by Charles C Robey
(Trussville, AL, 35173)
(Isaiah 46:4) “And I will still be carrying you when you are old. Your hair will turn gray, and I will still carry you. I made you, and I will carry you to safety.”
Being older than dirt and twice as gritty, as I often relate, and having grown up in the good old Fifties leaves me many good memories stored away in the recesses of my mind.
Yes, those were surely the good ole days for this old coot. If you have ever seen a coot bird bob its head like a hen as it swims or walks, that’s me, this harmless old coot. Why, I often joke that I am old enough to have my Bible autographed.
May I place my old, tired mind on pause and say this in passing? Oftentimes, the wife will remind me that I tend to associate current events with food, which I cannot refute. In my senior moments, I associate certain current events as such, even indulging in an occasional second helping.
Yes, those were the good old days, the days of carefree cooking and eating. Not like today’s frozen TV dinners and prepared food in a cup. My lineage of cooks prepared their meals the old-fashioned way using pure lard and lived to be a hundred, surprisingly enough. No false nutrition pyramids for them. Just meals made with natural, wholesome ingredients.
Homemade victuals galore they conjured up, with the help of the old wooden rolling pin, flour dough and home-churned cow’s milk butter. My mother-in-law would fill the table with homemade foods and those big cat-head biscuits. The left overs would be saved in the big wood stove warming oven for later.
So, for me the most important meal of the day has to be breakfast. I wake up hungry every day. After looking in the mirror in admiration at this fine-looking, young-at-heart country gentleman, I ramble over to my kitchen heaven. I down my daily dose of red, yellow and white prescribed energy pills. Then, off to the food prep. I pop a frozen waffle in the toaster, or maybe pour a big bowl of that breakfast-of-champions cereal. Don’t forget to add the banana.
Smelling smoky or burning smells - signifying burnt toast - is a common family phenomenon. While smelling burnt toast in particular is not diagnostic, smelling something that isn't seen can be a sign of a more serious condition. However, there are many potential causes of smelling burnt toast which I have related over the past decades of life.
OK, my good neighbor, I must admit I tend to ramble a bit, with a few short-lived dreams thrown in, which are admirably named cat naps.
I just love toast, but not burnt toast, of course. My Dad often said, “Anybody can make toast. All one need do is place the bread in the toaster. If the bread so happens to get burned in the process, you take it over to the sink and scrape it."
No timers, thermostats, no pop-up controls. You simply pulled down one of the two side flaps, set the bread on the flap and closed the flap. When the bread looked brown, you pulled open the flap. The only problem, Mom would oftentimes forget to watch the toaster, so there would be burnt toast.
And, I’ll never forget one odd breakfast morning. Our guest preacher-man was staying over, as Dad was the local community pastor. Dad happened to awaken rather early, hearing a commotion in the kitchen. Dad entered the kitchen to the sight of his life. The guest was laboring over the kitchen stove. What a mess! Dad asking the guest what had happened. His response, “I knew you were tired, so I wanted to make breakfast. I was cooking pancakes. When I couldn’t get them to flip over, I just scrambled them.” No routine breakfast devotional reading in the Bible that day.
What was this short food musing all about? Did its writing have a certain secular or spiritual purpose, or real life meaning? Could it have been based on spiritual thinking, or socialistic happenings?
“So, whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” (I Corinthians 10:31)
So, why this format? Did they really take place, these overwhelming food memories? Could it even have been a dream? You see, I’ve been known to take a short nap now and then. Could it have been a play on my subconscious? Maybe my old age vivid recall acting up again. If so, as previously mentioned, usually my dreams do center around food, especially the wife’s good old-fashioned victuals.
So, was this writing given as mental nourishment, as days-gone-by thoughts to this unsettled time of my life? Simply food for thought, I guess.
Never mind its source, it did happen sparking the meditation of my mind's stored thought process and my sharing of these ridiculous thoughts for your benefit.
I do, however, understand the consequences of words better than some of our populace, but less than others. It doesn’t hurt to stretch the imagination a little sometimes. I am somewhat curious, nonetheless, as to how you may relate to these thoughts. How you may consider this meditating format?
Hopefully you have lived through such activity. If not, just ask your papaw. He will understand and be more than delighted to go back in time and talk about it all. That is, if you can get him awake.
“Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.” (Proverbs 16:31)
Apparently, the wisest man who ever lived, King Solomon must have read (Leviticus 19:32) as he’s in agreement with this older-than-dirt, gray-haired coot's thinking. Amen!
I said all that to say this. “Jesus answered, "It is written: 'Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God." (Matthew 4:4)
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