Morning meals during retreats found me hungry and so I learned to poke and prod and shovel the gruel whose stickiness quotient did not always allow for easy pickings.
But of course eating was not the sole function of retreats. Retreats were a matter of focusing and boring in on the endless mishegas that was my very own. Lines tended to blur. Beginnings and endings seemed to weave together until the one and the other mishmashed and melded.
Lunch, I learned, was the logical time for the biggest meal of the day. Breakfast was second. And dinner was third. My body said so.
Totally useless information which I am happy today to have learned in my own backward way.