Joe McWilliams
Sometimes a headline will occur to me and I will try to turn the idea into an editorial or opinion column. It doesn’t always work, and who knows, now might be one of those times.
But here goes anyway!
My wife bakes up something that might be called granola (unless that’s a brand name, in which case I won’t use it). It usually lasts a couple months. I like eating it with frozen fruit thawed out in the microwave, while I read a few pages of whatever book I’m working on.
It’s a darn good way to start the day, if I do say so myself!
The other day she was just finishing off the latest batch of granola and I made a crack about me turning into a ‘cereal’ killer, i.e., killing it off a bowl at a time.
Having been in the news business for over 30 years now, I tend to look at life in terms of headlines, news value, and photo opportunities. A good play on words is worth its weight in ink, at least, if not gold. Gold and the newspaper biz don’t really belong in the same vicinity, these days.
“Cereal killer,” I thought. “That would look good in a headline!”
So here I am, wasting your time and probably mine with the thinnest of justifications for filling a few column inches of newsprint.
The cereal in question is mostly rolled oats. I’m pretty sure there are sunflower and pumpkin seeds in there, too, plus a few cashews.
Maple syrup? When available. Possibly a few other things. A bowl of it sets me up nicely until lunchtime; I am not tempted to snack.
About those oats: I’ve been a fan of rolled oats since about the age of four. As long as I can remember, in other words.
One incident comes back, from when I was five years old or so. I wasn’t yet in school. We lived in Fort St. John, B.C. and my dad was building a house in the bush a 90-minute drive or so northwest of town, where he’d acquired some land along a river. His plan was to turn it into a cattle ranch and move the family out there. It seemed very exciting!
One time he took me along on one of those house-building trips. He’d start work early, leaving little Joey to sleep as late as I liked in a nearby bunkhouse. I remember hearing my dad hammering nails on the house and crawling out of bed. I took one of those heavy mugs he used for drinking coffee or tea and filled it up with rolled oats, then took it out onto the patio and sat there looking out over the river and chewing my oats. I thought it tasted pretty good.
Back home, I overheard my dad telling my mom how impressed he was that I had served myself breakfast. I didn’t see what the big deal was. I was five; I could look after myself. After all, hadn’t I recently figured out how to tie my shoelaces without any help?
My brother, about 18 months older than I and already able to do everything I couldn’t, had frequently and repeatedly showed me how to do it and gotten impatient with me when I couldn’t. Well, he was off at school now, and I got to go places with my dad, tying my laces like a grown-up and serving myself all the rolled oats I liked. So there!
Sixty-odd years later, here I am still doing it, and wondering what will go first – the ability to chew or the ability to tie laces.
Or maybe the ability to write useful opinion columns.