Days just begin sometimes, and once they've begun, there's no time to go back and begin them properly. The phone rings unexpectedly (as today), or there's a tarpaulin blown off the shed roof (example taken from Saturday, although that wasn't a morning drama), or you get a few things out of the way early, get up to flying speed without realising it, and then it's almost lunchtime before you get a moment to think about breakfast. [Background information: we are taking the tiles off the shed because some of the wood under them is rotten. Incidental observation: if your roof is a green tarpaulin, the watery green light inside is very pleasant.]
But those are the moments when thoughts of breakfast (or other morning ritual) are worthy of attention: what is this idealised moment of which you think? Moments are more enjoyable to live through, if they've been missed and you're living through the imagined version. Discuss. Having just re-read Joanne Harris's Chocolat, I have a thought going on whether Lent has the side-effect of making chocolate (insert here any given-up pleasure) too much the focus of attention, and whether or not that matters. A religious festival with an unintended consequence? [Completely irrelevant incidental information: there is a bowl of left-over chocolate sauce in the fridge, and the last inch of a carton of double cream. The former has solidified, so it could count as a pudding with the addition of the latter. I don't even like chocolate. The power of books.]
Anyway. Breezy. A very fresh wind. Newness. Barking of farm dogs and sheep being driven along the road from one field to the next. Even our traffic jams are organic. I can hear the wind again, in the trees, and it's time to water the plants in here, refill the bird feeder outside the window.
But those are the moments when thoughts of breakfast (or other morning ritual) are worthy of attention: what is this idealised moment of which you think? Moments are more enjoyable to live through, if they've been missed and you're living through the imagined version. Discuss. Having just re-read Joanne Harris's Chocolat, I have a thought going on whether Lent has the side-effect of making chocolate (insert here any given-up pleasure) too much the focus of attention, and whether or not that matters. A religious festival with an unintended consequence? [Completely irrelevant incidental information: there is a bowl of left-over chocolate sauce in the fridge, and the last inch of a carton of double cream. The former has solidified, so it could count as a pudding with the addition of the latter. I don't even like chocolate. The power of books.]
Anyway. Breezy. A very fresh wind. Newness. Barking of farm dogs and sheep being driven along the road from one field to the next. Even our traffic jams are organic. I can hear the wind again, in the trees, and it's time to water the plants in here, refill the bird feeder outside the window.