Almost every morning I eat my hot oatmeal, I toss a few raisons in for fruit. I wonder why I eat oatmeal. I don't particularly like it yet I know it's healthy.
Maybe it's because we always ate it for breakfast as kids. Mother said it stuck to our ribs. Oatmeal.
Or earlier still, I'm sure she ate oatmeal while I was in her womb, I could have acquired the taste there?
Or possibly ...
in kindergarten; I remember us having a band, a sort of percussion band. Now, kids like to bang on things and our teacher caught the vision we could learn the art of banging in unison.
So our teacher got us kids together and told us of her plans. We were to become her little percussion band.
Some of us were, shall we say, musically challenged; the Johnnie-one-notes got to bang the nail; a big nail you couldn't miss.
I remember we had quality kids, mostly girls who hit the triangle, and the less talented that simply swished the sand-paper blocks.
Apparently I was musically gifted, so I was allowed to play the oatmeal-box drum.
Maybe that's where my thing for oatmeal comes from.
