Gruel for Breakfast

I’m fairly certain that a spoonful of oatmeal hadn’t passed through my lips between the mid 1970s and September of 2015 when it was served to me in the hospital.  I gave up eating breakfast in the latter part of my high school years when I started showering daily, and washing and blow drying my hair each morning to try to attract the attention of a certain Judy K., a gorgeous strutter in the marching unit.  Skipping breakfast allowed me to add the hygiene ritual to the start of my school days without sacrificing any precious minutes of sleep.  I volunteered to switch from playing the baritone horn to the Sousaphone to try to catch Judy’s eye too.  Guess how well that worked out for me.  Suffice it to say I was the cleanest tubist in the band.  Well, maybe.  I’m not sure how often Denise, the other tubist, bathed, but she and I are Facebook friends these days.  I have no idea what became of Judy.

Anyway, since the hospital stay in 2015 oatmeal has been on the shelf and occasionally eaten, especially during the colder months.  I just started having it again because of the change in the weather in the past few weeks and it was my choice this morning before I even thought about taking the scooter out with the temperatures still only in the high 30s.  I prepared my bowlful and brought it into the living room to have with whatever cop show happened to be on the TV.

 PUBLIC DOMAIN ILLUSTRATION

 As I often do before digging into a meal, I paused before slurping up the first spoonful to snap a picture of the stuff.  It was then as I stared down at the brown mush with the camera poised that my odd brain, noted for popping up strange thoughts quite regularly, cranked out the phrase, “A bowl of gruel.”  Only then did I realize, even after having read my share of Dickens in my time, that I had no idea of what gruel actually was so I called out to Google Home, “Hey, Google, what’s gruel?”  Admittedly I was surprised to discover that my bowl of oatmeal was indeed a type of the glop of which the bold Master Twist requested more.  I felt complete for the day having just learned a new and interesting fact; everything else I’d enjoy after that would be a decided bonus!

 

My bowl rinsed out, my taste buds happy, my brain feeling smarter, and my belly full enough, I layered up for a scooter ride that I wasn’t totally sure I wanted to take with the sun still hiding behind some obstinate clouds and a brisk wind blowing the Penguins flag and turning the pinwheel on the deck at a decent speed.  My ensemble complete with a tee shirt, flannel shirt, hooded sweatshirt, and nylon jacket I ventured out.  Before I’d reached the street I knew I was going to be happy with my decision to take the scooter out even if I wasn’t going to be toasty warm.

 FOUR LAYERS OF INSULATION.  WELL BESIDES MY NATURAL “PADDING.”

 I stopped at the garage to arrange for a grease and oil change for the car, rode to the bank to get some money out for the weekend, and then to the bakery where I knew the trays of what I call “Friday pizza” would be calling to me.  The bakery only makes its fabulous pizza on Fridays and more often than not it’s my choice for a Friday lunch.  (I might have noted my love of the stuff here before.  Maybe more than once.)  I selected four fat slices of their Sicilian, over a pound of it by the kitchen scale as I'd discover later, and headed home satisfied with my ride and glad that I’d taken it in spite of my initial reservations.  It was just a nice length to satisfy my desire to do some riding but without chilling me to the bone.

 I suppose that’s all I was planning to write here which is good because Jeopardy will be coming on in just a little while and I need to make my nest on the couch with pillows and a plush fleece blanket and park myself so a cat or two can climb atop me for the evening.  I know winter will be here way too soon, but until it comes I’m planning to enjoy the autumn as much as I can, chilly scooter rides included!