Tidewriting
...written in the sand; carried by the sea
Once, before there was buying in bulk, and living with bulk, Aunt Stasia ran the kitchen. She knew all about "re-use, reduce, and recycle," but didn't call them that. That's just the way things were. It was not a time of excess; it was a time of enough. And that's what made for enjoyment, and contentment for all of us within the range of her nurture.
We really didn't seem to have numerous containers for left-overs, if I remember correctly. A meal was considered well-planned and well-prepared if the clean-up did not include putting away lots of food. There was enough, for everybody. And, there were many, many everybodies.
One really important lesson was entitled, "Don't spoil your appetite!" To spoil your appetite did not bless the hands that prepared the meal. The meal was your nutrition, as well as an object of gratitude. We were mindful, back then, of the One who provided and the one who prepared, and were truly grateful because we did not go in want.
So, the term "snack food" would have been greeted with, "What?" I remember every so often having a strange sensation upon arriving home from my swim in the ocean. Now, in my 60th decade, I recognize it as hunger, but didn't then. "Hunger" came but three times a day, and 3:00 pm wasn't one of them. Yet every so often, food started looking incredibly good to me. This included corn flakes, any summer fruit, and an amazing Nabisco cookie called, "Melody Wafers." I would start sniffing around the kitchen after my shower. It apparently set off a sensor somewhere, and Aunt Stasia would appear. "Don't spoil your appetite!" (At 5 pm, supper was on the table.) So, ON OCCASION, I would be allowed a plum, a nectarine, a small cereal-size bowl of corn flakes with milk, or a Melody wafer with a very small glass of milk--too small to dunk. Oh, so tasty! And, if all went well, by the time supper was over, I had very nicely cleaned my plate.
There was big a protocol about eating the last piece, last slice, or last mouthful. Someone with stature at the table got the last piece. No one ever wanted to presume on that status. Indeed, the last piece always had to be pressed upon one, and never grabbed for. This came down through the generations as an object lesson. In fact, it was the men-folk who repeated cautionary tales involving mythical guests at the table who once stuck their own forks into the last piece of whatever was on the platter. Two no-nos were represented: sticking your own fork, and taking the last piece. So, this well-learned protocol may well have assisted us in starting up the brain-based "stop eating" hormones a little in advance of being filled to the gills. In truth, there was perfectly enough, down to the last thin slice of marinated flank steak.
When Aunt Stasia ran the kitchen, we ate well, felt well, savored the freshness of what we ate, and the company in which we ate it. We were active, healthy, helpful, considerate of the wants of others, and laughed a great deal as we did the dishes together. When Aunt Stasia ran the kitchen, we could not spoil our appetites ever for the love and kindness she served up in abundance.
What rings true for you here? If you could have it now, what would you want more of?
