Sunday, February 15, 2009

Sunday Morning

Let Me In by The Unseen Guest is on my Beirut station on Pandora and I'm sitting in the wreckage that passes for my office. I should be doing anything else, but the dough's still mixing and I've got a few minutes, so here's a quick glimpse of my morning.

I awoke to dog breath; Heidi almost always needs out before I'm ready to get up so I usually wake up to her breathing in my face, watching for a the first flicker of consciousness. If I don't get the covers up fast enough she then follows up with a lick.

I shower for way longer than is necessary, my forehead resting on the cool wall letting the hot water work on my shoulders and neck, dress, and knock on the kids' doors to make sure they're awake before I leave. I get a response from the boy, but not the girl, but I don't have to worry about her, she'll be up and to work on time.

Coffee at Sacred Grounds where I never sit, but drink or eat standing at the end of the counter where I can talk to Troy and Kirsten as they work. Keith and Nick are there so it takes all of 30 seconds for any conversation to veer towards obscene.

Brett's already rolling dough when I get to work so I help with that then grab another cup of coffee and make myself a breakfast burrito. The burrito has two eggs, mozzarella, green chile, and Italian sausage. I cook the filling in my favorite pan, a black steel, or French, skillet. The pan heats up very evenly and is well seasoned. I add some Miss Anna's hot sauce and wrap the thing in a soft flour tortilla that I've warmed over the open flame of the stove.

The girl shows up with a pile of mail, but not her brother. She didn't know he was still at home and left without him. So, back she goes to re-wake him and get him to work as well.

La Valse de Virginie, by Gregory Page is on now. The song evokes Paris of a hundred years ago and soon I am searching the stalls of Les Halles for the perfect chicken and some leeks. A Gauloise smolders, dangling from the corner of my mouth, as last night's absinthe still courses through my veins and consciousness. Dinner secure, I will return to my flat where my love will have just returned from from the boulangerie with a gorgeous crusty baguette.

I will fricassee the chicken while she paints. We will eat and drink a bottle of new red wine while the sounds of the cafe drift up from the street. We make love, then fall asleep, her head on my shoulder, our legs entangled, as a cool breeze sneaks between the light curtains to play upon our bodies.

"I love to shit while listening to Michael Jackson!" Zac informs, leaning in my office door. Jared has brought in a CD of Michael's number one hits and it's playing in the dining room.

So, my fantasy world is gone, girl, song and all. Oh well, the dough is ready to roll and it's time to open the doors, and in a few minutes we'll be packed. Tonight I'll buy a bottle of beujolais nouveau and have a glass or three while I read, and then I'll fall asleep hoping to find my way back to Paris and my love while Heidi snores, stretched across the foot of the bed.


Maria said...

Wow...your day dreams are so much more interesting than mine. Mine usually revolve around surprise maid services coming to my house...

Eric said...

Is the maid French?

Terroni said...

It's my birthday.
Do I get a free dessert?

Eric said...

Ahhhh, sorry I didn't see this in time to wish you a happy birthday on your birthday, but your can still have a dessert.