We’re waiting for Grandpa’s breakfast to be delivered to his room again. The first tray that came up from the shadowy depths of the hospital bowels included a bowl of burnt grits.
As I lifted the lid off of the little black plastic bowl, a tell-tale smell caught my attention.
“Smells burnt,” I said to myself.
I mixed it with a little yogurt and gave it a try.
Ugh! Even Yoplait yogurt couldn’t disguise that nasty taste.
I called down to the kind folks in food service who are always willing to please, and ordered a bowl of oatmeal instead. I mentioned that if they happened to make a big pot of grits, they might want to check to see if it was burnt on the bottom (just sayin’). Sure enough, they informed me, it was.
So while we were waiting, I decided to settle into the comfy recliner in Grandpa’s room and write down a few thoughts that came to me this morning on the topic of “Consider Your Ways” from the book of Haggai.
Suddenly Grandpa starts singing!
It never fails, the minute – yes, the minute I try to write anything, Grandpa distracts me somehow, someway! It doesn’t matter whether we’re home or in the hospital, it happens all the time.
Frankly, after five years, I’m “sort of” used to it – okay, I’ve resigned myself to it, I’m not happy about it, but I am used to it.
And what is he singing you ask? Oldies and goodies. But, I don’t mean oldies from the 1950’s, I mean “real oldies,” like the ones from the 1920’s and 30’s:
“I am going to sit down and write a letter and make believe it came from you . . . ” he croons.
And then, not skipping a beat, he changes his tune:
“You must have been a beautiful baby, you must have been a beautiful child . . .”
I’m starting to lose my “chain of thought,” my “imp” in impetus, my motivation, my incentive, my inspiration!
I don’t have the heart to tell him to be quiet.
He finally stops singing and asks, “Where’s my oatmeal?”
“Consider Your Ways” . . . Ha! I am, Lord, and they totally mystify me, but I know they are ordained by You!
Yes, it’s just another day (5) at St. Joesph’s Hospital in Lexington, KY.
I’d really rather be home in my own kitchen making Grandpa eggs, sunny side-up, but I’m totally grateful to be here today, burnt grits and all.
I’m grateful that Grandpa needs sustenance (which means he’s still alive) because it’s kind of lonely at home without him – interruptions and all.
