Breakfast Anytime

So we got up to Thomasville and it seems that we had the wrong day. The appointment is for tomorrow. Kathleen is feeling as if she is not being competent by getting that wrong but I told her to call any doctor's office in the world and see how often (every day) that happens.

After we left the hospital, we did what any intelligent couple of women would do in that situation and went to the Waffle House and had breakfast.

They are now serving "Texas" biscuits at the Waffle House. "What are Texas biscuits?" I mused, looking at the menu.
"I don't know, but I'm getting one," Kathleen said.

We both ordered the Texas biscuits. When they came I said, "I guess Texas biscuits are just bigger."

The waitress, who looked to me as if life has disappointed her on every level and continues to do so up to this very second said, "I don't know why they call 'em that. They're just regular biscuits."
She was quite disdainful as if this false labeling of a bread product was just one more disappointment in her life.

After we paid our bill and were leaving I said to Kathleen, "I am so full. Next time I'm going to see if I can order a Florida biscuit."

Okay. It wasn't that funny. A lot of things aren't that funny but you didn't even have to pay for that one.

Owen is coming in about three hours. I could clean and finish laundry and have, in fact, started laundry and scrubbed two toilets and cleaned various mirrors. However, I believe I should adopt the mommy-policy which I always advise mothers of young children to follow which is to sleep whenever you can.

I am not the mommy of a young child but I am the grandmommy of one and that's close enough. He and Lily are "moving in" tonight and will be staying through Friday evening due to Lily's schedule. I am so excited!

However, I believe I will now go nap in order to sleep off this Texas biscuit and in order to prepare for the fun and frolic which will be following shortly.

Did you need to know all of this?
No you did not.
But at least if you go to the Waffle House now and see Texas Biscuit on the menu, you will know what to expect. A very large, regular biscuit most likely served by a disappointed and disdainful waitress.

And let me add that the hash browns were, as always, quite fine.

Breakfast In A Normal World

I had to go to town this morning to get some blood drawn for basic lab stuff and afterwards, I took myself to a Waffle House for breakfast, which is something I hardly ever do. For me, breakfast is almost always a small bowl of fibrous flakes of one sort or another with a piece of fruit cut up on them and some soy milk poured over. But I was feeling pretty good and wanted to celebrate that and it had been a fasting blood test and I was hungry.

It was late for breakfast and early for lunch so there were plenty of tables and I sat down at one with my newspaper and the waitress came over right away, complaining before she got her pad out about being tired, but not bitterly, just matter-of-fact, I'm tired, getting up at six is rough, etc.

I nodded in understanding, then gave her my order and read my paper and it was so nice there, in the Waffle House, being surrounded by other humans, eating their breakfasts and drinking their coffee, everyone using their table manners and their inside voices. The Waffle House is sort of the level playing field of the country, like the watering hole in the forest. Weary travelers of all types come in for the eggs and grits and coffee and juice and the grilled cheese sandwiches, rich and poor alike, The Waffle House is always there just waiting for you by the interstate; easy off, come on in, have a seat, fill you up, send you on your way, have a nice day.

I ate my breakfast and it was good, the way it always is. Nothing fancy or free-range or organic or rain-forest friendly or whole grained about it. Just plain food but all the more enjoyable for that somehow if you don't eat it regularly. Reminds me of how my kids used to love the white bread at my mother's house, it was so soft and easy to eat, nothing like the whole wheat I forced down their poor little throats day-in and day-out.

I finished up and left a good tip because it is rough, getting up at six, to go stand on your feet and serve heavy plates of American food to hungry people for eight hours a day. Plus, she was a good waitress, my waitress, and got my order just right and asked me several times if I needed anything else, although I never did.

It was lovely, that half hour or so, feeling so normal, feeling like everyone else seems to feel, just a regular woman in a Waffle House with the sun shining on her, eating a breakfast, reading a newspaper, the juke box playing some good tunes but not so loudly that it interfered with anyone's conversation, anyone's thoughts.

I always get raisin toast at the Waffle House and they bring you apple butter when you order the raisin toast.

It was especially good today, not burnt in the least, but nicely toasted, like the cook had paid attention, and I appreciated that, I surely did, because it's not always that way.

So when it's just right, the raisin toast, you need to appreciate it.

And I did. I appreciated every bite.