On days off, I like to get up early. With a good night of rest and without an
alarm, I begin to stir just before 7 am.
Still in my pseudo PJs, I head to the kitchen.
In celebration of the day, I cook a nice breakfast. A nice breakfast could be banana pancakes
with bacon, salmon cakes and grits, or an egg scramble and fruit. I keep my pantry and refrigerator stocked
with more than the essentials. My father
once looked through my pantry and refrigerator and said, “Girl, I can tell you
have southern roots…look at all this food!”
On this July 4th morning, I made a simple meal of steel cut
oatmeal with cinnamon, blueberries and walnuts. I tried to make steel cut oats before and
the texture and taste were odd, almost disgusting. I assumed that I didn’t like steel cut
oats. After a recent visit from my
friend Mitzi, I reconsidered my position.
One morning, she had surprised me with breakfast; a big bowl of steel
cut oats with blueberries and walnuts. I
didn’t know that they could taste so good.
With her tips, I would try again.
I discovered that my failure the first time was mostly due to my use of
instant steel cut oats. This time, I
used the oats that take about 30 minutes to cook. I gave them the same respect that I would
give grits. I hovered close by, often checking on them while they simmered
along slowly. When they were ready,
they did not disappoint. I sat at my
table and enjoyed every spoonful – the hearty texture of the oatmeal, the
crunch of walnuts and the occasional burst of a blueberry.
I return to the kitchen to brew coffee. From a high pantry shelf, I reach up and pull
down three unopened packages of flavored coffee – hazelnut, crème brulee and
coconut crème. The silver and
earth-toned packages, with Artisan scripted across the front, resemble
Christmas gift bags. Sometimes, I patrol
the gourmet food section of Home Goods, T.J. Maxx and Marshalls for
coffee. These are from a recent score
from Home Goods. I select hazelnut and
toss the other two back onto the shelves.
I listen to the slow drip of the coffee while the aroma fills up my 715
square feet of living space.
Living on the 8th floor provides me with a lovely view. Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, I
can look out across the horizon through large balcony windows. In spite of what looks to be a cloudy day, I
admire the city’s thick green flora that stretches out into the distance. My building is 2 blocks from the District of
Columbia line. I always point this out
to visitors --D.C. is right there! -- as if
the street along the district line somehow looks different from other streets
in the neighborhood. It would be
different if I could cross the street and step right onto the White House lawn. But still, that’s what I say every time
visitors ask about my proximity to D.C.
I pour my coffee, grab my journal and sit at my table. On days off, I prefer writing from my
bed. But today, I will journal from my
table, where I can write and enjoy my city view. I open it and record the date and time. I no longer remember why I started recording
the time so now it’s just a habit. I
write about a range of observations and experiences, freely moving from one
topic to the next. I think I write
without inhibition and with no audience for critical review. Yet, most entries include scratched out
corrections of misspellings and grammar.
I used to find this behavior to be quite annoying but now I’m
amused. Is it possible for me to stop
editing myself?
In time, my cup of coffee is almost empty and what is left is
cold. In the last hour, I have paused
between sips and words, holding the warm cup in both hands. At some point I must have put it down
without knowing it. Soon I’ll have other
things to do. But for now, I refill my
cup, pick up my pen and hold on a little longer.
