We’re up before dawn and already the house is filled with the inviting aroma of fresh brewed coffee and savory apple wood bacon. Much of our preparations is done the night before — forming crusts into quiche, marinating thick slabs of challah bread and peeling apples.
Breakfast at our table is a celebration… a way to welcome a new day in the mountains with all its promise of beauty and adventure. Robust coffee, lively conversation, a radiant fire and a sumptuous gourmet breakfast is served in a room filled with laughter. Does anybody remember laughter?
Sunday morning was always special as a kid growing up in our house. Having worked long hours at GM through the week, my Dad would round-up us kids and hustle us into the kitchen, leaving our Mom to sleep-in — something she rarely did. There we would participate in an event called breakfast!
Dad would delegate the responsibilities, with my youngest brother, Brian, in charge of “toast”, my next youngest brother, Alan, was the “chopper” and, as the eldest, I would work the stove. Baby sister, Lori, would stay safe in my father’s arms. Like a scene from the Wizard of Oz, bread was buttered, potatoes got diced and eggs and sausages were cooked in the pan.
Alternately, some Sundays would be oat meal and others pancakes. Sure there was the occasional cut finger or burned hand, but what we had in abundance was a kitchen filled with laughter. My Mom would rise and would wonder what had happened to her kitchen.
Before the clean-up commenced, we would come together as family over a breakfast so fine. The laughter continued as we got ready for church — shoes polished to a high gloss shine and cowlicks plastered down with something called “Wave-set”.
This morning, it’s Donna and I in the kitchen and a house filled with splendid guests, who will soon gather for a delightful meal. They will talk about where they’re from and where they are going and most importantly… there will be laughter.