Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Eight - Curiosity

I could not, at any age, be content to take my place by the fireside and simply look on. Life was meant to be lived. Curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life. ~~ Eleanor Roosevelt
Apparently, I was a mighty curious child. Mom said I was always getting into things, pushing the boundaries, touching, smelling, tasting. Always curious.

Hands slapped many a time. "NO!" But for the most part I think my journey of discovery was allowed when safe.

Mom loves to tell about when she'd make bread at home and I, not yet eye-level with the wooden board where she kneaded the dough, would repeatedly lift my arm so I could stick my little fingers on the edge of the board, coating them in flour.

"That's not sugar, Cherie," Mom would say every time.

I'd stick my fingers in my mouth and roll that flour around my tongue. I liked the dryness of it, the taste, too. Still do.

Mom marveled at me. People thought I was odd.

Who knew I'd grow up to be a better-than-average baker?

The signs were there.

Beginning with those curious little fingers.

Curiosity. Let it flourish!

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