”Got up at cock-crow yesterday. It was 11 o’clock, but that was the bird’s fault.”
The weather is the same, a sort of boring rut of sun and cold. The sky is a bit cloudy, and there is a breeze, a small one though but it adds to the cold. I should go out as I need the usual, cream for my coffee and bread, but I don’t think I will. I’m still fighting that cold. I am tired and grumpy and probably should not be unleashed upon the world.
My life is quiet of late. I call people to let them know I haven’t died and been eaten by my dogs. That’s always a possibility. They are hungry critters.
I have the best mornings. As soon as I wake up, we all, the dogs and I, go downstairs. The dogs go outside, pee, then quickly run inside, well Nala quickly runs inside while Henry looks through the doggie door hoping I’ll see him to let him in. Once they’re in, the dogs follow me around the kitchen expecting their morning treats, a biscuit and a cookie, a real cookie, a doggie Oreo. It is then I get my coffee and toast, and the house smells of morning, of the coffee brewing and the bread toasting. My toast has been taken to a higher level. A friend sent me a jar of Black Mission Fig Jam. I have toast every morning just to have the jam. The jar is getting close to the bottom. I’d scream but I’m almost out of bread too. The end of this week is looking bleak.
When I was a kid, my favorite breakfast was boiled eggs served with toast strips for dunking. My mother served the eggs in egg cups with a pile of toast strips on the plate. Her boiled eggs always had plenty of yolk. I drank cocoa with breakfast.
The morning continues except it is afternoon. No matter the time, I still finish my morning routine in the same order every day: wake up, go downstairs, give treats, make coffee and toast, slather jam, read the newspaper, do the word puzzles, read my e-mail, drink more coffee and finally start Coffee. Today I am quite late, well into the afternoon. It happens that way some days.
Explore posts in the same categories: Musings