Tag: florida

Breakfast Junkies

Often, a Sunday morning will find my wife and me going out for breakfast. We have a few places we favor and occasionally we choose the retro store with the restaurant attached, Cracker Barrel.  Without fail, the place is packed.

cracker-barrell

This morning was no different. At least 40 people were playing checkers and sitting in rocking chairs ahead of us, a twenty minute wait the greeter informed us. And sure enough, before our demeanor slipped into “hangry”, we were at a table with a menu, a cup of coffee, and a glass of tea.

So how do they do it?  I mean there’s only a couple of ways you can order an egg for breakfast. You fry them, scramble them, or fold them into an omelet. Yet, every weekend there’s a line out the door of breakfast junkies looking to get their Old Timer fix. I just don’t get it.

Sure, there’s the allure of shopping for everything your Granma ever wanted, but is that enough to explain it?  I don’t think so. There’s got to be something else.  And then it occurred to me.  It came to me like a side of grits with biscuits and saw-mill gravy. There’s something in the eggs. Let’s break it down.

CRACKer Barrel. Huh? Yeah? You feel it?  Makes sense now, right?  You can’t see it, smell it, or even taste it, but it’s gotta be in there, Crack!  I’m surprised they haven’t been caught out on the street corner offering the first egg for free… or haven’t they?  I’ve never been in the kitchen, but I wouldn’t be amazed to discover the eggs over-easy being handed to the server through a slot in a heavy steel door. I mean if they aren’t all jacked up on something, how do you explain how they churn tables like a Ford assembly line?  I had to prove this theory.

So I snuck out a portion of scrambled eggs in a napkin, and made my way through the parking lot full of cars and Fedora’d chickens in pale gray trench-coats, to a small pharmacy run by a guy I know.  In a matter of hours I had the answer, Omega 3’s, my friend.  Omega 3’s! That’s right!  Alpha – Omega!  The beginning and the end!  It was crystal clear to me and I looked at my wife, who had faithfully remained by my side, and recognized the knowing look in her eyes.

I looked at her.  She looked at me. And she spoke the words we had both suspected.

“Hey, perhaps twelve cups of coffee is not such a good thing for you!”

Sam

My dog, a lab, is mostly manic

With only occasional bouts of panic

At thunderstorms and fireworks

Set off at night by thoughtless jerks.

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By nature she is always happy

And even when I’m feeling crappy,

At the door, my ass a draggin’

She greets me with her tail a waggin’.

 

She seems to find no imposition,

My sometimes surly disposition

And meets me still with love and gratitude,

Despite my curt and sour attitude.

 

Those times when I’m not glad to be me,

She is never sad to see me

Reminding me when this occurs,

To be less like me, and more like her.

 

 

 

 

 

The Salt Life

Dear Buffy,

I hope you are well recovered from the debilitating anxiety you suffered over the recent Presidential Election.  The potential loss of your domestic help must have left you frantic.  I’m so happy you were able to recruit suitable Canadian replacements. Do keep in mind they will require less food and they will bruise ever so easily. Any-who, I ‘m just dropping a line informing you of the tremendous success of my recent boating adventure.

sea-ray

Although nothing like the yachts in our native Kennebunkport; I found passage on the most adorable little dingy, crewed by authentic locals. You would have been thrilled.  There was a former Sommelier and his operatic wife, a television personality and her photographer, a wonderfully ethic Italian restaurateur and his spouse, and an old man and his younger companion whom, I can only assume was his daughter.  The entire outing was a farcical charade if ever there were such a thing.

The crew arrived toting their belongings like the porters on our Nairobi safari.  Apparently their supplies consisted of inexpensive cheesy comestibles and cheap domestic sparkly because the entire group were either opening bottles of bubbly or spending inordinate amounts of time in the bathroom.  They were as giddy as orphans on Charity Day at the country club pool.

We were barely under way when a group of them (to the dismay of the First Mate and completely against previous instructions) were swilling beer and congregating on the swim deck to smoke something the locals call “cigareets”.  Eventually the Sommelier became so inebriated, he fell over-board.  The poor fellow was much distraught and had to be restrained, tied to a paddle board and floated several yards behind us on a tether.

The afternoon was waning and so we headed back to dock with the paddle board in tow.  Now that I think of it, it did greatly resemble a piece of bait tied to a lure.  I suppose then not too surprising that the board and its occupant were attacked by what was later determined to be either a pod of deranged dolphins or the most effeminate swarm of sharks I have ever seen. At any rate, the poor drunken Sommelier was lost.  His wife, upon waking from her nap, was inconsolable until an unopened bottle of champagne was discovered.  All in all, the day was a ripping good bash about.

Please give my love to Grand Papa and inquire about an advance on my allowance.  It seems the television is out in the Bentley, so the purchase of new transport is an unexpected expense.  Cheers to you and the gang.  I’ll be home in time for the Spring Regatta.

Best wishes,

Skippers.