Entry #662905, added on 08-09-09 @ 7:48 pm EDT
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| Breakfast at Tiffany's...er..The Porch | Entry #662905 |
Title: Breakfast at Tiffany's...er...The Porch
Date: August 8, 2009, Saturday
Thought: And, I’ve learned that not everyone likes catsup on their scrambled eggs. Harley says that is “yucky.”
Jog: It isn’t quite as glamorous as Breakfast at Tiffany’s. In fact it isn’t that kind of romance. There are some common aspects—she is a beautiful young woman and I happen to love her. But, all grandpas love their granddaughters. We have a standing date. The first Saturday in the month is Breakfast at the Porch—or some other local eatery.
The Porch is an old house located in the historic area of our little city. Long ago it was converted into a simple little café that serves home-style meals. It has changed its name at least three times in the last twenty years. I remember it originally as The Country Kitchen, which changed to Our Place; and now it is known as The Porch. Regardless of the name, it is what’s happening there that is significant. Harley and I are having breakfast.
In this day and age of instant communication and abundant activities to occupy a fifteen year old girls attention, I find it very gratifying that she can find time for me. Granted she is subtracting this time from her valuable sleep time. She is usually not up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning—no, 9:30 or 10:00 am is the usual beginning time of her Saturdays. So, I suppose that little sacrifice makes it a little more endearing to me. I smile at the thought that gramps is worthy of special effort.
Harley is a special child. She is liberal with her affection; she does not hesitate to say, “I love you grandpa,” which is pretty dang endearing in itself. In the mornings she is a little sleepy headed, but she perks up as the conversation gets going. She is not shy about talking. Nope, she’ll attack any subject that is broached, from politics to religion. I stay away from sex for I know she would wade into that subject as well; and I am just not ready for that conversation.
We will talk about simple things—school, her saxophone, current events in the news. The conversation isn’t as important as the connection that we make doing it. She is bright and listens intently. I actually perceive she learns something from each conversation. And, although she doesn’t realize it, I learn a little something also. I confirm that youth is a very special time, and is well used when it is bathed in love that is given generously. I try to do my part in that area. I learn that the older generation and the younger one can communicate effectively; we actually have much in common if we will take the time to interact. And, I’ve learned that not everyone likes catsup on their scrambled eggs. Harley says that is “yucky.”
After living six decades I have come to cherish each passing day. I try to find something in each one that is special, something that is worthy of remembering. Sometimes it comes from writing in this journal, often it comes from observing others live life, and sometimes like today it comes from eating breakfast. It isn’t a glamorous time, certainly not a Breakfast at Tiffany’s moment. However, my Breakfast at The Porch with Harley is rewarding in its own special way. Sometimes I wish there were more that just one “first Saturday” in the month—hmmm, maybe there are.
BTW, I have a new short story. Take a peek at it if you will.
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