Hot Buttered Noodles
Salt to taste
Drop noodles into a pot of boiling water.
Boil until al dente’.
Add butter and a pinch of salt.
Serve them to your family on a plate with a vivid vegetable, a hamburger, hotdog, what-have-you.
For good measure, pour them each a tall, cold glass of milk.
Leave the dishes for later.
Gather your family up.
Muster all of their accoutrements.
Simultaneously rush through the door and into the car.
Drive hastily to the local YMCA.
Regard scrawny, six year old son throw oversized adult instructor hard across the judo mat. A few times.
Feel tremendous pride.
Think, “He is some strong, scrawny kid.”
Leave finished lesson.
Seat little son in car.
Read son a bedtime story, reminding him to say his prayers.
Sweep that one stray baby-fine curl from his eyes.
Whiff the lingering fragrance of ivory soap on his innocent after-bath aura.
Kiss small son goodnight.
Switch off the light.
Repeat a couple of times a week until the instruction session ends.
Optional but not recommended: A few short years later grieve over missing young son, lost in one of the myriad traumatic ways to lose a child or parent.
Forget about Hot Buttered Noodle ritual for the next twenty or so years.
Receive news that Hot Buttered Noodles triggers sons sense of well being to this day.
That and other strong peaceful sensory memories which you both share.
Let that sink in.
Or if only you wish to experience peace of mind,
When a sliver of light shines through a crack at the bottom of the door of darkness,
Allow the oft overlooked, ostensibly trivial to direct your path toward home.