My five-year old grandson glanced at the chicken sandwich then looked at me with teary eyes.
“It looks yucky.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! It’s chicken. You like chicken. Eat!”
I was sitting with him in the hospital cafeteria while my daughter was visiting my estranged husband up in ICU recovering from both a stroke and a heart attack.
While I watched him take bites smaller than a bird would . . .
It occurred to me . . .
I can’t remember the last time I had to be forced to eat.
Nothing looks too yucky. I’ll eat most anything now.
Then a few nights later . . .
“Sit down and eat!” I yelled at my two granddaughters.
“But we’re having fun!” the six-year-old giggled as she whizzed past me running another lap around the tables in the almost empty hospital cafeteria.
My other daughter was now visiting my estranged husband.
“Your food is getting cold!” I yelled again.
“We don’t care! We want to play!”
Of course, I had to enforce reality . . .
“Get over here and eat. Now!”
While they love macaroni and cheese, I knew they wouldn’t eat it cold.
I can’t remember the last time I wouldn’t eat something I loved because it got cold.
Or having so much fun that I didn’t want to eat.
And that got me wondering . . .
What do I love doing so much that I would give up a meal for it?
What makes me giggle?
The answer is writing.
Well . . .
That's not entirely true.
Writing is only the fruition of . . .
My creative ideas.
I love how a notion comes into my head from who knows where . . .
Then percolates and brews in my brain . . .
Until finally I can pour out a story.
For as long as I can remember, creating stories has been my joy.
I love to sit in my office taking those creative notions, and writing stories.
Unfortunately though for my butt and thighs . . .
I'm good at creating, writing and and eating all at the same time.