Let me say a word about breakfast. I know too many people who pass it by, or grin and bear it, or think of it as something to slog through on their way to better foods later in the day. As I sit here and write this, I'm thinking -- hey, that was once me! I hated breakfast as a kid. Absolutely hated it. Even if we were traveling and dining out -- a rare treat indeed! -- I would look at the menu and cringe. Eggs, cereal, toast -- all gross.
But I made an exception: during the summers in the Polish village, at my grandma's house, I devoured it: sour borstch, oatmeal, dark bread and cheese, berries, always lots and lots of berries -- I loved it all.
I think, now, it was all in my head.
When I was a young mom and working and going to school -- all three at once, breakfast was a blur. It was all about getting them to eat and be out the door on time. I can't remember anything else.
These days, as you well know, that morning meal, for me rules. It starts the day with a coming together of great foods and it is the one meal when Ed and I eat without distraction.
So where do you fall on the breakfast continuum? Indifferent to it? Spring out of bed for it? I wonder...
This afternoon it was time to take to the ski trails again. We had our doubts -- all that melting and freeing, covered by only a marginal layer of fresh snow? It can't be great.
It wasn't. At least that was Ed's verdict. Pretty? Yes, that. And at 34F, quite warm. My cap came off quickly enough. But the skis clumped the snow and when we weren't sticking, we were sliding precariously over layers of ice. Ed suggested early on that we call it quits.
But it's so nice outside!
We can walk instead...
In ski boots? Carrying skis?
To demonstrate that this was not as ridiculous as it sounded, he took off his skis and trudged alongside me, just barely keeping up.
I talked him back onto his skis and we finished the loop, but I have to say, it was an effort.
But the forest was, as always, quite beautiful.
Even as for skiing, we need more snow.
A great stack of paperwork waited for me back at the farmhouse. And, too, a pesky Isis who now likes to be fed many times, in small amounts, and preferably with someone holding the bowl up to his level and petting him while he is eating.
The cat is so indulged!
But then, so are we! Starting with that breakfast, which I am already imagining, even though it's still nearly twelve hours away.
I tell you, it's all in the head.
But I made an exception: during the summers in the Polish village, at my grandma's house, I devoured it: sour borstch, oatmeal, dark bread and cheese, berries, always lots and lots of berries -- I loved it all.
I think, now, it was all in my head.
When I was a young mom and working and going to school -- all three at once, breakfast was a blur. It was all about getting them to eat and be out the door on time. I can't remember anything else.
These days, as you well know, that morning meal, for me rules. It starts the day with a coming together of great foods and it is the one meal when Ed and I eat without distraction.
So where do you fall on the breakfast continuum? Indifferent to it? Spring out of bed for it? I wonder...
This afternoon it was time to take to the ski trails again. We had our doubts -- all that melting and freeing, covered by only a marginal layer of fresh snow? It can't be great.
It wasn't. At least that was Ed's verdict. Pretty? Yes, that. And at 34F, quite warm. My cap came off quickly enough. But the skis clumped the snow and when we weren't sticking, we were sliding precariously over layers of ice. Ed suggested early on that we call it quits.
But it's so nice outside!
We can walk instead...
In ski boots? Carrying skis?
To demonstrate that this was not as ridiculous as it sounded, he took off his skis and trudged alongside me, just barely keeping up.
I talked him back onto his skis and we finished the loop, but I have to say, it was an effort.
But the forest was, as always, quite beautiful.
Even as for skiing, we need more snow.
A great stack of paperwork waited for me back at the farmhouse. And, too, a pesky Isis who now likes to be fed many times, in small amounts, and preferably with someone holding the bowl up to his level and petting him while he is eating.
The cat is so indulged!
But then, so are we! Starting with that breakfast, which I am already imagining, even though it's still nearly twelve hours away.
I tell you, it's all in the head.
