I reminisce about the smallest things sometimes.
Yesterday, I made breakfast for Karen since it was her first day off in quite a while. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a warm bowl of maple-sugar oatmeal, some cinnamon toast, a juice-glass of grape juice (she likes it), and a juice glass of chocolate milk. I had it all laid out on the dining room table on a gold-colored place mat which lie adjacent to my own on which was my bowl of Cheerios and some cinnamon toast. I drank coffee.
As I was preparing the whole thing, I got to thinking about how Karen laughs at some of the necessary food combinations I make. By “necessary” I mean that it is imperative to me that certain foods be served together. I can’t fathom fish sticks without macaroni and cheese. It’s like shoes and socks to me; there’s no point in separating them, it’ll just give you blisters. I don’t understand pizza without chips and cheese dip. I know it’s a mixture of cultural cuisines, but it still makes all kinds of sense to me. Grilled cheese sandwiches have been married to bowls of tomato soup for longer than I’ve been living. Oreos need milk. Ice cream is unbearable without a cup of water. These things just go together for me.
I was smiling yesterday morning because I couldn’t grasp a lone juice glass on a breakfast spread. Mom always had two for us (my brother and me). I figure it was a plot to get us to drink at least one of the liquids set before us because I do remember a stipulation of going through one to get to another, or not being able to vacate the premises until both glasses’ contents were emptied of all but backwash.
Karen didn’t say anything about my having provided her with two drinks. In fact, she guzzled them both and appreciated my loving, ante meridiem gesture. Either way, however, I remembered and smiled.
It’s funny how your mind can be therapy enough; especially with a great family.
No comments:
Post a Comment