My in-laws have descended for a visit from NY! We had a wonderful dinner at Romarco's last night (deep fried zucchini spears, nice!), rented the Illusionist (very good, creepy, and we love Paul Giamatti) and now morning is breaking.I'm always up before everyone else. What can I say? The morning is the divine hour! It's the hour of awakening. And this morning is particularly crisp; sharp and bright as linen. Her face is freshly washed and she's got her blue dress on again, and no cloudy look to obscure that sunny smile.
I was just tossing up some morning prayer with a little coffee and some of my mother-in-law's famous and ridiculously delicious Irish Soda Bread, looking out our little window just above the front door, when I spied the old pine in the neighbour's yard. He filled the tiny pane of glass, waving his green good morning to the day. And this old swatch of a poem came back to me:
"Two men looked out through prison bars; one saw mud, the other stars."
I thought to myself, "Self, imagine if some alien force suddenly barged in while the house slept peacefully upstairs, wantonly destroying my Irish soda bread, spilling my coffee, and whisking me away to confine me to a place where a little window was my only glimpse of the Outside? Would I appreciate it? Would it be like a viaduct of grace and a reminder of what reality is, what freedom is, and that "above all shadows rides the sun"? Did I make this coffee too strong this morning or what?"
Ah the thoughts that come to me while sipping the sweet, dark nectar of the Bean. I love you Maxwell House, right to the last drop!
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