Stories and Breakfast
Breakfast. I have a strange emotional attachment to the whole idea of breakfast. The thought of waking up to hot coffee, sizzling bacon, stacks of pancakes, and people I really love is one of the happiest things I can think of. Many of my happiest memories in life have taken place over breakfast.
When I was growing up, for one week every summer my grandparents gathered all five of their grandchildren for a week entitled, “Cousins Camp.” The majority of the weeks were spent at a beach house in Doheny Beach. Us cousins got to plan the week. We picked meals and teamed up to make them, suggested events, picked games, it was always so fun because we were empowered to make it great. But, due to the fact moms and grandparents were secretly running the whole thing, breakfast was early. Like 8am, early for summer. Each morning we would gather in the kitchen for something yummy. Usually one morning was pancakes, another omelets, another waffles, and always traditional eggs and bacon. Everyone gathered around the table, passed the syrup, piled pancakes, fought over the last piece of bacon, taking in the sun as it rose higher and higher over the ocean. Mornings hold such a promise of a new day, a clean slate, it’s almost a subconscious knowing, the newness of each day. And breakfast helps usher this in.
At Summer camp breakfast was always the best meal of the day. Lunch could be weird, dinner something fried, but breakfast was always a winner. One of my years at summer camp was a house boating trip. I woke up early on the top deck of my house boat. I climbed down and found two of my friends on the kitchen house boat, helping prep food. So I joined in, cracking eggs for an hour. Why was this fun? Good people, a sunrise, a still lake. I always have found great benefits in waking up for breakfast. At camp there is always those people who sleep through breakfast. This year at the houseboats camp after we finished cracking the eggs, a dad took us out on a boat before everyone else was awake for breakfast. We sped across the lake, no one else out there, the chill breeze turning our cheeks pink. It was one of those moments where everything feels right in the world.
Throughout high school I went on a mission trip to Mexico every spring break. Again, breakfast was the best. Bundled up in sweatshirts we would line up for the coveted Mexico Oatmeal. It was just oatmeal with half and half and vanilla creamer, but it was so warm and so good. That along with pancakes and berries on top, curled up in a camp chair was how I began every morning of spring break for all of high school. It was usually early, it was usually cold, I usually hadn’t showered for a few days, but it was always worth it. Have you ever had a breakfast like this? Nothing too spectacular, the place could even be a gravel field in Mexico, but it is just wonderful. Maybe it was because of the promise of all the day would hold. Maybe it was because it felt like the ultimate adventure. Often it was because of those who I ate with.
In college, breakfast became one of the few times where a lot of people were free. Need to talk with a few friends? Breakfast before class. Need to meet with a mentor? Breakfast before work. For some reason my friends and I always seemed to all be available in the morning for breakfast. Breakfast is also an easy cheap meal. Eggs and toast. Eggs and Bisquick pancakes, a staple of my sophomore year. It also says a lot about your friends if they are willing to get up early to have breakfast with you. Keep them around. Meeting for breakfast shows a different level of importance placed upon a meeting. It also has coffee, which always makes me smile.
In Africa, breakfast changed my life. Not everyone would get up for breakfast, but those who did consistently did. So, every morning we talked. We talked about anything and everything. As the African sun rose over our soccer field, drying the rain from the storm the previous night, we would eat fried eggs and drink instant coffee. No matter where we traveled to or lived in Africa, breakfast was a constant. Isn’t that funny, of all things to become an anchoring constant in my life, it was breakfast? I vividly picture the dining hall I would eat in, the way the sun illuminated my friend sitting in front of the window. We would cram for tests, laugh over the games played the night before, share our fears and worries for the day.
I miss those breakfasts. It reminded me at the beginning of a new day I had people who were standing beside me, loving me, cheering me on in everything. Every morning I sat with them, and now every morning I miss them. Breakfast has become a quiet thing, of coffee and books, or eating quickly to move on.
Let’s all meet up in my kitchen, crack some eggs, make some waffles, drink a couple french presses of coffee, and sit on the patio as the sun burns off the morning mist. There will be more than enough coffee and conversation, it will warm your heart I promise.
