Sunday, December 05, 2004
Seating for One
Weekend plans start with an early rise, minimal ablutions (enough to de-scale a night sleep's accumulations of dust mites and body grit), grabbing choice sections of the NYT and Philly Inqy, and stumbling out the door to the car. Turn the ignition key and aim the automobile in the general direction of Hank's Diner, just across the border in PA.
If all this stuttering motion begins before 7:30, there's a chance for a place to plop one's asleep derriere. Perhaps even a small table. At worse, it's a stool at the counter. Seating for one. Cup of coffee quickly appears, liquid sloshing out of the cup, forming a moat in the saucer. A load sluuuuurp. Jolt of joe. Peruse the day's morning specials, dry-marked in various colors on the white board hanging over the range. Eeenie, mineee, moe. There's the choice! Kennett Square Mushroom omellette. Open and fold and fold and then re-fold the paper to the Sports section. Admiring glances from your fellow stoolies on your NYT origami work.
It's going to be a good day. And the sun is at that clear winter chill blinding level. You should be schussing. Couldn't be better.
This is all, of course, based on that early rise.
And if I doddle around in the embrace of a comfortable bed and a comfortable wife? Well, then it's a 9:00-9:30 slog down the stairs. A brew of one; the ever-loving wife prefers The Tea. Rescue what sections are left of the papers. Shuffle into the kitchen and assume the position.
Paper's open on the stove. The stove canopy's light is on. Mug of coffee is parked on my right. "Morning After" show is playing onWVUD and the incomparable Mr. Don Berry is hosting. Heavy on the Ahmed Jamal. I stand over the stove and pore. It's not a Kennett Square mushroom omellete. But, it'll do. Good Weekend to all. Check out the Delawhere blog for an "Ode to a Backpack". Might make a girlfriend jealous.
Weekend plans start with an early rise, minimal ablutions (enough to de-scale a night sleep's accumulations of dust mites and body grit), grabbing choice sections of the NYT and Philly Inqy, and stumbling out the door to the car. Turn the ignition key and aim the automobile in the general direction of Hank's Diner, just across the border in PA.
If all this stuttering motion begins before 7:30, there's a chance for a place to plop one's asleep derriere. Perhaps even a small table. At worse, it's a stool at the counter. Seating for one. Cup of coffee quickly appears, liquid sloshing out of the cup, forming a moat in the saucer. A load sluuuuurp. Jolt of joe. Peruse the day's morning specials, dry-marked in various colors on the white board hanging over the range. Eeenie, mineee, moe. There's the choice! Kennett Square Mushroom omellette. Open and fold and fold and then re-fold the paper to the Sports section. Admiring glances from your fellow stoolies on your NYT origami work.
It's going to be a good day. And the sun is at that clear winter chill blinding level. You should be schussing. Couldn't be better.
This is all, of course, based on that early rise.
And if I doddle around in the embrace of a comfortable bed and a comfortable wife? Well, then it's a 9:00-9:30 slog down the stairs. A brew of one; the ever-loving wife prefers The Tea. Rescue what sections are left of the papers. Shuffle into the kitchen and assume the position.
Paper's open on the stove. The stove canopy's light is on. Mug of coffee is parked on my right. "Morning After" show is playing onWVUD and the incomparable Mr. Don Berry is hosting. Heavy on the Ahmed Jamal. I stand over the stove and pore. It's not a Kennett Square mushroom omellete. But, it'll do. Good Weekend to all. Check out the Delawhere blog for an "Ode to a Backpack". Might make a girlfriend jealous.
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