Saturday Morning Routine

Saturday mornings I have gotten into a habit, a pattern of behavior.  While I live in the country, I get in my car and drive to a nearby town; go to my favorite restaurant, and eat breakfast, leisurely.

Before the waitress even arrives, I am slowing down my breathing; taking longer and deeper breaths.  I look at the menu, even though I end up ordering the same thing every time.  Sometimes a book keeps me company.  Something that is inspirational, emotional, moving.  Sometimes, I re-read posts from Facebook; from those people who never fail to make me smile as I read about them.

Some of the waitresses I know.  A pleasant chat about what's going on in their lives; a shared joke, a story, etc.  In between I stare outside, seeing the few people walking down the streets and wondering what their day will be like.

The ice tea arrives, and I get the first taste of the slightly sweetened, and slightly lemon icy taste of it.  Something else settles down in my soul.  A sense of comfort and peace starts welling up.

I can hardly await the food.  I know it will be fantastic, and not just because I am hungry and have waited to have a late breakfast.

When it arrives, I put the book aside, the people-watching ceases momentarily.  Food needs to be prepared.  The kitchen does this well, but I put my own finishing touches to it.  The fruit usually comes first.  It's sweet and textured taste, crisp for some and soft and melting for others, fills my palate.  I eat about half, knowing the hot food is cooling.

The main course is prepared; a salsa placed on my migos, a separation made between the hot and cold fruit, so no tastes mix on the plate.  Then the first bite of the hot food.  Ah.... The textures of the tortillas, eggs, spices, cheese.  Each has a place on the tongue.  Each is a note in the symphony of taste.

After some time, I switch back to the fruit.  It cleanses the palate.  It resets the taste buds.  A bit of ice tea.  A pause.  Then back to the migos.   It's a pattern.  A play.

All the while, my people watching or book reading or chatting continues.  While the tastes and textures of the food excite my mouth, the tapestry of  life around me excites my soul.

The woman walking along the sidewalk happens upon a good friend, also out for the morning; and the small joyful reunion ensues.

The couple that just came in the restaurant with their child brings the thought that I will hear laughter from both child and parents at some point.  Rarely am I dissapointed.

The older couple at one of the other tables, not saying much of anything, yet constantly in some kind of contact with one another.  Their hands resting on top of the each others.  Their legs or feet touching slightly under the table.  I imagine what kind of life they have been through to so weave their lives and love together.

There is often banter between the cook and waitress.  Good natured kidding.  It feels warm.  It feels like family.  Inside jokes, witty comebacks.  It reminds me of my brother and sister and how we bantered about.

Sometimes a phrase from a book or a post catches me off-guard.  I see something differently.  I feel something deep respond.  Amongst this life, this food, these people, a change has occurred within.

"it is those moments where some reminder brings awareness to all that is beautiful and miraculous."  a post by a friend on Facebook.

"Yes", I respond internally.  I have a name for the Saturday morning custom.   I am not seeking, but finding nonetheless the reminders in a morning meal, in a small town restaurant, in people around that all is beautiful and miraculous.  

A shiver goes down my spine.  I take a deep breath, as the peace of life settles in.

 

How you Approach Life.

I knew a valley person who saw the world as surrounded by obstacles.  Wherever she looked, she saw the sides of rock walls, the unclimbable sides of mountains.  She is a valley person. 

Her conversations were all about how this person or that person brought trouble to her life.  How she would be so much better off if Mr. X never talked to her again.  How Bank Y just didn't understand that she had the money in by the end of the day, but still got charged an overdraft.  Her children treated her like a slave, a maid.  Everything in the world was out to get her, to make her life hard.

She would get a cold and immediately think that if it turned into the flu, she just couldn't miss that time at work.  They would fire her.  Perhaps it was H1N1.  And so on.........

When moments of opportunity, or even rest and recreation came up, she did not notice them; or noticing, only saw them as things which should be avoided.  A nap couldn't be taken, because it would be interrupted.  A vacation could not begin because there was just too much to do.  A massage or a day at the spa was unaffordable.  A morning brunch with friends would take up too much time.

I knew another valley person.  No matter where she turned, she saw the beauty of mountains, the lushness of the grass on the hills, the splendor of snow on the peaks.

In her approach to others, she was graceful, patient, understanding.  Talking with her made you feel better, made you feel listened to and respected.  She could be found always talking.  Many times, she would talk at length with strangers as though they were the best of friends. 

Opportunities would arise for her and she would be off teaching night classes, delivering Meals on Wheels, playing with children in the park, feeding the geese.   When she got a cold, it would turn into bronchitis.  She had had breathing problems her whole life.  Yet, even amidst the short breaths, and at times, exhausting coughing, she kept seeing the beautiful mountains.

Did the first women never have moments of bliss?  I am sure she did.  Did she laugh uproariously.  Yes.  Had she ever experienced love and belonging.  Again, I have no doubt. 

Did the second women ever huddle in fear?  Or cry out in pain of loss?  Did she ever have to face humiliation or shame?  Again, assuredly. 

The approach to life in each was what made the difference.  Not the bad things that happened, nor the losses nor gains in each created their lives.  One life seemed based on an assumption that she lived in a hostile or cruel world.  The other that she lived in a benevolent one. 

Einstein said, "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." 


While that is denying the whole range of approached to life, it does highlight the fact that we all have a base motivation, a base assumption about life.  For some, everything is a miracle.  For others, a burden.  For most of us, at some time, both.


Yet, if we make a decision to consciously choose the kind world, the loving stranger, the miraculous everyday, we are likely to experience more of it.