Saturday morning was a lot more exciting when I was a kid. There were cartoons and my Mom would make a big breakfast. Whatever she felt like whipping up: pancakes, bacon and eggs, fruit salad, omelettes, sausages, french toast, red river cereal, scrambled eggs, bagles, cinnamon buns and just about anything you can imagine as breakfast food. Sometimes something quite fancy and sometimes just a bowl of anonymous flakes in milk. I appreciate it much more now. All those breakfasts in our sunny kitchen on Rouge Hills Drive, West Hill, Ontario. That was a long time ago.
I still really like going out for breakfast, when someone else does the cooking and the cleaning up. Living alone I don’t get inspired to whip up anything for breakfast. I would make pancakes and bacon and eggs and french toast and such when I was married. Until things go not so nice. Then I didn’t bother, didn’t even bother to get up to be with him, let alone cook for him. I ate ice cream when I got up. Not a great plan I have to warn you.
Anyway, that’s what Saturday morning makes me think of. All those mornings in our cosy house and having breakfast together at the table. Being called away from the TV, which was not that interesting anyway. Mom liked to have conversation so we always blabbed about something or other. Sometimes she had a plan for the day or the weekend. She was a firm believer in unplanned plans though. We might go to the flea market in Pickering but end up on a road trip to Niagara Falls instead. There were weekend visits to the Grandparents in Woodstock. Two hours was just borderline distance with four kids in a car. We had a big van for awhile, that gave each of us our own bench. It was pretty cool to stretch out or find some other way to take up all your available space. I had books and a little sister. I could have suggested she go somewhere else but I didn’t mind. Sometimes I had my other sister, taking refuge from my brother. They always competed, over everything. But he was closer to my age and had advantages. That didn’t stop her from trying to win. She was “Queen of Stubborn”, relentless to the point of craziness.
So those were Saturday mornings ages ago. Now I’m just being lazy. I should/ could be working on something practical and necessary and important. Maybe some part of my brain is waiting for breakfast, to come to the table and chat about what we might do today. Too bad it’s noon now. If I make a fresh coffee maybe I can fool myself into self discipline.
Or I could get dressed. Wearing your pajamas till after noon on a Saturday morning is not a sign of a productive day. But, it was fun when we were kids. I don’t want to go back, not at all. It’s nice to have memories but you have to keep making new ones to go with the part of your life you’re living in now.