A Nice Little Place for Breakfast, maybe later

Yesterday, i was going to write about my feelings as i waited for my wife. She had an early doctor’s appointment. i mean way early cause it was at 6:00 am. Although she groused about having to get up (she always grouses if she can’t sleep grunches of hours and has to arise before 8:00), she was actually happy as the last time she had an 8:00 appointment with this particular medical jail, it was over an eight-hour ordeal. Anyway (every time i write or say “anyway,” i think of my mother who used it to dismiss the subject at hand and move on to another), i was waiting for her and one of our go to eateries, and was going to write about how i enjoyed this particular place.

Maybe later.

You see, this morning, we didn’t go out for breakfast. i started my morning routine, early, even for me because i went to bed much earlier than usual. Why? Because i was tired. Don’t know why. But i listen to my body and at my age, my body is a non-stop gossip.

So i get up tp go through my morning routine and plan to add a couple of things. Productive or perhaps just fiddlin’ around? Depends on how you look at it, i guess.

Regardless, i went to my little cabin in the woods, which i don’t really have, but the garage serves that purpose in my life.

i noted the sun is rising later. It was dark throughout the house. i walked to the breezeway for the paper and stuff out of the long-lived refrigerator, which they don’t make no more as pointed out by one Danielle Boggs, but i guess the new ones are prettier in the kitchen, and it was dark, but as i emerged from the garage and walked to the driveway to retrieve my paper, which had been delivered by some old man in a late model car when he tossed it out the passenger side window and some ungodly hour long before i made it out and that always hacks me off because our newspaper, now printed in LA ’cause the local publishers valued money over community identity and now the sports scores are not included because the games ended after the deadline ’cause the papers have to printed before sent to down here and perhaps that is really why i favored afternoon papers in my newspaper days as the Nashville Banner and theĀ Watertown (NY) Daily Times always had the complete scores in their editions. But that is another matter, and…

Anyhow, as i walked toward the plastic bagged newspaper, which is never tri-folded and delivered by a “paperboy” on his bicycle, one-speed, mind you, with a basket on the handlebars where the tri-folded papers were carried…oops…

Anyhow, i saw first light, real, no-kidding first light. Like on the bridge of a ship for the morning watch (0400-0800 but not really cause it was truncated due to the morning mess). You see (and man, did i see a lot of them), first light occurs about 45 minutes before dawn. It is truly first light. Like a band of lighter dark on the eastern horizon, gradually turning black to gray, brightening the sky, all of it before that old man sun does his rolling around the heavens all day.

It is a quiet time of day. Peaceful. Doves like it and announce it but they do not disturb the quiet. This morning, there was a different call, a plea, but repetitive. Not dove, not coyote, not owl. i imagined a big bird, or perhaps something like a fox. The sound didn’t disturb my quiet, which feels like i hear it. It is not a passive thing. This quiet feels like it covers the earth with its friend first light. There are no honks or sirens or screeches of brakes or slamming of doors or chatter of neighbors or televisions, radios or whatever blaring stuff, noise mostly.

It is just me on a driveway in Southwest corner suburbia watching first light in the quiet framing Mount Miguel into focus to the east, fading the stars into the depths of the heavens.

Most mornings, i just stand there rapt with first light, marveling at how i got here, where i came from.

i take a sip of my coffee from my last ship’s mug.

I am at peace.

And that, i think, is all i can hope for.


2 thoughts on “A Nice Little Place for Breakfast, maybe later

  1. We’re primal creatures at heart, something the Lord can use to comfort and stabilize us, an essential process we could fail to realize we need. So, first light, sounds not manmade, these bring us into His arms for the quick hug before we run off into the wrecks we call our lives, our civilization.

  2. The Tennessean also outsourced its printing. It goes to print at 9:30 somewhere else. Anyway the news is not up to date and barely 16 pages most days. They still want $49. a month for it. Sad to say i cancelled my subscription this past Monday. I have had the paper for years. I always liked the paper because it gave more detail than television. Now it’s mostly fluff and idiot decrees by an uninformed governor. I’m done.

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