Let's Go To Breakfast
The snow fell heavy and fast all night long, coating the world in a blanket of wonderful white that silences everything small to great. A sense in what has changed visually and aurally is maybe why we both rise early this morning.
She said to me last night 'You do not appreciate me.' This surprised me as I thought I was an attentive partner, concerned with her needs and wants. I think of this when, lying in bed wrapped like a burrito and say 'Let me take you to breakfast!' As groggy as I feel and she sounds, I expect her to roll over and slip back into slumber. But she does not.
Instead, she springs from bed and starts to dress This woman really loves breakfast. And now I'm on the hook. So I climb out and start my morning ritual. The scale disappoints me this morning and I decide that my breakfast will be light.
Driving in the snow is a great joy to me. I know it is because I do it so rarely. I like to hear the crunch of the snow under the tires and thrill at the little skid that happens when stopping. I enjoy how little traffic there is and how the landscape that is normally so mundane is transformed into a beautiful place of mystery.
Our conversation on this trip is silly and innocuous. We trade story ideas based on the weather that involve foxes and sleds and snowmen armies. She proposes I take a job as a creative director and train her to take it over when I grow tired of the role. We reminisce about a friend who has passed away at 94 and how it is a surprise in spite of his age and health.
Our investigation of breakfast places has eliminated several based on crowd sizes (too many) and a few that are simply closed. We end up at an IHOP that has recently reopened after a remodel from a fire. I am surprised that the decor is exactly the same as before, only a little fresher. I marvel at corporate structure and SOPs (standard operation procedures) that these companies maintain. But it is clean and the staff seem genuinely engaged. This is a big selling point as we find more and more that we feel like we are bothering workers with our patronage.
Our waitress Brooke is a kind woman in her late 30's or early 40's. She has on too much makeup and I think she is likely very tired from being a mom, or working a second job or maybe being too old for the party scene. Possibly a mix of all three. Her countenance is genuine though and we are glad to have her. We will tip well because of this attitude. It is an easy decision.
This is an indulgence today: a single slice of French toast (no syrup) two strips of bacon (extra crispy) and two eggs (over medium). I marvel that I used to eat a stack of this bread and sugar slathered in syrup. Now, this simple meal is perfectly sating. And I feel like I haven't violated my determination to eat less and better.
I wonder about an old man across the aisle from us. He appears to be in his early 70's with a big white bushy beard. He is alone. Is he meeting someone? Or is this his ritual? What does he ruminate when he sits here alone? Perhaps he comes because Brooke is a kind woman and makes him feel worthy and seen. Maybe he has a favorite lunch spot as well, but dinner is a simple affair of a sandwich or tv dinner while watching wheel of fortune or doing the daily crossword while he enjoys a few beers.
Did he appreciate his mate enough? Or did he lose her to the specter of time as we lose everyone? Am I seeing a visage of my future? When I ask my partner if she feels a little more appreciated and seen this morning, she just smiles and giggles noncommittally. I interpret this as 'yes'.
The day is early, and there is a lot to do. So we wind down breakfast with a little work in our journals, she draws the breakfast table while I practice drawing something cute. For years she has asked me to 'lighten up' in my subject and style. This morning feels like the kind of day to do just that. Later I can be serious while wiring some electrical projects and then engaging in a Bible training program.
For now, though. We'll just keep it light and easy.
Thanks for reading and sharing my beautiful lie.
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