Sunday, May 12, 2019

Oatmeal for breakfast.

I was enjoying my Sunday morning oatmeal at Starbucks this morning. I had a memory from my childhood in depression era California. I was 11 or 12. I was standing in the pitch black (shortly before dawn) looking up at a brightly lighted kitchen window. I was across the street from where I lived. The kitchen was in the mansion of a rich widow. She owned the duplex where I lived,

I tapped the window and the maid let me in. She sat me at small counter and served me a hot bowl of oatmeal. (there were raisons in the oatmeal and it was topped with brown sugar and milk) I was hungry and ate it all.

The rich widow (bless her) evidently thought I needed a hot breakfast and had my Dad send me over (I believe most mornings) for oatmeal. I do not recall her being in the kitchen, just the maid.

I vividly recall the black mornings and the brightly lighted kitchen window. I sure do remember the oatmeal!


7 comments:

  1. We absolutely love your stories from your early life. Keep 'em comming!!

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  2. When are you going to write your book??

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  3. Thanks for your comments. I want to write a book.

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  4. Your writing provides great visuals! Thank you for sharing

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  5. Do an audible book on CD. I would buy a few copies. Seriously!

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  6. This is so heart warming❤️ I'm very thankful that I heard you on your grandsons podcast!

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