I am not a big fan of experimentation (I used to be a huge fan of things created through fermentation but that was another lifetime, one of toil and blood) and plod along for the most part with one foot in front of the other in travel and travail from Point A to something like Point B. It fills up the day and makes the time go fast.
On weekday mornings I have a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast after I've gotten to work. I still spend more time there than I do at home even as the days wind down because I live for the approval in strangers' eyes, I guess..
Perhaps true for you as well, I have a routine from the time I open my eyes to about a half hour after I'm actually at work. All the stuff in between happens, of course, because I'm the one making it happen, but it's an auto-pilot operation. I'm such a slave to how things flow that if anything changes or shifts like one of those wind-up toys which walks itself into a corner, I just keep bumping into whatever the roadblock has become, unable to clear it or go around it.
Cheerios at work is my decompression food. When I sleep, I cannot recall if I dream though my wife has told me there are nights (and early mornings) where I shout out and/or talk or get up, and for which I have no explanation because I have no recollection. My dream world is just black. I use the whole going to work and getting used to being there for the next twelve hours part of the day as the Re-entry to Earth part of the program. And the fuel for this is Cheerios.
I knew someone who called them bagel seeds-suspect the Big G folks wouldn't have been too happy about that but it makes me smile and I repeat it to myself every morning and crack myself up. I never tire of saying it or laughing at it. If I had but a million or so folks with my delightful sense of humor (someone had to say it, and it didn't look like you were about to) I could have my own cable news show-and oh, how we'd all laugh then. Of course, if I had sixty or so million like that and Cambridge Analytica I could be President.
I have Cheerios in the next to last of the red plastic bowls we had when we lived in Germany and used for cereal there. Some time ago, Sigrid finally (endlich!) found very nice and (actually) quite pretty replacement bowls and the red plastic ones went to the land of their ancestors on trash day. As the oldest thing that's still in our house, I get VERY nervous when anything is pitched out 'because it's really old.' You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows on that equation.
I eat Cheerios without sugar or milk. Actually, and I don't eat a lot of cereals, I NEVER eat dry cereal with anything other than a spoon and my mouth. Why do you think they call it DRY cereal?
What am I supposed to do with the milk? Drop little tiny people in the bowl so they can be rescued? Perhaps I should get a recording of Nearer My God to Thee, and, using sugar cubes to construct a fake iceberg, reenact the sinking of the Titanic. Of course, with that much sugar in my system, I'd be crayoning all the walls in the five-story building I work in for three days, from the outside in, until sedated with a croquet mallet.
I used to eat Wheaties, back when Bob Richards was on the cover (I don't how old I was before discovering he didn't invent them but was the first endorser of a cereal). I guess if you had a box with Michael Phelps, using milk would make sense, but for that collector's edition on eBay, I guess you'd have to use the ultra-high temperature stuff that looks like white water. I've never understood how they get the cows to stand still while they heat 'em up. I suspect they catch them early in the morning.....
-bill kenny
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