Rise and Shine

 Breakfast time growing up was a relatively simple affair. Mornings mostly found me and my siblings slurping milk and reading a cereal box. Occasionally, Mom would allow us Frosted Flakes. Still, Rice Krispies' mild flavor and famous crackle provided a gateway for the sharper-edged cornflakes, billowy shredded wheat, and the quasi-medicinal raisin bran that followed. Always a maverick, I prided myself that no one else in the family went for my beloved, overly-crunchy Grape Nuts.

 

It's odd but true, who wanted what became factors that reflected our budding personalities. On more than one occasion, I remember emphatically announcing that I preferred only the white part of the egg and only when hard-boiled. For the love of God, please do not confuse me for a minute with anyone who wants eggs cooked so everything is soft and runny. We were all united in our love of pancakes and equally cherished the rare occasion when we got to feast on warm, golden slices of mapley French toast. Sundays after church, we all stretched out on any available floor space to read the funny pages while waiting for the bacon and eggs that crackled next to Mom's famous hash browns. A fried egg? Sure, but make mine broken and well done, please. It's funny how something as ordinary as breakfast allows us to differentiate ourselves from a very early age.

Speaking of differences, I might have been an early reader, but Math was another question. A particularly traumatic event was the horror of being introduced in third grade to what the nuns called Mental Arithmetic. There are 352 days a year, and Ginny is 76. If she has eaten breakfast every day of her life, round down to estimate how many breakfasts Ginny will have consumed by her 76th birthday. I must have enjoyed a few bowls of Wheaties when I was a kid because, like a champ (and with the help of my calculator), and with no small degree of shock, I see that I have consumed well over 26,000 breakfasts throughout my life. Did you get that? Twenty-six thousand! Even more astonishing is that breakfast is primarily a grab-and-go reality for most of us. Tea or coffee, with a donut, a muffin, a messy egg sandwich, or a measly piece of toast!

But now. Glorious now. For the slowed-down semi-retired me, breakfast goes far beyond my need for physical sustenance. Because I no longer have to rush out the door, I can savor morning hours and more of the foods I like. Instant oatmeal no longer darkens my cupboard; I have time to fix the heartier steel-cut kind I love. I revel in the breakfast burritos I make or my pepper-flaked avocado toast. I no longer reserve omelets for special occasions - onions, spinach, mushrooms, and cheese. Do you want to hear more about my savory concoctions? I have time now to make my homemade granola; I can layer up a healthy fruit parfait any time I like. My mornings allow me to be creative in the kitchen and provide quality time to open up and quietly reflect. If I want, I can take time to think about and discuss the news with Jim; alternatively, I can escape by myself to write, draw, watch the birds, or sit and simply be. Even better? I can enjoy a second cup of tea. 

The journalist, John Gunther, said All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast. It took me decades to know what he meant, but I understand now and couldn't agree more. 

Rise and Shine