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.
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