This morning I had oatmeal. I like that it has health benefits. That’s not why I’m drawn to it, but it’s a nice bonus. But then I feel guilty; am I not reaping the benefits when I add a pat of butter and a good dollop of brown sugar and so much milk that I can drink it? It’s mostly the butter that I question. I love that added creamy flavor that it adds. I like that oatmeal is warm and satisfies my belly. I used to talk myself out of preparing it because I would have to dirty a pan, a stirring spoon, a bowl, and an eating spoon. I think I’ve gotten past that, unless there are too many dishes in the sink, and then I revert to drinking a cup of milk to get me going. I also like Malt-O-Meal. It’s much messier and requires more time to sit and stir those granules, so they don’t stick and spit all over the stove. Malt-O-Meal has a tendency to seem angry as it boils away having a tantrum inside the little pan and making a mess.

I also have a memory associated with Malt-O-Meal. I don’t think it affects me too much, except that I can’t help but think about it and maybe even chuckle a little when I make Oatmeal. The memory is of me as a child, enjoying my bowl of Malt-O-Meal in my little plastic blue bowl that was made with ridges to appear like a turtle’s shell. Next thing I know I’ve got the stuff in my hair and it was thick, not watered down with milk the way I like my Oatmeal. Well, I knew my mother wasn’t going to be happy and she wasn’t. She had to get me to school. So after a few damnits, she was able to get most of it out of my hair. She didn’t always have a lot of patience. I don’t hold it against her. But I really do prefer Oatmeal now.

I got tired of peanut butter and honey sandwiches. They were my mainstay for a while there; apples were never my favorite fruit. I didn’t enjoy eating them with my hand and that’s unusual for me because I like eating anything I can directly from my hand if I don’t need a fork. I also didn’t like how I seemed to almost always choke on the apple peel. Somehow, though, I decided to give apples another try. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy their sweet taste and juiciness; it’s just that they seemed too much trouble to eat. Now that has changed and only within the past six months or so. Most mornings when I pack my snack bag for work, I cut apples slices and put them in a container with peanut butter. When I get to work, it’s usually one of the first snacks I will tackle. When the juice of the apple eases into my mouth, the smooth peanut butter creating a barrier making the tough peel more digestible, my senses delight.

I saw a cute dog the other day and I couldn’t help but take a photo of him. I was diagonally across the street. His owner went to have lunch and tied him to the parking meter. He kept looking in to find his owner and then he would turn to the street; and then he stepped off the curb onto the street. He was safe from traffic and his cord wasn’t so long that he would eventually go in the middle of the street. He seemed more interested in the traffic than looking into the restaurant window. I sure wonder what it must all look like from a dog’s perspective.

Endnote on dishes in the sink—you know I think sometimes the amount of dishes left in the sink from the previous day, can greatly determine my mood and enthusiasm for coming back to that sink of dishes. There’s nothing like a fresh start for any task—like a blank page.