My wife is sleeping in this morning. I got up early, made some coffee and chicory, one slice of toast which was then cut into a half with butter and the other with butter and orange marmalade, accompanied with a few strips of bacon. It rained last night and was still sprinkling when I went out to get The Arizona Republic and The Wall Street Journal. Cringed at the news stories.
I used to think that older people moved slowly because of physical infirmities but now believe that may be a partial explanation. Although far from old - that status is preserved for the eighties - I've noticed that my routine has become more deliberate with certain projects as a way to get increased pleasure from the most minor actions, such as permitting the coffee to escape the pot as it pours into the cup, slowly spreading the butter, carefully folding the paper, listening for the crunch of the toast..
There are ways to savor a breakfast.
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