A Sunday Morning Ritual

 A Sunday morning years ago

Whoa!  It’s been a while.  I haven’t abandoned you, Faithful Readers.  It’s just that…. well, I don’t know what.  Retired folk are always so busy, I’ve heard, and it seems to be true.  This doesn’t  make sense.  When I was a working woman, I was a fairly faithful blogger.  Now that I’m not, well -- I’m not.  Mysterious! But what have I been doing?  I don’t even know.  Just stuff, I guess.  Here is one bit of the stuff---

Years ago, when Rebecca was a tot, I read a biography of J.M. Whistler, and one thing that impressed me, and there were many, as he was quite the fellow, was his Sunday breakfasts.  All his friends were invited to drop in on Sunday morning and have buckwheat pancakes.  His recipe for the pancakes was included. I made them, and they were dreadful.  I thought this breakfast idea was wonderful (except for the pancakes,), and I would have  loved to have had it be a tradition in my house.  Dennis and I enjoyed having guests for breakfast on occasion, but our breakfasts were infrequent.  And never included buckwheat pancakes. 

Years later, when Rebecca was all grown up, and Rachael was a tot, we started really serving breakfast after church every Sunday to anyone who wanted to come.  There were nine regulars who came without fail each week, and a number others, a few of whom showed up once in a while.  Then we switched parishes, joined a different choir, I got a different job, some of the regulars moved away, and gradually  we abandoned Sunday breakfasts.  I lamented this, but it just didn’t seem to work with all those changes. 

Lately, however, Sunday breakfasts are on again!!! I so enjoy it!  When I have guests for dinner, I am always in a bit of a panic. What if everything isn’t perfect? (It seldom is.) What if my guests forget to come? (They never have, but nonetheless, it is something to worry about.  Well, actually, my Aunt Dakki has forgotten more than once – she even forgot her own birthday party.  But she is a different sort of case.) Breakfast, on the other hand, seems so much simpler.  I don’t expect perfection, and I feel that I can confront disaster with equanimity.  I may well be deluding myself about this last however.  I hope not though.