I awoke and sat on the edge of my bed. Maggie yawned and sighed softly before curling back up to go to sleep once again. I pulled on my shorts, socks, and tennis shoes to get ready for my morning walk. It was still dark as night outside without a hint of dawn on the horizon.
Here’s to hoping it will be another quiet and uneventful day less filled with the turmoil’s of my mental illness. I have to treasure these eyes in the storm of the turbulent hurricane that can be my mind.The sun was just beginning to rise on this cold morning as I once again completed six miles. The cold and dampness of the air made me shiver after all that rain we got. I walked over to Merl’s Diner to eat breakfast and to drink as much coffee as my bladder could hold.
Merl’s was busy this morning. The smell of frying bacon came wafting out of the kitchen evoking memories of cold winter mornings spent on my grandmother’s farm. Breakfast was the biggest and most important meal of the day for her.
“You’ve got to start your day right,” She would tell me. “A good breakfast gets you on the right footing for the day.”
I could picture her standing in her quaint little country kitchen over a hot stove as she fried bacon and scrambled my favorite, cheese eggs. The creak of the door of her oven would sound as she would pull out a big pan of made-from-scratch biscuits. She would carefully cut in half each biscuit to add a dab of fresh cream butter. We would then eat quietly as she sipped upon her piping hot coffee from her favorite and ancient old coffee mug as shafts of the warm morning sun would splay out upon her kitchen floor from her window.
This morning I ordered two sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits along with a large coffee. I sat quietly eating as I people watched. The owner of the restaurant, Merl, then went around to each table to ask her customers if everything tasted okay and if they needed anything. I thought that was a nice touch. You surely wouldn’t see something like that down at McDonald’s eating their bland breakfast fare.
I finally finished my breakfast and stepped into the bathroom to make room for all the coffee I had drank. I then stepped back out into the cool morning air to make it home in time to watch ER on TNT which has also become a morning ritual. Here’s to hoping it will be another quiet and uneventful day less filled with the turmoil’s of my mental illness. I have to treasure these eyes in the storm of the turbulent hurricane that can be my mind.
16 comments:
Completely envied the description of the old mug and sunlight off the kitchen floor.. lovely.
I was captivated by your writing style and I enjoyed the description of your morning ritual. I pray that God will bless you indeed.
Another wonderful post. It reminds me of many of day in south Texas as my grandmother made chorizo and eggs with fresh flour tortillas. The morning sun in my face and I set out for my day. Thanks for conjuring up some great memories.
God rest her soul.
Isn't it amazing how vivid the pictures come back by simply breathing in? And you are right, the appreciation of patrons is a rare thing to be seen in this day and age. It isn't that the mom & pop places don't care, they're usually too busy to take the time. Sounds to me you were surrounded by nostalgia this morning and sometimes going back to safety is the best thing to clear our heads.
Have a wonderful day :)
Loved your writing, as always. But I swear that's not the photo that was up just a few minutes ago. Except now I can't remember what the other was.
Oh well - I like this one. You have a talent for making your blog look great.
Fiwa,
I added a java script that randomly rotates between six header images. I thought it would make the blog more interesting. You are not imagining things. Glad you enjoy the blog and thanks as always for commenting.
Andrew
Hi, Andrew. This is Kristen. I am posting this as a public service on your blog because so many read it.
Well, it has happened. I am locked out of my blog.
I do not at all like the strong-arm tactics. I cannot log in, period, unless I switch.
When you see the warning that you can skip switching only once, it does not mean that you will never again be offered the opportunity (as I thought) to switch.
It means that after the once, you will be locked out.
Be warned.
PS. It looks as if I am still able to comment at other people's blogs with my old username. I just cannot post at my own blog with a new post with the old username. I have not yet tried to make a comment on my own blog.
That is so clever! My hat is off to you.
PS: I returned to my blog to see if I could comment, and to my surprise, the pencil icons were up, meaning I could click on this editing tool to access my account.
I created a new post in this way, by first clicking on the editing pencil, then clicking on the 'create' tab.
I guess I will have to switch soon, but will try to hang on with this until I have the time to switch.
Thanks, Andrew, for the chance to help others.
I love your new rotating header, too! Very cool. :)
I am glad that you are having a good day. I hope that you are able to have several more.
Thanks for posting so often...it helps break up my day!
Lisa
nicely put Dude, Like I say "when I'm in my own mind, it's a dangerous place to be"
Your blog is looking particularly *spiffy* today. Lovely and easy for me to read! Love the pic at the top.
Have a good weekend!
-P
I once wrote a post about my grandmother on an old blog. The post was called Memories of Water. I had to delete the blog as someone was threatening me and I didn't have time to save it. I lost all of my best writings. I think I might be able to remember some of those words. Aren't grandmothers the best thing in the world?
I like the new look, or rather any new look you create for your blog, as it is always so creative.
I like the music too. Have you ever listened to Tristan Prettyman? She's way cool.
Thanks for the blog tutorial today. As always, thanks for being such a great person.
Andrew,
I have such respect for you. I don't want to sound patronizing but would like to tell of my experience.
There are several levels of Depression that run through my family tree. From delusional to catatonic, the tree has had the weight of it all rest upon it's branches.I fall somewhere in the middle.
In the ninties, I was fortunate enough to be employed by the local mental health agency and I worked/played and otherwise had genuine fun with a group of men from age 19 to 65 who dealt with the difficulties of having schizophrenia.
I was able, not through ability but through experience, to listen and hear. I was able in some ways to help and in others, to be helped.
I do hold those times dear.
But I fucked up.
I had a client that I had so much compassion for that I, Me, lost all balance. We had sex. I had no interest in hurting anyone. I wanted her to feel like a woman. That she was lovable. That someone cared! What a fucking dolt I was. I am so sorry for breaking that trust. So sorry.
There are not enough good and compassionate and wise people working within community mental health programs. I once had something to offer. I threw it all away.
You make it easy for people to get an image of what you are writing about. It's really cool. Good luck having an uneventful day.
Update on Blogger. My trick to get in to post has been closed off, so anyone reading the above hints on ways to get around the mandate will be disappointed if they try it.
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