Oatmeal
Just some general musings this morning as I have my bowl of oatmeal. Every time I eat oatmeal, I'm reminded of mornings on my grandparents' farm.
They lived on a small farm nestled between two hills. Woods Creek babbled joyfully through the middle of the farm, splitting the land pretty much in two. By the time I came along, there wasn't much farming going on. My grandfather was a retired logger and kept the neighbor's cows just to keep the fields clear. It was a tranquil setting and I loved going to spend the night at their house, which happened infrequently.
It was a tiny little house, really only three main rooms. On the front of the house was a larger room, which consisted of the living room/dining room area. The TV was in that room, but it wasn't on very often, other than for the news. Grandpa always watched the news.
The other half of the house was split in two, and consisted of the kitchen and my grandparents' bedroom. Off on the side were a small bathroom and a pantry. There were no cupboards or counter space in the kitchen. How my grandmother managed to cook for over 40 years in that house, I don't know. Her sink was half the size of mine, and she only had one. I have two. What a different lifestyle it was back then!
Anyway, back to oatmeal. I was an early riser, and so was my grandfather. The house was always so cold in the morning, because they heated the house with a woodstove, and that meant Grandpa had to get up early to light it. I would crawl out of bed, and he would snuggle me while the house got warm. He always smelled of wood smoke, snuff and sweat. Manly man-smells. And like a manly man, he didn't cook, except for oatmeal, which he called 'mush'. Good old fashioned Quaker Oats, with the man in the blue hat, smiling because he knew you were having a good breakfast. It didn't matter how much you begged. Grandpa would not even fix a bowl of the sugary cereal Grandma kept on hand for us kids. If you were hungry, you got mush. Then he'd sit down and turn on the radio for the morning news. Or as he would say, "Shall we see if the world blew up last night?" I never understood that phrase as a child, but realize now that he had a legitimate concern. It was the height of the Cold War, for heaven sakes!
So, as I sit today enjoying my 'mush', I think of Grandpa, and those cold morning spent safe in his arms. It's a good way to start the day.
They lived on a small farm nestled between two hills. Woods Creek babbled joyfully through the middle of the farm, splitting the land pretty much in two. By the time I came along, there wasn't much farming going on. My grandfather was a retired logger and kept the neighbor's cows just to keep the fields clear. It was a tranquil setting and I loved going to spend the night at their house, which happened infrequently.
It was a tiny little house, really only three main rooms. On the front of the house was a larger room, which consisted of the living room/dining room area. The TV was in that room, but it wasn't on very often, other than for the news. Grandpa always watched the news.
The other half of the house was split in two, and consisted of the kitchen and my grandparents' bedroom. Off on the side were a small bathroom and a pantry. There were no cupboards or counter space in the kitchen. How my grandmother managed to cook for over 40 years in that house, I don't know. Her sink was half the size of mine, and she only had one. I have two. What a different lifestyle it was back then!
Anyway, back to oatmeal. I was an early riser, and so was my grandfather. The house was always so cold in the morning, because they heated the house with a woodstove, and that meant Grandpa had to get up early to light it. I would crawl out of bed, and he would snuggle me while the house got warm. He always smelled of wood smoke, snuff and sweat. Manly man-smells. And like a manly man, he didn't cook, except for oatmeal, which he called 'mush'. Good old fashioned Quaker Oats, with the man in the blue hat, smiling because he knew you were having a good breakfast. It didn't matter how much you begged. Grandpa would not even fix a bowl of the sugary cereal Grandma kept on hand for us kids. If you were hungry, you got mush. Then he'd sit down and turn on the radio for the morning news. Or as he would say, "Shall we see if the world blew up last night?" I never understood that phrase as a child, but realize now that he had a legitimate concern. It was the height of the Cold War, for heaven sakes!
So, as I sit today enjoying my 'mush', I think of Grandpa, and those cold morning spent safe in his arms. It's a good way to start the day.
posted by Rooskie Dooskie at 9:12 AM
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