I know it's the middle of the afternoon, but I just need to confess. I dream of breakfast.
When I'm hungry at night (why does this always happen?) I console myself with the existence of the morning meal.
Breakfast is fantastic. It can be so spontaneous. It can be so ordinary. It can be different every day, or have a set routine. It can be quiet, or shared. We can decide to eat it as late as we like.
I miss the breakfasts my mom would set out for everyone when we had company back in Germany.
There would be bread and cereal and fruit and jam and coffee and tea. Everyone would trickle down a few at a time to eat together before rushing off to things.
I always tried to be ready early on those mornings, so I could drink tea in peace with a large group of our family and friends before dashing off to school.
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