Archives for posts with tag: breakfast

Wars may be too harsh; skirmishes, maybe. That Man I Married and I are in accord on most of the big issues in our lives together. Meals are sometimes a different matter. When, how, and what to eat are questions that plague us repeatedly. Take this morning:

I need to eat early, not immediately, but not long after a cup or two of coffee. TMIM has no such requirement, frequently making his first move in the direction of food sometime after 11:00. Despite my argument that science is on my side on the breakfast question, I haven’t been able to convince or cajole him to  join me.

Even if I can get him to accept food on my schedule, he steadfastly rejects my favorite cold weather breakfast: oatmeal.

https://thatdifficultstage.com/2012/01/05/my-super-hero-breakfast-winter-version/

I’ve tried to win him over by  re-branding my beloved oats:  “How about some breakfast risotto?”

“I hate the way it smells!”

I can fix that. I love cinnamon in my cereal, so rather than waiting until it’s ready to eat, I add a generous sprinkle right when the oats go in. Problem solved, or so I think.

This morning, later than usual, I made my oatmeal. But I had forgotten to add the cinnamon. Enter TMIM. “That smell!” Oops. I quickly grabbed the cinnamon bottle and shook away. Another opportunity to win hearts and mouths lost.

Oh well, more for me.

Is it just me, or do we all hit a point where certain periods in life seem so remote that they seem to have happened to someone else?

Dr. T and I took turns yesterday filling in the gaps of our common history at the job where we met. He provided thumbnail sketches of our former colleagues, and I gave them names. The roster began with a guy who routinely came into the office hours after we were expected (that’s another story) saying that he had been “having breakfast with one of my snitches.”

I am fairly certain that no one bought this, in that although we were investigators, we were not in law enforcement, and there was nothing in our duties which would require the engagement of a “snitch.” It was a running joke among my work friends, particularly since any one of us could avoid having to hit our desk at 8:00 a.m. by phoning in to say we were starting our day “in the field,” a far more elegant (and credible) explanation.

Back to that guy. I’ve always wondered whether he believed that we believed him, or whether he even believed it himself. There is something to said for a rich fantasy life…

It was my first Leaders in Literacy Breakfast; the agency’s 5th annual. My student, B.R., and I were invited to sit at one of the tables and speak to guests about our experiences in the program. When I approached him about it, he was apprehensive, but agreeable. We attended a workshop last week, in preparation for the event. We volunteered to be the student-tutor pair for the role play exercise.

Shy B.R. began to speak. I could see him blush, but he sat tall and spoke clearly about what the literacy center meant to him.  I teared up, and I wasn’t alone. After the workshop, I spoke with several of the center staff and board members, all of whom were “blown away” by B.R.’s sincerity and enthusiasm (no surprise to me.) There was talk of him being the student speaker at next year’s breakfast.

Last night was our first lesson since the workshop, and the night before the breakfast. B.R. allowed as how he was a little nervous, so we went over the agenda: there would be opening remarks by the Executive Director, and speeches by a few people, including a student. When he heard that, B.R. said, “I might like to do that next year. I would be scared, but I think I could do it.” I told him that I knew he could do it.

I met B.R. at the center this morning, and we drove to the Washington Duke Inn,checked in, got our name tags, our buffet plates, and went to our assigned table. We had been instructed not to sit next to each other, to better allow us to interact with prospective  donors. While I chatted with our table mates, I took an occasional peek in B.R.’s direction. He was actively engaged in conversations, and although I overheard him say he was nervous, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

As things wound down, I talked with a staff member. She had missed the workshop, but had heard about B.R. She said that he was a unanimous candidate for student speaker next year. I told her that he had mentioned interest in doing it. We caught up with B.R., who was happily visiting with other guests. “Can you see yourself up there next year?” I asked him. “Yes ma’am.”

We walked through the grand lobby into the bright spring morning, past rows of shiny new cars. “This program is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” B.R. smiled. “Those people were really nice. They really care. This is better than winning the lottery.” We drove back to the center and said our good byes. “Have a good weekend,” I told B.R. “You have a blessed day,” he replied. I pulled into the street and headed home. “I already have,” I said to no one in particular.

George Lakoff

George Lakoff has retired as Distinguished Professor of Cognitive Science and Linguistics at the University of California at Berkeley. He is now Director of the Center for the Neural Mind & Society (cnms.berkeley.edu).

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