Oats, The Weather and I

Maybe I’m a bit too traditional in some instances, but here it is-I don’t eat oatmeal when the temperature is above forty degrees.  I live in South Carolina, as a consequence, I still have a small canister (18 ounces) of oatmeal in the pantry that I bought in 2016 (don’t worry, it says “best if used before September 22^nd of 2018.”).  

So far this winter, I’ve eaten about four times as much as I did last winter, and it’s starting to look like I’ll be able to use all of it.  That would mean consuming more than 13 servings! In less than two years!  I can see by the forecast for the rest of this month that I will have at least five opportunities to eat oatmeal. (Brrrrr!) Is this a great country, or what?

Retention

I’m not young enough to know everything.

                                                                                                                              -J. M. Barrie

It always seems to have been easiest to think you know everything when you are young.  You get an idea, you think about it a lot, then you come to the conclusion you know everything there is to know about it. This keeps happening again and again.  Soon, you will know it all.

The younger you are, the more likely it seems you have all the answers-you know all about all the “latest things” after all.  Maybe some start out humble, but find they cannot stay that way.   They feel compelled to drop the humble stuff when they learn a few more things.  Knowing more things, they realize they know more than almost everyone they know (especially if most of them happen to be older than they are).    

Is it just one’s youth that leads them to conclude things won’t change, and this day’s success will continue indefinitely?   I can''t answer that, I just don't know. I do know one thing for certain—my memory isn’t what it used to be.  So, if I ever did know many things (never “most things” and certainly not “everything”), it’s too late—I’ve forgotten most of it.   

 

Some Days He’ll Wax Poetic (continued)

Some Days He’ll Wax Poetic (continued)

Some days he’ll wax poetic,

On others, it's just pathetic

Perhaps it comes from too much hard work, he mused.

Unable to recall any work, that notion seemed confused.

Now suppose each day that he insisted

That his first act each day consisted

Of wordcraft and some exercise—

Though too much exertion seems unwise

Ah, but should a rhyme arrive,

He can take it for a drive.

And if he feels a spin,

He might just dive right in.

He won’t really wish to swim,

Such commitment bothers him.

That’s why he values the diving

It precludes all the striving,

It ‘s merely sink or swim

Which makes beginning simpler for him.

Now and then his muse will ignore him

And he finds there’s little help for him

Leaving him to struggle and grope

While he ‘s at the keyboard, one can hope