Oatmeal

This is a very “oatmeal morning” for me. It’s your typical late fall day. There were some pretty cold droplets in the air this morning—not quite snow, but certainly not summery. Trees are bare of leaves, except for the row of spindly oaks that hang onto their dead brown foliage through whatever ice and snow winter will throw at them. Our snowless November has enabled most people to get their leaves raked and composted or bagged or vacuumed up by the city. Lawns are trimmed and ready for what’s to come.

And we’ve got omens of “what’s to come.” In our parking lot the neon-tipped stakes are pounded in to the at-risk corners and edges so that over-zealous snow plows can stay on track and not dig up the lawns as they do their job over the next several snowy months.

But back to oatmeal. For me it’s a great comfort food that gets me going on such a morning. From experience I already know that oatmeal is one of those trigger words that prods memories in the brains of many people. Maybe for you it’s a reminder of home. “Nobody makes oatmeal like my mom, or dad, or grandma.”
Maybe it takes you back to camps of your youth, or of last summer. Was it Ruth or Robert, Irene or Isabelle who stirred up that perfect pot of oatmeal and plopped it in front of you every morning?

We could get into long discussions (I know; I’ve done it!) about what the just right topping is for your oatmeal. Brown sugar, maple syrup, raisins, cinnamon, coconut, prunes, heavy cream, butter…Several of you possess the secrets that keep the lumps at a minimum, that ensure the texture is creamy or oaty or whatever magic oatmeal word was used in your kitchen, or around your dining hall table, at your campsite picnic table. I know it; I’ve used this magic word before!

Now let’s all just take an oatmeal moment and bask in our good memories. It will make the grey day a bit brighter.