After the whistle blows
I love me some poppycorn.
I’m not talking about that plastic-coated stuff in a bag that you put in the nuker. Nasty.
Real poppycorn. Hot, crisp, salty. Maybe a bit of white cheddar powder. Tastes like corn, not weird chemicals.
Lucky duck that I am, I am married to a most excellent popcorn maker. Mr. Sparky pops a mean bowl of popcorn, which is not the same as a bowl of mean popcorn, thank goodness.
Nobody likes to reach for a few kernels and pull back a bloody stump. Just sayin’.
As much as I love a bowl of fresh hot popcorn, it remains one of those foods I can’t seem to eat neatly. It’s as if gravity forms a extra strong force field around me, and somewhere between the bowl and my mouth it hijacks my plan to shove several kernels into my eager mouth. Those kernels go flying and end up in my lap. Or on the floor. Or in the dog’s mouth.
I will eat the ones I can rescue from my lap. The floor…eh…kinda iffy to eat stuff off of that, what with pets and my personal stance on not over-vacuuming the carpets. But Jake the Jerk-Faced Dog gets to keep anything he finds.
It’s actually almost ridiculous. It doesn’t matter how many kernels are in my hand. Some of them are going to end up somewhere other than my mouth. I don’t know how it is I keep dropping them, but I do. Every. single. time.
When something brings you joy, it doesn’t really matter how good at it you are. You do it for the pleasure of doing it. You may not become famous for it, and you might not save the world doing it, and maybe nobody cares except you. But if it makes your heart dance, it’s worth nurturing.
This is what keeps karaoke bars alive all over the world.
You were made to find joy in things large and small. Some of them you’ll be really good at. Some of them will remind you not to quit your day job. And that’s ok. God never intended for you to do everything well, but He did intend for you to do everything with great joy.
Even if it’s just eating a bowl of poppycorn.
I’m actually a really good popcorn eater. My technique is rather sloppy, but I what I lose in form I more than make up for in function and enthusiasm.
Just ask Jake the Jerk-Faced Dog. He loves to watch me eat poppycorn.