Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Last night I babysat my younger grandson, which consists of watching the monitor while he tosses and turns.  Every time I do it, I flash back to when I babysat as a teen, especially the one little boy I took care of frequently for many years.  He was the son of my parents' best friends, and he was adorable, but hard to get to go to sleep.  I'd read, tuck him in, get him glass of water, tuck him in, read some more, tuck him in, and on and on.  Finally, he'd conk, and I'd try to settle down to study or read but by then I was restless myself, and remember stalking the pantry looking for something good to eat.  There never was anything appetizing.  His parents were skinny and I could see why; no food.  I often ate stale, and by stale I mean brick hard, marshmellows.  They must have been bought in a previous decade and lingered in the pantry for the hot chocolate they never drank.  At least my kids have real food.  I ate some Ranier cherries last night and had herbal ice tea.  I was engrossed in a riveting mystery, so the time passed quickly, and before I knew it they had returned and my son-in-law drove me home.  He's easy to talk to and we had a conversation about coffee and appliances and then I was home.  I had strange dreams, but I'm not surprised:  I was already in a world between being sixteen and my current age, and time and place had been, shall we say, displaced.