MORNINGS

Saturday morning, 8.30am. I am staring at my breakfast. A damping mug of tea, some fruit
and yoghurt, the sun rising over the houses. Thats how mornings always should be. Or not?
I should still be in bed, actually. Like everyone. The only one outside is a little dog, walking
out its boss.
At least, I dont need to stress yet about getting dressed, or looking good. The stormy, but
smiling guy in the mirror convinced me to wait a little bit. First breakfast and enjoying the
moment. I feel like a kid who doesnt care about anything, but smiling and starting his day
like he wants.
The thought makes me dream away to some of my favourite mornings. Those spent at
grandmas, of course. A ritual that remained unchanged during the last decades. One you
enjoy as much at the age of 25, as at the age of 7, 14, or 52.
You lay down in a comfortable bed, with warm blankets and perfect pillows, convinced that
you will never leave that comfy spot. Suddenly, the rich aroma of fresh coffee tickles your
nose. When you walk down, the usual Already up? welcomes you in the kitchen, filled with
the smell of pan fried potatoes. Sitting down at the, by now, too small breakfast table with a
cup of cow fresh milk, picking with your fork at the potatoes in the old iron pan. Enjoying the
moment, while grandma tries desperately to understand the print on your pyjamas.
Now, I am still sitting in my pyjamas. The fresh milk is substituted by my fruit yoghurt, the
warm potatoes by the sunrise. But something which will never change is the joy of having
breakfast. Taking your time to wake up, kissing the others hello, while smiling at their look,
although you know that yours is exactly the same. Sipping from that damping mug, and
pretending to be ready to start the day. A chat, a hug, embracing the day. Great.
Tonight I plan on following the Spanish rhythm. Enjoying the Night in the Latin Quarter.
Tapas and salsa, going with the flow till the wee hours. Ending somewhere in between night
and day. No way I am getting up again that early. Or is someone going to make me fried
potatoes?

Jrgen Janssens | 2003

janssensjurgen@gmail.com