This morning, i thought about what “Good Morning” means…not just the definition.

Today began with a good morning.

Yesterday, our grandson, the grand Sam James Jewell Gander, turned sixteen. He was a bit grumpy as he wasn’t allowed to skip school (is that a new tradition started by fifteen years ago like “Mule Day” in Lebanon, Tennessee was a high school holiday, a tradition by some of the boys, including my father who might have been a ringleader with his buddies, H.M. Byars and Jim Horn Hankins, at Lebanon High School around 1934?). But it is a right for sixteen year boys to be grumpy. Perhaps the testosterone levels are kicking up. Although i am unwise and very disconnected to the current teenageism, i’m pretty sure the gamut of emotions running through a just-turned sixteen teenage boy, remain a controlling factor. Sam’s fine. He just turned sixteen yesterday. i’m proud of him…and his parents.

Yesterday, we played golf at Bonita Golf Club with the Toennies and shared an early supper there. Maureen is getting better and better. It’s fun to watch. i improved slightly from awful, and better yet, the old age biting of back and knees stayed away, hopefully a new trend.

Did i mention the Southwest corner weather was perfect for a late morning tee time? It was, cloudless with a slight breeze and temperatures in the high 60’s, low 70’s. Southwest corner spring weather. The drear of damp, cloudy, and chilly (for San Diego) apparently is finally run its course (the least wonderful of any Southwest corner winter i’ve experienced. We seemed to have missed the April-early May bonanza of perfect as May Gray has started early, which will lead into June Gloom. That’s okay. It’s seaport weather, and in spite of having to add and subtract clothing layers as the marine layer goes through its cycle, it is always comfortable.

And last night, my Padres beat Tommy Duff’s Cubbies. ‘Bout time, the gazillion dollar team came through.

Those things led into my appreciating the deeper meaning of good morning. i arose a bit later than usual, still early for my bride and turned on the kitchen light. The breakfast room looked like:

“Lucky,” i thought, “It’s a good morning.” The scene reflected my thoughts. The table was my great aunt’s. The secretary was my parent’s. The roses on the table and the orchid on the stand are Maureen’s. The arty cookbook is gift from Maureen’s brother. the teapot on the table is one Maureen got a while ago. The woven basket under the window is a Filipino wedding basket i bought during one stop at the Subic Bay Naval Base on Luzon. The Mexican sage outside the window is the menu for hummingbirds who breakfast with us. The flagstone path is to our patio sans top (my brother pointed out the silliness of calling it a “sitting area”). The secretary holds an old ink well from my parents, Maureen’s Dutch teapot and cookie jar. The secretary’s book shelves and drawers hold cookbooks, lots and lots of Maureen’s cookbooks and two of mine.

In short, this is the story of Maureen and me we enter into every morning.

When i have retrieved the paper, made the coffee, put up the dishes in the drying rack, and set the table, it looks like this:

Maureen’s prepares another wonderful breakfast. We dine, say hello to the hummingbirds, and read the paper, repeating the tradition of both sets of parents sans the newspaper (they both got the afternoon paper, the Nashville Banner and the San Diego Tribune). It is a nice connection for me a wonderful way to start a “Good Morning.”

And i think of everyone else who hopefully are having a good morning. All of the connecting stuff is great for us but not necessary. i just hope that as many as can are having as good a morning as we are, and those who can’t because of the conditions they are facing will soon be able to have a good morning as well.

Good Morning.