Six Minute Breakfast

'In the name of Bacon will you chicken me up that egg. Shall I swallow cave-phantoms?'  Samuel Beckett. Collected Poems in English and French. 1961.

Here's a surprising admission:  I am a breakfast aficionado.  Reputation precedes me as a coffee nut:  and no one is shocked with that breaking news.

 Nothing can get between blurry eyed morning me and my brewer. The smell of fresh dark roast instantly makes me feel calm, capable and even taller. Much much taller...and as they say, bulletproof. A good nosh though is a close second in my affections.

A perfect day designed by me would involve a lot of breakfast.  Starting with pre breakfast coffee of course ideally accompanied by a nice morning pastry: a buttery croissant or a lovely cherry cheese danish.

Breakfast itself could last two or three hours.  It might be cultural; the ideal morning meal for me would involve a fry up.  Eggs. Definitely.  Poached soft boiled or over easy.  Bacon, certainly, hickory smoked if possible and spicy sausage.  Sweet potato medallions fried in butter with cayenne pepper.  Rye toast to dip in all that gooey goodness.  Some waffles or crepes or in a pinch french toast because I have never been much of a pancake girl. Fruit salad too:because we must remain mindful of the need to be healthy.  It is breakfast after  all.

After breakfast, a lovely walk with a little post breakfast breakfast snack.  Orange or cranberry juice and maybe a muffin.  A very well made muffin crammed with fruit and nuts and spices. Oh and more coffee, but that goes without saying.

Or a big fat beaver tail.  I have lived in Canada for 47 years so.....

Great start to my dream day as alas, it is just a dream because health, time, and energy have a way of interfering with nonstop gluttony .  In fact, for some odd reason the people I hang out with want to do other things.  Yes, I can hear you mumbling- well that is just wrong, as you read this.  I know, my friends and family are weirdos.  So for them, and others like them who suffer daily with a lack of proper petite mangé appreciation I have come up with a list of tips and tricks for a quick breakfast.


1.  Prepare. 

 Bleary eyed and up at the crack of  what time is it anyway....even the dietary diligent will not want to only start thinking of breakfast.  This is why we have drive thru lineups that go forever in the mornings. If you want to skip the wait- take a saturday morning or a couple hours away from gaming and make a pan of muffins.  Freeze individually and thaw the night before. (Pro tip: Make a double batch and gift a neighbour.)  If you are feeling fancy add some peanut butter or my mom's fav...a slice of cheddar.

2. Treat yourself.

 Early morning food can turn a lot of you off. My suggestion on this is simple.  Eat what you like.  Stock your fridge and pantry with at least five foods that make you insanely happy.  You are a full grown adult....you do not  need a multi national cereal conglomerate or Canada food guide to tell you what is okay for breakfast. What matters is that you eat.  So if guacamole makes you drool....have at it.  Chocolate twinkies....all good.  Leftover take out? Why would you not.  My nutritionist friends might have me spanked over this advice but I believe in a world where we will not be judged for the path we take to get where we need to be.

3. Hydrate. 

 Or how I survive despite really loving coffee.  Water.  First thing.  Drink it.  It will wake that tired body up.

4. Cheat.  

I know loads of people who cannot bake.or cook because they do not have time, or room, or never learned.  That is what all those new snacks at the grocery store can help you with.  Grab a pack or two of english muffins.  Freeze and use as needed.  Coddle an egg in the microwave.  So easy. Whip an egg with a fork in a small bowl.  Micro for a minute.  Check it.  Stir again.  Add 30 seconds.  One english muffin, thawed,  throw on the coddled egg....and whatever you like....i love tomato but that is me...some prefer cheese. You can add onion, avocado, mayonaisse or even hot sauce and that is a tasty cheater breakfast without breathing exhaust fumes for five minutes.

Samesies on oatmeal: One and a half minutes in the microwave: stir in fruit or brown sugar....amazing.

Or my latest make ahead cheater breakfast: egg bites.  So good they aren’t just breakfast anymore: they are in my lunch and a quick late night pick me up.  So easy, infinitely changeable-  and all those proteins and omegas.

Quick recipe here: Visit   https://www.everydayhealthyrecipes.com/cottage-cheese-egg-muffins/#recipe

5. Be brave. 

 Try something new.  My life changed when my nutritionist suggested adding a slice of avocado to my morning 

 I discovered recently that while milkshakes are out of bounds for me I can have a mango lassi from Sabitri's Global Cuisine....and it is incredible.

  There is a whole world of food out there beyond those that have you bored and skipping meals. My new finds might be your...wow, so boring! Look online, ask friends, or throw together ingredients you never thought of putting together.  You might discover your new epic thing.

6.Support your local brekkie place.  

 Where I live they were mostly closed in 2020 when I started this post originally! Now breakfast is everywhere:  but I really like the local homegrown spots over the Corporations.

In my  area three of my favourites are Country Sisters restaurant on highway 86, The Right Spot in Alma, Ontario and Highland Grounds in Flesherton Ontario.

If your town is anything like mine though there are several great places that will feed you and make you smile.  . I would love to list every one in my town, but fortunately....there are so many! I would be afraid to leave anyone out.  Local owner/ operators do an amazing job with local food and generally, give back to their community- I know the three examples above do!They do a great job.

Having someone happily make my first meal of the day  (or sometimes my second breakfast, as I enjoy my own cooking, too ) creates nothing but sunshine for me.

   I leave you with a link to my favourite muffins 

https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/master-muffin-mix/

Eat up, my friends!

cue the jazz hands

I recently read an interesting blog about people who experience cancer personally.  It was something I hadn't really thought about.  The basic premise of the article is that cancer has a secret that we don't talk about- people leave you.

The author, Kerri K. Morris, states in her blog titled "Cancer's dirty little secret: people turn their backs on you" that "As I get to know more and more people in the cancer community, one of the most common stories I hear from them is abandonment. It;s our dirty little secret, the one we keep from you."(March 18,2016)

It transcends cancer....catastrophe in all it's forms sends people running from you.  Whether its "oh this makes me sad" or this person may be needy or an indignant "well, I'm busy and  I have problems, too" there is a nearly  universal flee to the closest exit from grief, illness, flood, fire, mental  or financial difficulties.

Theres the if there's anything I can do friends....followed by nothing. Ever. Except maybe a followup...Let me know if there's...Cue the jazz hands! These ones make me smile. Its a wry smile because in my heart, I know they have no intention. They are done in the saying or they would be there, doing. Most have never spent a second near you that they didn't have to and don't plan on starting now.

The veiled eyes friends...Just. Don't. Make. Eye. Contact.  Stares at phone!!! Such interesting wallpaper.  When my husband died, I had a friend who crossed the street the first time she saw me again.  The comedian in me, momentarily thought about running after, fully expecting to see the keystone cop fastwalk start until she found her car. But I refrained. Besides, I had no energy for that. Haven't talked to her since and that's her call.

There's also the Imma- make- this- about- me- friends."Oh, you are stressing me...your horrible thing has touched my life now! Oh how can this world foist this on me yet again? Cue the facebook post on how sad and stressed They are and a gossipy post about how sad your life is to them. On behalf of everyone who has had a third party social media diatribe about how sad someone is for them without their consent: I truly would like to thank the Internets. And please my friends, it is  Rest In Peace. Not RIP. No one ever got carpal tunnel from 8 extra letters showing a little respect.

I get very quickly annoyed with the' Can I send you cash instead of you talking, Please?' friends. Yeah I get it. Sometimes, the stressed need to talk. It is so very, very difficult for you the listener.  I know. How do you live? I mean, yep, we are stressed but we feel your displeasure and desperation to get away. Laughably, usually the very sick or the very sad person in front of you is editing out 95% of the gory truth. Ending the talk long before they say what's on their mind because you are so dang clear how incredibly difficult this problem they own and deal with daily is for you to merely hear about.

Which is also what you get from a lot of people who beg you to talk. Simply plead and argue about how you need to get it out until....you realize you have got a Chernobyl friend. Suddenly ready to melt down if you say anything they don't want to hear. "Please talk to me...please, I know you need to!!!  Wait!  What?  Too much,too much, too much, suck it up! Gawd, just deal with it already, go away!"

I was raised by people in my teen years who did not fall into any of these categories.  Somebody hurt? Visit. Grieving? Visit. Accident? visit. Troubles of any and all kinds were met with hours of time, casseroles and pies in hand and with open ears-not mouths.

I never once heard Mabel say," Oh, we'll get together sometime. You have my number?" or " So sorry, Let me know if there's anything I can do."   It just wasn't in her to take a person, in the middle of the worst stress and make them come begging for help or worse leave them hanging with an empty promise.

She didn't worry about overstepping or being judged for doing.  She just went. Stayed.  Went back again.  If the house was a disaster she quietly fixed it. If the kids needed attention too; well she brought me or her husband or another sibling. She didn't shout to others about it. Although, I was often met after the school bus with "Go get dressed nice, W's wife died- you are carrying this pie plate, and I want you to sing that nice song he likes while were there."

Not just for friends, but for  anyone in her wide circle, she was there, she cared, a true Earth Angel of a person. School was hard? Homework? Tired?" So what! Get in the car! So and so is in the nursing home with no visitors!  Hurry, wash your hands, be pleasant."  It was a lesson I'll always appreciate. A living example of how to care.

She's 99 now, still doing all she can. Despite raising her own children and many other's, multiple heart attacks, skin cancer, breast cancer, the loss of her husband and falls.  My excuse is invalid.  So is yours.

Right now, I am pretty lucky to have two listeners. Real solid, hey, I'm here for you night and day ones: more earth angels. Rare as unicorn farts in this world.  I hope I can someday stand in the breach between stressed and overwhelmed for them as well as they do for me. They talk me off ledges and they don't even really know it. It seems to me, that the true Earth Angels I find are just as busy and stressed and face as much life as anyone-they just have actual empathy. A heart.

When I had my daughter, I met another Earth Angel. She was someone I had hardly ever noticed in my neighbourhood.  Now having a beautiful baby is hardly a tragedy.  But my neighbor, seeing me come home from hospital timidly knocked on my door- with a fully cooked meal.  She said,"Hey, I only know you to see you, but, here's a list of 6 other neighbors. Don't worry about dinner this week between myself and these other neighbours you will be meeting, we have it covered."  What a gift.  A gift I've never forgotten almost 30 years later.

There are tangible ways to help in all situations.  It might surprise some to know that with their very own eyes they can see them and just do it. We don't need to add layers of hurt to people with gossip, false concern, platitudes and ignorance. A simple card, a shared meal and an ear. Our time. A real body sitting with real body instead of Hugs! from somewhere online. A couple hours of babysitting. A walk with someone. Taking care of a pet. Laundry. 12 cookies.Yes, some will never get the joy it is to actually, for reals, care.  To get the heck off the couch and just do for someone else.

It might just be the reason we are here. There really is a greater satisfaction in live human interaction than spending our precious years holed up with popcorn, netfix and a tablet.  What a lonely world it would be without Earth Angels.

So, not Mr. Darcy, then? A rant about suitors.

1. Life is too busy.  Nope, I don't have time for "coffee". Were you going to ask me how's work and how do you feel about sex?  No, no, no, no and no.  I have baseboards to wash and pretty sure I can find an innovative way to fold my laundry.  You know what I don't have time for...your pickle. Maybe if it was a pickling recipe I'd be interested.

2. You bore me.  You don't know how to have a conversation. If everything you say is a complaint about your life, your ex, your job...please just hand in your man card....  yawn, get over it. Or don't. Please resist the urge to share. Find a  life.

3. I'm old. I'm old dammit. Like approaching 50.  Last time I checked....every one of you was panting after 20 year olds. Even you married dudes had an autographed pic of Selena Gomez carefully hidden in your zip files.  No go. Go pant over your teenyboppers preferably on another planet and just leave me out of it.

4.  You are on eherpes, plenty of fungus and lavaload.  All off them, and guess what?  Ew. Just ewww.
*full body shiver*

5.  There's TV.  Like unfortunately, due to Channing Tatum, Liam Neeson and Nicholas Cage you will not receive my attention. I never demanded perfection. But for 12.99 a month Netflix provides it. Sadly, Netflix also knows more about me then you. Present, consistent...without any backtalk.
.

6.  You wanna talk about your tire rotation and your dinner.  I wanna talk about the way the light is reflecting off the fall leaves. You want to tell me how tough life has been to you and who picked on you in 4th grade. Now you want to show me your abs?  Beach, please....I have things to do. Try sending a scan of your brain's activity.  Do you see the difference? I do.


7.  I know how to create. I endure. You know how to flatuate.  I can make life fun, worthwhile. You want to work and then whine about it.  You can't roll with it.   Stub your toe and you cry.  I'd rather be peaceful in my tiny slice of the world.  Go twist yourself up somewhere else. I need strength, intellect, perseverance, mental toughness.  I have it. You exist, sort of. Why bother?


8. You got more baggage than air Canada.  Instead of dealing with it you wallow. You wanna retell the story of why she left you for 300 years.  Present, future. They are a new thing we are all trying. Have you heard of them yet? Sadly no.  I'm sure there's a chatroom than can see to your needs quicker than I can muster some interest.

9. I still love  my husband. He might be dead, but he took the time to know more about me than you ever will. He put in the effort.  Think you will ever measure up? Well, he's gone and still more interesting than you. It would sadden me to watch you try.

10.  You cheapen reality. You tell me I'm pretty. Dang it, man. You don't even know what I am. It's a lot of things....pretty? Hmm, no. Other days you say I look terrible.  Life, doesn't factor into your tiny, judgy thoughts. Perhaps you should woo Maybelline.

Too fat? Too thin? So what???

For those of you who battle excess weight, I feel for you. You are gorgeous and I hope you know it. Please though don't judge us who do not. We also have a weight battle.  We battle to gain it.

Guess what?  We have almost no help.  We are judged, often.  It is not easy.

Sometimes people assume that those of us who look too thin are drug addicted, violently ill or have eating disorders. It is annoying beyond all get out.

There is a condition called being a "difficult gainer".  It does not involve puking, meth or cancer.  It is just an idiot high metabolism, allergies or both.  I would much rather be fat, to tell the truth. There is tonne of help if you are overweight: magazine articles, Jenny Craig, gyms, Weight Watchers,  low fat grocery items, a plethora of internet articles,  a crap tonne of businesses and weight loss supplements.

Google search how to gain weight and you will see what I mean.  You may find one or two articles that try to help and a few articles for body builders but there are no businesses out there dedicated to help the chronically calorie deprived gain weight.

I do not know why. There are actually a lot of us.

I will bet  that a lot of people do not know that the risk of dying early is actually higher for the underweight than it is for the overweight.  ( 50 percent higher for overweight, 90 percent higher for underweight). 

I know overweight people complain they are judged and bullied.  Underweight individuals are often bullied also.

We are called meth heads and anorexics. I personally have been asked by a stranger if I have a disease.  It is assumed we cannot lift things or accomplish basic tasks.  Imagine taking your groceries to your car and having someone randomly comment " Oh, you shouldn't be lifting that.  You are too small." Every time. Like clockwork, like being pecked to death by ducks, as Maya Angelou would say. 

 Sometimes, in work, people assume you are too small, too young to have any responsibility.  How could an 85 pound person have authority?

Being underweight actually sucks.  It is not some dream.  It is not supermodel greatness.

Gaining weight for us is an ongoing difficult task.  You cannot just eat crap.  Your heart will still suffer.  Fresh foods are way too filling but you need to eat them. You need exercise to gain muscle and at the same time need to limit activity to gain weight.  Oh vey.  You have to intake loads of protein without gaining fat. You have to eat so many calories that you feel you might puke.  You must add more food than anyone would ever consider normal just to gain a few ounces.

It is entirely not fun. I would love to burn out my thyroid or get some medications that would add a few pounds.  It just never seems to happen for me.

I literally seem to only gain weight when I am pregnant:  and as much as I would love to gain thirty pounds I am not willing to do 20 years of hard labour for that outcome.

So the next time you are tempted to ask your thin friend to eat a doughnut or hamburger please remember. We all have our challenges. You might just have a buddy who envys that extra five pounds. Someone who would love an extra ten and remarkably would take a transfer of it from you without a thought if it were possible. Who would be the last person to judge you for the double chin. Who accepts you just the way you are. Who actually understands why you struggle with your weight but just from a different perspective.

For despite our culture, weight in the grand scheme of things means  absolutely unequivocally nothing.  It does not make you nicer, does not give you better priorities, make you a better person, make you more desirable or  change the world.  

It means literally nothing,  So despite the focus on it, the misunderstanding of it, you will be the greatness you are despite it. You are actually you, the best you, no matter what the scale has to say.

Spit on it. 

Enough said.

Drop Your Sandbags

"Instead of trying to make your life perfect, give yourself the freedom to make it an adventure, and go ever upward."  Drew Houston.

I carry it around.  My baggage.  There's a few things that weigh on me.  Lately, I mostly ignore those things that drag me down.  Probably not the healthiest approach to the issues but for now:  it is my reality.

Truly,  it is not a matter of avoidance, just a profound lack of time.  My personality requires copious amounts of time to process things.  Alone time.  If there was an extreme Xgames for introverts I would be slamming it in high scores.

My life, currently, is not an introvert's paradise.  Work is people, people, people, Oh, and more people. My children also require interaction.  Strange but they like talking to me and being listened to as well.  All my other responsibilities require speaking to actual humans, too. So, sitting and pondering my dreams and the plan to make them happen gets about 0.0002 minutes out of my regular week. Eureka moments to work out bumps along the way are fewer and farther between.

Hey, I am not complaining. I have some real affection for all these people type people.  I just simply mean that because I am the one who needs to work things out in utter solitude and in a quiet peaceful place; I have not happened upon many solutions lately.  I am recognizing that.

In one of my very first jobs, I worked with a sage, experienced bartender named Bill.  He was quiet.  He rarely offered advice and was not the boisterous barkeep.  I walked in one day and out of nowhere Bill looked at me and said "Hey, Jayne, you need to drop your sandbags."  Anyone who has known me more than a minute would recognize the confused,  immediate reaction of my face. Try as I might to stop it:  my face speaks for me even when I would rather remain silent.  Lady Gaga might have a Poker Face but I missed that prize in the gene pool lottery.

Since my face had done the talking I did not need to ask any questions and Bill just continued.  "You are a nice, young girl (yupp, I used to be a young girl, peeps) , but you are carrying a lot of crap with you.  If you were in a hot air balloon, Jayne- You wouldn't make it off the ground. Drop your SandBags!"

I spent a long time after that pondering exactly what he meant.  I was 18.  Clueless.  I think I picked up a little more weight before I eventually figured it out.  Bill meant I was carrying a lot of SEP's.  Somebody else's problems.   What he could see that I needed was to let go of being a "fixer" for the people around me.  To let them take their own journey and create their own outcome.

He was wise and once I learned to do that around 30- being such a slow learner- life got easier and lighter.  I was able to forge my own path rather than take on other's chores and struggles.

Yet here I am.....once again.  I am pretty sure that my sandbags now are different.  I am not trying to change the world for others anymore.  I haven't taken on scads of difficult projects that are not of my own making and benefit me in no way, as I used to, frequently.  I can say, without doubt, that I do not completely understand what the heaviness is this time.

Much of my difficulty has sprung up from a sea change in my day to day life.  Not of my choosing this time but foist upon me by....life? The universe?

Somehow through all the demands, all the over scheduling, the mountain of responsibility; I need to steal some time. Time for about 48 hours on a quiet private beach....with a couple of my journals.  Time to figure out again what I can  change, where my next challenge is and how I can find the time to get there. Time to drop my sandbags.

Am I a *itch?

I don't want a dog.  Apparently, everyone in the house wants one. But. I. Don't. Now, do not get me wrong.  I love dogs.  Seriously,  if you had a litter of puppies at your house and I really thought you were a jerk- I would still be tempted to visit. Dogs are great and the bigger the better.  Doesn't mean I want to own one.  They require time and a lot of space and I have very little of either.  Now, usually I just assent tacitly, okay, do what you want. This time that thought is cringe worthy which has left me wondering if I am turning into a *itch.

So I consulted askmen.com and found an article entitled "Top Ten Signs that she is a *itch".  According to the website there were some tell tale signs that I am sure do not apply to me:  bossing my man around and belittling him in public, flirting with other guys and being cold hearted and manipulative. The article also stresses that a *itch will slight you in bed. Laughable. Yep, could go a hundred million years and never worry about becoming that girl.

Of course, I did not get off scott free in the article.  It also states,  she expects to be treated like a queen.  Well, duh.  I am a woman.  To quote the article "She constantly expects car rides, gifts and attention from you".  Hmmm,  could be nice and I clearly wouldn't be opposed to a ride to the job that helps pay  the bills, or the occasional thoughtful gift or moment when it wasn't always about everybody else's life and their needs.   The website is not clear on whether any of these things has had to ever actually happen in order to make me an evil witch or if only my pipe dream that they might gives me the title.

Lastly, the most questionable subject of all comes up, when the story states that *itches are selfish and treat people like trash.  I am stumped.  This one is a conundrum for me.  Balance between my feelings and needs and those of others is a big fat red flag hot button issue.  I have had someone who should have known better say "Its always about you isn't it?"  Which would lead one to believe that I am a self centered fool.  Am I?

I can only say that I try.  Hard.  I spend the vast majority of my day doing things that need to be done or that others want to  do.  I stand back when I feel I am imposing or boring or just not fun to be around.  I look ahead to how my actions are going affect someone a week or a month or a year from now in addition to today.  I often deprive myself of things or sleep to provide or give to others.  I live biting my tongue because I know how defeating it is to hear complaint after complaint.  Personally, I do not see myself as selfish. I treat people pretty well. I just get uncomfortable because the feedback I get on the subject is so negative.  Perhaps my self view is hopelessly deluded.

Going on percentages, I pass the *itch test.  The bigger question is when faced with the problem that brought me to question myself what will I do?  Woof.  Freaking woof.