Every morning, we had the same thing. Eggs. This is by no means, a complaint. In fact, I loved this about growing up in my family. We were an egg-eating bunch. My Dad is to blame for that. He lived by the Art of the Dip Egg.
I am the youngest of seven children. And each morning, my Mom would prepare breakfast for the lot of us. She would get out her biggest frying pan, and crack about 110 eggs in that thing, at one time. Rarely… rarely …. did she break a yolk. She would fry those eggs to perfection, just the way my Dad liked them. Sunny-side up. No runny whites. A little bit crispy around the edges. And the yolks as smooth as silk.
The eggs were accompanied by a loaf of toast, buttered, or shall I say, margarine-ized, to decadence. And always the meat. Most of the time, it was fried bologna. On occasion, there might be ham or bacon. I can’t ever remember having sausage. And always very cold orange juice.
This was magic every morning. I woke up with the anticipation breakfast on my mind. This breakfast. It is no wonder that I continue to eat the same thing, every day, as an adult. Almost.
The meat was replaced. With Oatmeal. I am fairly certain that I am the only human on the planet, that likes eggs over oatmeal. With salt and pepper. No sugar involved anywhere.
The long, drawn-out history is this. My Breakfast-Cereal-Odyssey began on a visit to Minneapolis. I had to eat in a cafeteria, and Cream of Wheat was on the daily list. So I tried it with my eggs. It took the place of poorly fried potatoes, and I found, this Cream of Wheat business fit me like a glove. This soon morphed into grits. When we bought a home in the South. Not just any grits, but the kind they make down in Charleston, South Carolina. The capital of Haunted Houses and the World’s Most Amazing Grits. I became a Grits Addict. The next transformation happened in Hawaii. A vacation… with Breakfast Vouchers. Which led us back into the winding-maze of a cafeteria setting. They served Rice Porridge in the Japanese food section. I made the switch and loved it. And finally, the Oatmeal Phase. Again, the conversion happened while traveling Northern Europe. I could not get Rice Porridge. I could not find Grits. And no Cream of Wheat for Sven or Helga. But they served plenty of Oatmeal. I came to love this combination of Eggs and Oatmeal more than any other.
And that is my Breakfast Life.
I’m not sure there is any great lesson in this. Maybe more of an observation. Our lives change and we can make the decision to adapt. We can fight that change, tooth, and nail, and be miserable. Or we can learn to keep walking. Go in the direction, where that change, is pointing. And on that new path, we might find something bigger. Better. More wonderful.
Like Oatmeal. With my Eggs.
“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.”
― Lao Tzu
“Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”
― George Bernard Shaw
“A wonderful gift may not be wrapped as you expect.”
― Jonathan Lockwood Huie