theresaurus

January 12, 2018

January 12

Filed under: Uncategorized — theresaurus @ 11:52 pm

I’ve been coveting these relatively large hams that are so popular at New Year’s; finally gave in and bought one marked down a bit. I’ve been terrible about what I eat for too long, have seemed to have lost any self-control. I was going to start the New Year by being good again and then I go and buy a big ham. It started after the mother-in-law died. She loved eating and I kept thinking how when you’re in a coma and then dead, you can’t eat. I think, This may be my last chance to eat this! No self-control. After devouring this ham, though, I believe I can safely say that I won’t need to eat another ham again.

Happy birthday to Jack London, “Love of Life”:

“Three weeks afterward the man lay in a bunk on the whale-ship Bedford, and with tears steaming down his wasted cheeks told who he was and what he had undergone. … The days were not many after that when he sat at table with the scientific men and ship’s officers. He gloated over the spectacle of so much food, watching it anxiously as it went into the mouths of others. With the disappearance of each mouthful an expression of deep regret came into his eyes. He was quite sane, yet he hated these men at mealtime. He was haunted by a fear that the food would not last. He inquired of the cook, the cabin-boy, the captain, concerning the food stores. They reassured him countless times; but he could not believe them, and pried cunningly about … to see with his own eyes.

“It was noticed that the man was getting fat. … The scientific men shook their heads and theorized. They limited the man at his meals, but still his girth increased … . The sailors grinned, they knew. And when the scientific men set a watch on the man, they knew too. They saw him slouch for’ard  after breakfast, and, like a mendicant, with outstretched palm, accost a sailor. The sailor grinned and passed him a fragment of sea biscuit. He clutched it avariciously, looked at it as a miser looks at gold, and thrust it into his shirt bosom. The scientific men were discreet. They let him alone. But they privily examined his bunk. It was lined with hardtack; the mattress was stuffed with hardtack; every nook and cranny was filled with hardtack. Yet he was sane. He was taking precautions against another possible famine — that was all. He would recover from it, the scientific men said; and he did, ere the Bedford’s anchor rumbled down in San Francisco Bay.”

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