"Just what am I going to eat for breakfast, Mom?" Sam fussed, rifling through the cabinets. "There's no food in the house!"
"Have you even looked?" I yelled from in front of the computer.
This seemed to be a Y-linked chromosomal trait, this inability to see the food --or the favorite shirt or the baseball cap--right in front of their faces.
"Yes I've looked," he sighed. "Come see for yourself."
"Okay, I will!" I declared, ready to point out the wide array of breakfast choices and gloat in motherly triumph.
Sam was right. There were cornflakes and Cheerios, but not a drop of milk. No bread, no juice. Someone ate the last peach the night before. No tortillas for a cheese quesadilla. Just one lonely egg in the carton. No yogurt, except two Cotton Candy Gogurts that Sam says taste like medicine and make him want to puke.
This was bad.
Here stood my hungry eleven year old, but even worse, there was an eighteen year old son studying upstairs. In a mere twenty minutes or so, his hunger would trip the alarm in his stomach and he'd come barreling down the stairs like a grizzly bear, ready to pick up somebody's Honda and shake any food out of it.
Obviously, the Breakfast Man (aka Todd Ramsey) had been gone for the week.
Todd grew up eating breakfasts of eggs and bacon and sausage (yes, two pig products offered each morning,) rice or grits, juice and milk, while I grew up eating cereal with milk or a Danish Go Round or maybe cinnamon toast.
Not a criticism, Mom! I so miss a Danish Go Round. (Do y'all remember those?) And I hate washing breakfast pans. (Todd is an enthusiastic breakfast cook, but not so enthusiastic on the cleaning up part.)
I looked at the clock and searched the freezer. Surely there was something in there.
Frozen biscuits! Yes!
I popped them in the oven, sat back down in front of the computer, and promptly immersed myself in your blogs. And promptly forgot all about the biscuits.
The blog posts I read were so very good.
I forgot about my boys and I forgot about the oven.
Some twenty minutes later, a fragrance tickled my nose.
Ooh, that's nice.
What was it? It smells like a country kitchen. Like butter. Like bread baking.
Lucky for us, they were perfect, lightly browned, puffy in the middle, golden on the bottom.
Thank goodness for the scent, leading me out of my morning fog, reminding me of the deliciousness waiting for me and the boys: the bread that would satisfy our hunger and tame my savage beasts!
If the buttery perfume hadn't reminded me, I might have carbonized our breakfast!
This got me thinking about other reminders. Ordinary things that we see or hear or smell that pique our memories, that jump start our brains out of the fog of the day, that call to mind more than biscuits. That make us remember a Power bigger than we are, a Lover more capable that we are to hand out grace and gifts of all sorts.
So I'm wondering what sort of things jolt you out of your day and turn your thoughts to the Creator?
The feel of a cool breeze after a summer of torturous heat?
A random act of kindness between bickering brothers?
The scent of grapes ripening on the vine?
I hope you'll share!
*Photo by smohundro, creative commons