**

I found out whose book the seller was listing online. I saw my personalization in the front, something I did for every person who bought a copy of any book I offered. At first, I was sad. I wondered why this person would choose to let go of my book. And then I figured it out. This person has always had a big heart. This person has always been a giver, not a taker. This person would want to share my writing with someone else. That's all. It's unfortunate it ended up in the hands of someone trying to take advantage of an opportunity to capitalize, but I believe that was never the intent.

And then I let go of the hurt.