How 'bout a little bowl of grits?

What do you do when you are worried, sad, or just feel out of sorts?

When I am worried, I clean.  My children always knew there was a problem when they smelled Wrights Silver Polish.  I could rub that heirloom silver service with such a vengeance that sometimes one might fear I was going to remove the patina.

Or sometimes I bake or write in my journal or meet a friend for coffee.

If you know me - you are probably saying - are you always worried? True, my silver almost always looks shiny, I am often putting some thought on a page or the computer screen and I certainly am known to meet my friends for coffee OFTEN.

And now that it's just me, I don't bake unless it's for some sort of gathering.

And when I am sad?

I eat grits.

Grits are my comfort food.

I have written before about the mixed emotions I felt when my son, Tray and his wife, Kristen, moved to the Washington, DC area in 2002.  I was very happy for the prospects that lay ahead of them.  However, he's my baby and it was really hard to see him leave.  Actually, every time he left it was hard. When he went to college and came home for his first visit, I cried and said "please don't go".  Remembering that afternoon still brings a lump to my throat.

Bless that poor child's heart.

Back to the day they moved to Washington, Tray came to my parents' home to say goodbye to the three of us.

I'll never forget walking back into their apartment and hearing daddy say "how about a little bowl of grits?"

Four years ago today I wrote an I've been thinking that I called "How 'bout a little bowl of grits?"

A Hospice bed was home to my daddy.  He was drifting in and out of sleep.  Our family and friends were coming to say good bye.

I was very sad.

And I imagined that if he could he would be saying to me "how bout a little bowl of grits?"

The next afternoon at around 5:00 PM with some of us (including his pastor, the Rev. Kevin Pound) standing by his bed, daddy took his last breath.  I've often recalled that it seemed like he just sort of wafted out the window.

And when I am out of sorts?

Well, I'm a bit out of sorts these days. The memories of daddy just continue to flood my mind and bring tears to my ears (football season is a major culprit).  Realization that my mother, while healthy, is aging.  I'm not sure what direction my life is really going in.  In some ways I feel like Alice looking down that rabbit hole.

And what am I doing about that out of sorts feeling?

You are reading it!  Stay tuned.