The Pie Chart

As I know a lot of you are aware, I recently celebrated a birthday (on the 7th as it happens).  When I got up that morning I felt rested and energetic enough to take the wild tail girlie (a mix of some ungodly breeds of dogs who are apparently site hounds and Heinz 57 doesn't even begin to cover it) for a walk in the early morning dew.  I felt 20 something.  I may walk with a limp, but my spirit is free of any such affliction.   So we walked down through the woods and up the other side and she picked up the scents of rabbits and squirrels, deer and maybe a lynx or two...and dragged me through brambles and wild berry bushes, around pines and between two cedars growing together.  When I finally made it back to the front porch, I was a bit winded but other than that in fine fettle.  But I felt about 30 something. I unhooked Chase's leash (she is aptly named, believe me) when we got inside and gave her the expected treat.  Faux bacon is her treat of choice barring a little  ginger mailman with dog safe ingredients baked inside.  I looked over at the Keurig and drooled.  My very favorite Christmas present, it offers me any blend of wonderful coffees, Doughnut Shop, Kona, Black Silk, French Vanilla...you name it.  So I went over to this little gem and putting my cup beneath it's spout, lifted the coffee tub holder and placed my coffee of choice in the slotted area.  Black Silk by Folgers.  Oh my.  Pulled down the handle and saw the red flashing light which read "add water".  Cursed the last person to make a cup and not check the water reservoir, and then drew up water from the Brita filter contraption that is attached to my faucet.  By this time I had run swiftly through my 30's and the 40's were almost in my rear view  mirror.  It was only 7:30 in the morning.  I brewed myself a cup of coffee without offering anyone else a cup, sat on the sofa with one leg tucked under me and watched the news of the morning and night before all the while  letting  that cup of coffee wash 10 years off my attitude.   Ah, pleasure, just pure coffee addiction pleasure.

I had decided that this was the birthday I would ignore.  After all, no one but me much ever remembered it anyway.  I decided years ago that it was no big deal that Mac could never remember when my birthday was or even when our Anniversary falls, so deciding that since I'd already hit the big 60, no need to worry about such trite things as birthdays anymore.  Then the Face book greetings started pouring in and I discovered that I really did care after all.  It was pleasing to see all those lovely comments, even from people who have known me 30+ years.  And a few who have known me 50+ whom I thought I'd   offended years ago had found my face book page and made mention of the day. When I saw all that, I felt 20 again.  Okay, so the afternoon approached quickly and we were trying to decide whether to run out to Roger's Smokehouse Restaurant for dinner or wait and take in breakfast with him the next morning.  I chose breakfast, because the 50's had slipped by me somehow and I was really too tired to think about doing much more than grabbing a hot bath and flannel Jammie's and warm socks and reading the book (The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters) I'd started just after Christmas. 
  

It was while I was preparing a quick supper of grits eggs and toast that it happened.  I had taken down the grit pot (all Southern cooks know that once you have found the perfect grit pot, nothing but grits ever gets cooked in it) and put the water on to boil.  I started looking for the lid to it (or led as I remember my Great Grandmother calling it).  I looked on the counter, no lid.  I looked in the pantry, no lid.  I knew I'd just had the dingdanged thing so where could it have gone?  I spent a good thirty minutes looking for the blamed thing. My mother always said that I was so high strung I could  thread a sewing machine needle with it running. I let things get to me sometimes.   Finally I just  turned off the water and we had turkey sandwiches for supper.  It really bothered me that I had misplaced the lid, and now I felt my 60+ years.  After supper I went over to the kitchen table and picked up the book I'd been reading.  And there it lay in shameless glory, the lid to the grit pot.  Right then I remembered the cute thing  that a friend had sent to me as a birthday joke  and realized the truth of it.  I spend way to much time these days looking for things that are always in the last place I look when I am no longer looking.  Being highstrung may have few advantages, but at least I can laugh at myself when the search is over!