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Saturday, July 10, 2010: The Further Writing of Bacon and Eggs

        I do believe this writing exercise (described in yesterday's posting) is becoming a delightful addiction. There are endless stories to be conjured up concerning the four predicative sentences, and my biggest challenge is keeping the whole thing in a single sentence. I would love to see other writers’ take on the exercise. Please do try to leave a sample. In the meantime, since I will be off to a family wedding this weekend, I leave you with my latest efforts . . .

       Summers were spent on my aunt and uncle’s farm, and I adapted readily to my chores (even the task of milking before  sun-up), learning quickly that there was no better pleasure than to come back into the farm house, fully awake and ravenously hungry, and to sit myself down to a breakfast of eggs which Auntie and I had gathered with our own hands, strips of bacon from the hog I had helped my uncle butcher and cure, Auntie’s home-baked bread, and a tall glass of raw milk, still warm and fragrant from the morning efforts, and it was in this simple pleasure I realized a great truth--- that there can be no better way to start the day than with the satisfaction of sitting down to the fruits of your own labor.

         “Oh honey,” I cooed in his ear, “Please let’s be married in a sunrise ceremony on the beach, and we can invite everyone back to the beach-house for our favorite bacon-and-egg strata, and the whole thing will be symbolic---the two of us beginning married life at the start of a brand new day, being able to sit down to a special hot breakfast (the first of many, I'm sure) as husband and wife . . . and wouldn't that just set the tone for everything that follows?”

        Time itself gets confused in the blackness of space, and I found myself grateful to get off shift and to discover breakfast being served in the mess, for by this means I knew I’d survived another day, and, on the rare occasions I discovered them serving real eggs and bacon it meant a supply ship from one of the colonies had docked, a point of interest which always stirred great hope and set the men to whispering amongst themselves that perhaps today one of the supply crew had brought back some ancient book of fiction, pages of magic that could speak of Earth and make you believe again that you were walking in green fields and feeling a cool breeze on your face.

        Even the heavens wept that day, and though Cook prepared a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, saying she knew how I always liked to start the day with a good hot breakfast, and how eggs and bacon had always been my favorite, my breakfast sat on the plate growing cold and I could do no more than gaze outside at the steady rain, wondering how she expected food to ever make up for what had been lost.

        The waitress always perked up when I walked through the door, calling over her shoulder to the cook, “Al, make up the breakfast special: two eggs easy and extra-crispy bacon,” and then she would flash a big smile, all the while giving enthusiastic swipes of her rag across my preferred table, knowing not only the predictability of my routine, but also the generosity of my tipping.

         “We are bakin’ here in the sun,” he said, and I thought he had said bacon, a startling thought which set my mind off crazy, thinking how much I’d always enjoyed a hot meal of bacon and eggs, how it had always been my favorite meal of the day, and how I’d never stopped to consider how the bacon or the egg must have felt---to be plucked from the cool darkness and slapped down on a hard surface, to feel the heat growing and growing, until your skin cracks and blisters and your insides are cooked all the way through---the way Sam and I are feeling now beneath the broiling sun.

         Being finally divorced from a strict vegetarian, I soon sound myself beginning each day with a breakfast of bacon and eggs, a luxury I had denied myself for ten years (having been foolish enough to accommodate his lifestyle), and I discovered not only how this was the perfect breakfast, but that it was the perfect way to begin a “free-to-make-my-own-choices” day.

Posted on Friday, July 9, 2010 at 05:54PM by Registered CommenterThe Skeptical Mystic | CommentsPost a Comment

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