At about 2 a.m., I found myself in a state of respair, that obsolete old English word for recovery from despair. I had just finished revisiting my bookshelves, where I discovered that the mystery writers in my library never get a chance to hang out with the poets, at least not on the same shelf. That was something I could respair and get some exercise at the same time.
Mystery writers were on one of the lower shelves, nothing personal, just happenstance. So I brought Agatha Christie’s “Murder on the Orient Express” to schmooze a little with Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales.” I could have lowered Mr. Chaucer to the mysteries shelf, but honestly there are a lot of tales in that book, making it very heavy. So, in the words of the theme song of the 1970s sitcom, “The Jeffersons,” I had the lower shelf authors “moving on up.”
Interestingly, Sam Spade, the iconic character from Dashiell Hammett’s “The Maltese Falcon,” struck up a heart-to-heart with poet Langston Hughes barely moments after they met. After a few more similar alterations, I was both exhilarated and hungry, so I moved to the kitchen. Still on a roll, I took secret delight in moving food goddess Martha Stewart to chat with Peg Bracken, author of “I Hate to Cook,” a gift from my late mother-in-law who always tried to make my life easier.
Satisfied that I had gotten some lively conversations going, I started thinking about my midnight snack (note: any food I eat between midnight and first light is a midnight snack)
Maybe because I had just gone nose to nose with Betty Crocker, I had something classic in mind. Oatmeal. I often like that at night. The only problem is that one portion is usually not quite enough and every time I try to adjust it, more water, oats or milk, it fails to fulfill what I was trying to accomplish.
Just as I was deciding to go with cold cereal, where I could have more control, a revelation dropped into my cereal pot. Why not make two portions exactly to recipe and just eat as much as I want?
“Brilliant!” I said out loud, laughing as I bowed to the kitchen.
Thank goodness I have lived long enough to figure this out. In my later years, I have a lot of fun laughing at something that, at one time, might have made me cry.
With the writers, whose books live on my library shelves, conversing pleasantly, and my newfound knowledge that two servings can sometimes be better than one, I ended my day with a full tummy and a smile.
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