rice

As I poured out the rice I was still thinking over some poetry I had just read on the stairs. A lot of the poems were about being old.

That reminded me of a comment someone made to me once about how life gets a bit boring as you age, since fewer and fewer things are new to you (that may have not been what he meant, but it was what his comment meant to me).

That scared me, and since then I've tried especially hard to try to sometimes experience things as though it were the first time, with all my attention on them.

Did that with the rice. Then I boiled it!