March Brunch

In life there are few certainties. In death, there are many, but few people are certain of what they are. The point is, sometimes people have brunch on Saturdays, and this was one of those Saturdays for Theresa and Andrew.

It started out as a plan, a plan with blueberries and bowls of granola, orange juice and melon, insatiable appetites and idle chatter. As it turns out, somebody drank all the orange juice, melons and blueberries have flown south for the winter, granola is just too much of a hassle for Saturday, and chatter can only be idle if it is not usurped by a conversation. And their appetites were quickly sated by the heavy fare.

The menu included: Scrambled eggs with feta, slabs of soysage, and a layered cardamom coffee cake with strawberries. The strawberries cried out valiantly in support of a heart-healthy meal, citing both their antioxidant properties and their kind-of heart shape if they are cut a certain way, and also they are red like hearts are, but then Andrew surrounded them with brown sugar and margarine, white flour and eggs. They quickly gave up the fight and surrendered to their fate - to be the trophy harem of a vicious and unforgiving cake. The eggs just watched this struggle unfold and remained, as always, unflappable. But not unflippable... anyway, that came later.



They ate on the back porch, and had green tea.

The temperature was in the mid sixties. The sky was absorbing a lot more red light than blue, and there was no breeze, so after brunch they spent a few hours in the hammock, reading something funny (Theresa), and something serious, but with a lot of pictures (Andrew).

Tonight, who knows? Bowling was an option, but perhaps instead they will sneak past the guards and fight crime instead (though it can get boring, doing the same thing every night). Or, or... Maybe they'll go Krogering, and sabotage the entire operation by switching the locations of the apples Fiji and the Red Delicious. Ho ho! They've got depths you can't even begin to plumb.

Both of them are mostly over being sick... Andrew had SARS, or possibly just a cough, and Theresa had Ebola, or maybe just a cold. The former were more accurate for things like missing work or school, the latter were more accurate for deciding to go outside after all and play with Hermione in the garden.

Theresa is still student teaching and enjoying it despite the long drive and how it conflicts somewhat with her long-term goals in life. Andrew, by day, is an office assistant, but by night transforms into a world-class somniloquist, his repertoire including mainly movie scripts with the occasional off-Broadway monologue; with impeccable elocution and no facial expression whatsoever. Theresa, in opposition to Andrew's wishes, frequently sells tickets to these presentations on Craigslist, but he forgives her because she lets him have some of the proceedings in order to pay for his haircuts, the costs of which account for nearly 30 grand in credit card debt. A guy's gotta look good, even if his social scene involves dreams mostly.

Spring bides her time, waiting for an opening in winter's double dutch jump ropes. Small colorful vegetations are beginning to appear, blue in the grass, yellow at the end of tulip stems, red in the bushes just to the left of that woodpecker, oh! Tomorrow, a trip to Radnor Lake is in the works, to hike near and around it.

They hope you are enjoying your winter weather, whatever that may mean, and that you have a brunch sometime soon. With love.