Waiting to be fed.
When I was a kid at summer camp, we used to sing a song in the mess hall as we sat waiting for our food to be served. It went, “Here we sit like birds in the wilderness, birds in the wilderness, birds in the wilderness. Here we sit like birds in the wilderness, waiting to be fed.” It never failed to amuse us. For seven years as a camper and two as a counselor, I joined in the refrain and sure enough, the food always eventually came through.
Now, at 2 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day, 2017, the strains of that line of music keep weaving their way through my thoughts. By some strange series of misunderstood communications, I actually have two dates for a turkey meal—both at the same restaurant, but with different groups of friends and at different times––one at 3, the other at 6:30. I could relate the weird facts of how this came to be, but suffice it to say it wasn’t my fault and that yes, I’ve cancelled one of them. Sort of. At any rate, I’m saving myself for that meal and although I went grocery shopping this morning, mainly for the cats and dogs, I had unusual restraint in not buying any junk food, no matter how healthy it presented itself to be. The naughtiest items I purchased were whole wheat bread, low fat thin rice cakes and apples. I splurged on Fancy Feast for Annie, who has been staging a hunger strike since I got home, and got 60 packets of kitten food which should last the other cats a few days and I will probably feed them the Fancy Feast as well, after Annie turns her nose up at it. I, for one, am fasting until tonight’s meal, doing penance before the act. Tomorrow I start my new diet.
Also waiting to be fed.
In case you missed it, HERE is my Thanksgiving post from a few days ago of images of Thanksgivings present and past.