Define Your Own Terms
Some mornings are lazy by choice, and this particular Saturday was no exception. After a busy week, the sight of the recliner in the living room was the only invitation I needed to relax and enjoy the freshness of a new day. The first cup of coffee was gingerly placed on the small table next to the chair. Even Mother Nature added her blessing with an unseasonably warm day, warm enough to open a nearby window.
I wrapped a light blanket around myself and, with the poodle at my feet, sank deep into the stuffed cushions. Rays from the rising sun washed over me as I listened to the familiar sounds of birds and children playing outside. One child was giving cycling instructions to a group of younger children with the intensity of a drill sergeant. At the same time, a woodpecker provided a steady beat for his lineup.
I could grab my camera and venture outside for a picture. I have photos of countless birds, but not one woodpecker. I paused long enough to let the insanity pass.
On the other side of the living room, John was surfing YouTube. The steady click of his mouse was almost enough to lull me back to sleep.
My mind wandered, entertaining the many mornings I survived during my work life, mornings spent in a race against time, with long days at work capped on both ends by attempts to complete the necessary chores and errands demanded for a smooth week. I have been retired for almost five years now, and I am still busy, but in a very different way. In retirement, I am busy on my own terms. And on this morning, a bit of rest is in order. Besides, I am pinned in by a very relaxed poodle. Deciding to let the sleeping dog lie, as the old adage goes, was an easy decision.
Of course, my bliss was short-lived. We hadn’t completed our weekly grocery shopping trip, and the refrigerator was empty of breakfast food. Even in retirement, there are always other priorities.
I wasn’t dressed to go out. “Shall I throw on some clothes?” I asked John. “We can eat out and pick up the groceries on the way home.”
“After the news,“ he said.
I glanced at the talking heads on the television screen and decided not to engage.
Hours later, we headed out for breakfast. I assumed the choice would be Bob Evans, a typical restaurant choice for breakfast.
“But it is eleven o’clock,“ John said. “I don’t feel like breakfast food.”
Instead, we had breakfast, or was it lunch, at Red Lobster. Oysters for breakfast? Why not?
I’ll tell you why not. This is America, and in America, we have certain foods for certain meals. We have plenty of food options for breakfast. Just think of the many ways we can have our eggs, pancakes, waffles, and cereal with mountainous sides of sausage, bacon, grits, potatoes, and gravy. With so many choices, there is no need to contemplate the lowly oyster. To do so is…well, unthinkable.
John and I often have fish for breakfast. So there!
In the end, the woodpecker pecked in vain; I never took his picture. John says the birds will be mad. Expect a phone call.
“Where is she? We have been chirping all morning.”
“Sorry, she is having a chair siesta.”
As for John, fifteen minutes of the usual news fare was enough. The garden will need a fresh vegetable picker this afternoon and someone to chase the poodle when he takes off with a pepper. Sounds like an excellent start to dinner.