Weekend Morning Kitchen Klutch
A Meadowlark among Loons
Nothing brings my heart greater joy than those moments when I am able to spend a leisurely weekend morning making breakfast for my family.
Whether it’s just my husband and daughter, or my other two children and their families come home for a weekend visit, I get a secret thrill putting aside the small French press and make space on the countertop for the big coffee pot as I begin frying, and slinging plates like a short order cook during the rush.
What I make has changed dramatically over the past several years. This in large part is due to necessary dietary restrictions for various health reasons (mostly mine) among my family. I have eliminated gluten, dairy, sugar and eggs.
We avoid processed meats such as ham, sausage and bacon. No more is there a run to our local hometown bakery for a dozen donuts. I suspect at this point many of you may be wondering: “What the hell sort of breakfast is that!” I confess, the set of choices does look more like a lunch menu. What we’re eating; or not eating, isn’t the point.
The Kitchen Is The Heart Of Our Family
Always the first awake (unless my son-in-law is present) one of us starts the coffee pot, and I take up my position at the stove. It is during this early morning hour I have come to know him better. Our previous lack of acquaintance wasn’t due to disapproval but impart due to physical distance. My youngest daughter Kimberlee met her husband while going to college in Montana. In a bold move they recently relocated to the Midwest and stayed in mine and my husband’s home briefly as they established themselves in their respective work places and sought suitable housing of their own.
Many of our conversation consisted primarily of calendar-related activities and task information, but sometimes my son-in-law shared his thoughts and concerns regarding important matters close to his heart. Much like the rich, flute-like descending notes of the Western Meadowlark, it was a rare opportunity to just listen to the euphonious sound, a difficult thing for a mother-in-law who at heart wanted to share hard-learned truths and experiences disguised as well-meaning advice.
As the rest of my family slowly trickle into the kitchen, my song bird became quiet as they settled in at the table with beverage in hand. It must have been an alien sound to my son-in-law’s ears, listening to their strange “yodel” or “loon laughter” as the famous naturalist John Muir described it (the Loon is not the family mascot for nothing). I’m sure it wasn’t easy for the conservative Montana gentleman, as we lovingly refer to him finding his voice among an asylum of moderate liberals.
Closing It Up
My youngest daughter and her husband have since found a home of their own and though I am happy for them, I miss my early morning chats in the kitchen with my son-in-law. Yet there is a satisfying peace that comes from the knowledge my children have chosen their mate in life wisely. Until our next family breakfast, I will keep a fresh canister of Foldgers at the ready and the large coffee pot on the counter.
