There is
something just right about hot oatmeal when the oats have been hand milled and
just a pinch of coarse sea salt has been added to the oatmeal when it
cooks. That is a simple dish that even a
duke or a duchess wouldn’t sniff at.
Mother is so very gracious to take the time to make our oatmeal the
right way. It takes a little patience and a little time, but my, it is so very
tasty, especially with a little cream and brown sugar.
We were
sitting across from each other at the breakfast table with our oatmeal and a
pot of English Breakfast Tea, reading the morning paper. The sun was shining, there was the sound of
finches singing outside our window, and two squirrels were playing in the tree
on the front lawn.
“Mother,”
said I. “What a wonderful morning!” Then I looked up at her and noticed that
she had turned pale and that there was a dangerous look of fury on her face.
“Well, your
view is better than mine,” she snapped, “Just turn around and look out the
other window!”
I turned
and looked, and I was completely aghast!
Our next door neighbour was out in front of his house walking around in
his pyjama bottoms and flip flops, not even wearing a t-shirt, and he was
talking on his cell phone. What a sight! Never in my life had I seen anything quite so
appalling.
I was
repulsed. My appetite was quite spoiled,
and I pushed the oatmeal bowl away from me.
Just then I began to be aware that our telephone was ringing, and I
hesitated, “Certainly I hope it isn't that individual on the front walk..”
“ Aren't you going to answer it Alfred?” asked Mother.
“Must I?”
“Yes,
Alfred, it can’t be him,” she said indicated the partially clad individual on
the side walk “He’s already talking to someone.”
I heaved
a sigh of relief and picked up the phone. “Mountjoy residence,” said I.
A voice
on the other end jangled, “This is Helen Whittington, We haven’t met, but I was
looking at our Church Guest Register and I noticed that you had visited our
church last month. We have a little
dinner party every month at the Bistro Watel.
There are only six of us. Last
month we shared a Chateaubriand, a whole tenderloin. Absolutely exquisite. We wondered if you and Mrs. Mountjoy would be
interested in joining us?”
Now ordinarily
I wouldn't even think of accepting such an invitation, but I was still looking
at the portly dishevelled pyjama clad individual perambulating on the front side
walk, and I thought, “The Bistro Watel? Chateaubriand?
Such a nice contrast!” So I said, “Let me ask Mother.”
Mother
looked at me, then looked back out the window and wrinkled her nose, “That may
really so very much more pleasant than looking at the show outside our
window. Ask them when it’s going to be
Alfred.”
“Then he said to his servants, 'The
wedding feast is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore to the
main roads and invite to the wedding feast as many as you find.' And those servants went out into the roads
and gathered all whom they found, both bad and good. So the wedding hall was
filled with guests” (Matthew 22:8-10).
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