Food for Thought

I bought Gabriel and Oliver the complete set of Beatrix Potter books for Christmas. Isn't Beatrix a lovely name? If I were to have another girl, I would name her Beatrix. Back to my point: Oliver doesn't care much for quiet activities like book reading, but Charles & Gabriel happily settle onto the sofa with me for some reading several times a day. The Beatrix books are nicely illustrated, and make the reader wish to be a little rabbit cozily arranged in a sandy floored burrow with a snug fire place, and well stuffed easy chair. The funny thing is that the food these "human like" animals eat is not human food. The owls eat minced mouse pies, and the squirrels have acorn cocktails. I do wish Beatrix had considered this more carefully. When two moles are chatting with each other and then share a worm pie--it is quite gruesome. It would be different if they remained animal like, digging tunnels by day, joining little cool noses and twitching whiskers and then eat a worm of two. But to sit at a table all dignified and not have something delightful like a breakfast of fried ham and poached eggs--I don't know. There isn't something quite right about that.

Wind in the Willows is very different in this respect. Animals arrayed in British clothing of a more genteel era, have the most delightful luncheon baskets filled to the brim with crocks of pickles, bottles of root beer, tins of sardines, fresh bread and sweet butter, sausages, hardboiled eggs, and raspberry tarts. Mmmm. Raspberry tarts. Within a few short paragraphs I'm ready to roll up my sleeves, get out my tart pans and make some raspberry tarts. Then I remember that it will take me two hours to produce 8 good sized tarts, which will be devoured by my family of eight in less than 10 minutes. I content myself with another cup of hot tea, perhaps some shortbread or fudge, light a candle, and read on about Toad and Mole and the Water Rat.

Speaking of food, last night I actually had the presence of mind to consider breakfast for the following day. I decided to put steel cut oats in the crockpot--something I had been wanting to try for awhile. It turned the oats into the most delightful creamy mixture. It was very nice to finally emerge from my room a little before 8 this morning and have breakfast ready to be spooned out. With big pats of butter and nice scoopfuls of brown sugar, and a glass of orange juice--mmm. Quite lovely. Personally, I don't actually eat breakfast. I prefer several mugs of coffee first thing, and then a piece of toast around 10:30 or 11.

At some point I need to stop nibbling. A little ham, some summer sausage, a piece of dill havarti-oh, did you get out the caramel corn? I'd like just a bit. You should try a piece of this rosemary bread. Want a little butter? At this rate I'll have to resurrect some self-control of yesteryear and go on a shake diet.

I did get my bicycle out the other day and attached the baby seat to the back. My dad positioned Gabriel in the seat, and I put on his little helmet. We went three times around the neighborhood. It was very fun, and I discovered that I'm quite out of shape. Also, it is a little different riding a bicycle with a little one behind you. I don't generally think about crashing or trouble myself with extra caution. But when you add an innocent small rider, suddenly the pathway is fraught with possible danger. Maybe I should put Oliver on the back. I wouldn't feel quite as guilty to crash with him on board. He would in all likelihood enjoy the experience and ask to do it again.