Beech Tree News Network

Years ago, when my friend, Josh Hampton, and I wrote for another paper, he wrote a column about a man who called him out because he (Josh) didn’t specify p.m. after the number “6” in an announcement about chili being served at a local event.  Seems the guy turned up at the event at 6 a.m. to find the place empty.  He was irate and let Josh know that his confusion could be laid at Josh’s feet because Josh hadn’t specified the “6” with a p.m. to indicate that the chili was being served as an evening meal.  The column made me laugh for two reasons: 1. Any idiot knows that chili is served at an evening meal, and 2. I am one of those idiots who actually eats chili for breakfast.
    I know, I know, and I don’t have a good reason for why I do that.  I also eat things like spaghetti, burritos, and boiled cabbage for breakfast.  When tomatoes are in season, I eat cheese and tomato sandwiches each morning, which is closer to the traditional breakfast, since tomatoes and cheese are often added to eggs to create an omelet. 
    My husband and kids have always turned up their noses when they see me in front of the morning news with a cup of coffee and a plate of spaghetti.  When my niece lived with us, she and her friends would take pictures and put them on Facebook.  Recently, one of her friends dropped by to see me and we shared some breakfast chili.  She sent a picture via her iPhone to my niece with the caption “Breakfast with Aunt Cheryl.”  I don’t know what the fascination is.
    I grew up on the bacon, eggs, gravy and biscuits fare.  We were a farm family and we had to eat hardy in preparation for the work ahead.  If you woke up and weren’t hungry, that was too bad, you were told to eat to keep from getting hungry.  Once the meal was over, there were no second chances at a snack, the scraps were given to the dogs; we didn’t have money for store-bought dog food.  In view of the traditional way I was raised, I have no idea where my craving for spicy foods in the morning comes from.
    Food is a very emotional thing for me, which means I have worse eating habits than chili for breakfast.  I eat a lot of salt, and I’ve often said when I die, my family will save money on the whole burial process, because there will be no need for embalming, I’ll already be preserved. 
    I’m not one of those delusional people who say things like, “My grandmother smoked all her life and she lived to be one hundred and two years old.”  I don’t smoke, but I realize that we really are what we eat, and the stuff in the food I eat can catch up with a person just like carcinogens in cigarettes can.
It’s just that I really enjoy eating, and to have to pay attention to every bit of food that passes my lips would be akin to making me diagram every sentence before I could read it.  
    My friend, Jessica, is a nurse practitioner.  She tries to help me watch out for things that will get me down the road.  After some recent blood tests, she said the only thing disconcerting that showed up was my bad cholesterol.  No shocker there, my kids don’t call me the pastry queen for nothing.  I told her I would try to do better.
    I read somewhere that our bodies undergo a complete molecular change every seven years.  I’m currently fifty-eight, so the way I’ve got it figured, I’ll be completely new again in five more years.  Maybe, if I cut back from three pork sausage patties to two at a serving, and incorporate more fruit into my diet—I love apple pie—I’ll see a real change at age sixty-three.  I’ll tell Jessica about my plan, she’ll be so pleased.