Grits

I have a hankerin' for some grits. A big glop of them on the plate next to the eggs, and a golden pool of butter melting in a well on the top. . . and a light dusting of salt and pepper; or maybe, grits that have been packed into a meat loaf pan and chilled, and then sliced and fried until it is crispy golden, served with syrup on top. . .(So, you may be thinking to yourself, why don't you just shut up about it and go get yourself some grits? And my response: Are you kidding? In this town?) One would think that being this close to the South -- I mean Arkansas is about 45 miles away-- the markets would carry grits. Yes, one might think that, but one would be wrong. I know for sure that the downtown market doesn't have grits. I don't know about uptown market, but I'll be cruising down there soon to find out... if don't forget. That happening a lot too these days: the Senior Moments are coming fast and furious. A friend's mom, who is only 61, was recently diagnosed Alzheimer disease. That's only 4 years older than me that's very scary.