There is something poetic about the proper ratios found a simple bowl of cereal in the morning. Dry, plain Cheerios filled almost to the top of a simple white ceramic bowl. Two heaping teaspoons of dark brown sugar—trying so much to be tablespoons—lumped near the center, on top. 1% milk-fat milk poured over the sugar to coax it down into the bowl while the Cheerio line rises to just the top edge of the bowl. Perfect.
And a book.
And a teaspoon.
And a desire to coordinate the approach of the spoon to the mouth without the seemingly obligatory drip of milk below the lower lip that needs to to be repeatedly cleaned with an up-flick of the left index finger.
The process would be easy if it weren't for the book—held beyond the bowl to avoid any splashes and spills; it would be easy if all that was concentrated on was the slow approach of the spoon to the mouth coordinated with the eyes and with the mind; but the eyes are somewhere else—perhaps reading about motorcycle maintenance—and the mind is trying to do too many things before benefitting from the perfect cup of coffee that comes later.
And about halfway down, the ratio become wrong. The milk outnumbers the O's (or is it Oh's?). Another pour of the cereal to just cover the surface of the now partially exposed milk, followed by the slow turning over the the mix like a gardener mulching.
And all is right again.
The ratio might be corrected even one more time before the final bowl-tilt-slurp is performed to finish off the meal. No waste!
And then on to the perfect cup of coffee...
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