Have eggs instead
Delray Beach, FL, January 2011
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Mornings and I have come to an agreement: I don't like them and they don't like me. There's a comfort and warmth in the cocoon of sleep that I'm just not willing to give up when the sun rises, the dog stirs and the house begins to transition from silence to daily life.
If I'm already up, though, I'm not so insensitive as to miss the beauty of the moment: There is, after all, an amazing sense of spirit associated with watching the world around you shake off the night and get ready for the day. I delivered newspapers when I was a kid (another lost opportunity for today's kids, but that's an issue for another day) and I vividly remember how it felt to quietly slip out of the house well before sun-up.
I'd walk the dead-silent streets under the ever-so-slowly lightening sky. Sounds - mostly birds and rustling leaves - seemed sharper, and sights I'd miss seeing on my way to school suddenly snapped into sharp detail as I walked past and noticed them for the first time. As I returned to the house, I often wished I could turn the clock back and experience that quiet time on the street again. It brought me comfort.
But sleep still rules, so just about the only way I'll willingly get out of bed on a non-deadline, non-working, non-parental-obligation day is when there's the promise of food at the end of that first stumbling walk to the kitchen. And when my beloved aunt makes omelettes, sleep can wait. It's not just that it's happy food - it is - but that it's made by someone who loves gathering around the kitchen for a morning chat as much as I do, who gets that the real joys in life are often found during those quiet times when the world transitions from one state to another.
If you take the time to observe and to listen, you see and hear things more clearly. And the food always tastes better, too. Definitely a recipe for happiness.
Your turn: How is it that food can make people happy?
