breakfast

For two years, I haven't had a dining room. At my last, tiny, dark apartment, I had a small living space that was supposed to serve as both living and dining room, right next to a kitchen that took up a third of the apartment but had no room for a table. So when I moved there I put my tiny table and chairs for two (an entirely mismatched grouping) in the living room and moved it around, along with the furniture, in frustration, until at last I took it down, returned the table and one chair to my grandparents who had lent it to me.

At that point, I decided I would rather have a few extra feet of space in the living room for living than a weird table in weird places to eat at. Leaning one arm on the back of the couch while eating spaghetti just didn't feel right. So for about a year and a half, I had no table to eat at. I had the couch, the coffee table, the kitchen counter. And during that time, I pretty much stopped eating meals. Everything I ate was easy, quick, not fixed. I didn't eat meals--I just put food in my mouth while standing up or leaning over the coffee table or sitting at my desk. I didn't save time for breakfast. Life was jumbled. Food was just stuff to keep me alive.

I have lived in the new apartment for nearly two weeks now. I have a breakfast bar, which I was overjoyed to find, and promptly bought two handsome stools. I have an adjoining dining room, too, so I took my brother (and his truck) to Nebraska Furniture Mart (as planned) and bought a five-piece counter-height dining set. I have a table! I have a place to eat! I have two places to eat! I can't tell you how much that thrills me. How much having friends over for game night and pizza last Friday--at a table--thrilled me. We can sit! We can eat!

I must admit that first full week here (last week), I didn't eat breakfast at home. I was hurried, still getting settled, so I drove by McDonald's or Burger King several days that week for cheap sausage biscuits. But I had the foresight Friday night to pick up canned biscuits and a package of Jimmy Dean sausage when I was shopping. So Saturday morning, my first settled non-work morning, I got up early and baked biscuits, cooked sausage. I made breakfast for the first time in I can't remember how long. I made my breakfast and ate it on the patio (at a third table!) while Snickers sniffed around and lounged in the morning humidity. Sunday morning I got up later but reheated two biscuits and two sausage patties and ate breakfast at the breakfast bar, a pleasant start to the morning.

This morning before work, I got up, started the coffee, took a shower, cooked more sausage, reheated the biscuits, and ate breakfast and coffee at the breakfast bar. It's perfect. This simple act of sitting down to a solid breakfast, for taking that time, for having a place to sit and eat and notice the food, starts the day admirably. I wasn't starving by 10am.

So, my friends, I have discovered the value of breakfast sitting down. I plan on keeping it up. I might need to find an alternative to sausage biscuits, but I'm not worried about that right now. I might add fruit to my meal. Or a glass of milk (maybe chocolate) in addition to the coffee. I'm actually starting the day with a meal, and I feel real again.