Cornbread and Milk

So... it's mid-March and I've fallen behind on my write every day challenge, because life happens and I"m good at making excuses and also because I'm NOT good at finishing things, and because I doubt sometimes that I have something worth saying.

So, tonight, I was feeling particularly uninspired but I wanted to write because I don't want to be a quitter, so I turned to pinterest for writing prompts, and here's what I got...

 

So, from Room by Emma Donoghue, which I haven't even started yet: "I eat three green beans and have a big drink of milk."

 

Which still leaves me uninspired, because I'm not a fiction writer (at least I've not really tried yet) and I don't like green beans and I really don't like milk...

 

But I could go for a big slice of chocolate cake and a tall glass of milk.

 

Cake that is crumbly but moist, that leaves icing on your cheek. The milk is cool as I swallow it, and leaves a milk mustache.

 

Or a glass of milk with chocolate chip cookies. I used to love to crumble up ChipsAhoy cookies in my milk, let them soak until they were mush, and then spoon them in my mouth, milk dripping on my chin.

 

Milk with cornbread, though, was the best. Cornbread piping hot from my Papaw's oven, in the black cast iron skillet, too heavy and hot for me to pick up, but steam rising as he sat it on the stove to cool, on Mamaw's iron owl skillet holders.

 

Thick butter oozing off the slice as he poured me a glass of milk and crumbled that cornbread in the glass.

 

He'd sit on the stool next to the table, and I'd curl up in the chair, and we'd eat that hot cornbread soaking in the milk, too busy enjoying the pure simplicity to say much, Grandma sitting in her chair crocheting an afghan with Hee-Haw on the TV.

 

Good times.