Breakfast - grace grits and gardening

6:30 a.m.
in the kitchen
dallas, texas

Breakfast

John: I hope you didn’t miss me too bad last night. He leans against the kitchen counter eating a slice of pound cake for breakfast.

Me: Don’t you mean, you missed me? I am staring at John as he leans against the kitchen counter eating a slice of pound cake for breakfast.

John: No, I wasn’t in bed much last night. Couldn’t sleep. He washes down pound cake with a drink of milk.

Me: When did you leave the bed? I make coffee.

John: I got up around 3:00. From 3:00 to 6:00 I wasn’t in bed. He eats another bite of pound cake.

Me: I was never there. I slept in Tate’s room all night because you were snoring. I smell the coffee.

John: Oh.

Me: Yeah. You never noticed I wasn’t there. I pour coffee. I need coffee.

John: Yeah I did. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. He eats another slice of pound cake.

Me: Uh-huh… I sip coffee. Steaming. Hot.

John: I forgot we had this pound cake.

Me: And so you are gonna eat the whole thing this morning to catch up?

John: Maybe.

Me: Ok.

I
need
more
coffee…

talya

Musical Pairings:

Black Coffee in Bed, Squeeze
Don’t You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds

I ate a pound cake today, but I gained two. – Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not For Sale

The Downtown Inn B&B
Piggott, Arkansas

Everyone brings something different to the table. Literally. For the past week we have gathered each morning around the antique table in the dining room at the Downtown Inn in Piggott, Arkansas. We came to the writer’s retreat from various places with different levels of writing experience, assorted backgrounds and unique viewpoints. We leave as friends.

Brenda, our amicable host, provides an amazing breakfast each morning – scrambled eggs with bacon, breakfast casseroles and breads, fresh fruit with cream, biscuits and gravy, hot coffee and orange juice – something different every day. She wears a red toile apron and is the organized sister who makes certain we start each day with the most important meal. And a prayer. And a laugh. In only one week, we are a family.

Brenda

We discuss the prior day’s writings, our plans for the next day and the train that runs beside the Inn, so near the bed vibrates like a New Madrid earthquake several times each night. The whistles disrupt sleep, but less so as the week passes. Brenda says a first timer guest reports the train passed by “twenty-two times in the night” but a few days later only twice. We acclimate.

Families don’t eat together anymore, not regularly. When I think about the conversations we have had over a few days at the table in Piggott with complete strangers, I realize all the conversations missed not eating as a family because of working late or soccer practice or Dancing with the Stars.

I’ve met seven wonderful ladies this week at the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Creative Writer’s Retreat along with a few good men. Each person brought something a little different to share. I will miss these ladies and the uninterrupted time I’ve had to write.

Today is our last day. Tomorrow I return to eating power bars for breakfast. We came to the table as strangers. We leave as friends.

talya

Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.