At Last, the Skies above are blue
C and I listened to Ella Fitzgerald crooning At Last on the way to Salisbury in the wee hours last Saturday. That line particularly resonated later in the afternoon, on the way to Assateague, after riding several morning hours in persistent rain when the sun finally shone through. At Last.
Despite the rain, and the ever-present headwind, I completed my first Century, 100 rolling miles through lots of farmland and the often overwhleming stench of cow dung. I finished before C even, (hahahaha) due to our missing each other at the last stop. We'd usually meet up there, but I didn't see him, had cherry pie, and booked. I still had about 20 miles to cover and less than an hour and a half to do it in. It was fabby. Forgot all about the sniper and Bush's new powers--for awhile.
So, Sunday morning, my pumpkin's mad at me for having the gall to interrupt a YUGI-OH duel to call him in to eat pancakes. He sat there stewing and chewing and then to hurt said, "You should get the kinda pancakes like we have at my Dad's house--the white man's pancakes." Of course, as I reflected on Aunt Jemimah beaming in her new permed 'do sans kerchief from the box of mix I'd used, I found this incredibly funny. He loves to make me laugh, even when mad. Though he had no idea what was funny,he milked it as best he could. Turns out he was talking about this guy, and the kind of pancakes you pop in the microwave ( I had gone to the trouble of adding water AND stirring mine. ) Kids today.
It reminded me of the time a couple of Christmases ago, when, in the spirit of things, I excitedly offered him a variety of microwavable breakfast choices from which to choose -- "do you want grits, or the scrambled egg and cheese pocket thing, or the scrambled egg, bacon and cheese pocket thing, or apple cinnamon oatmeal--". World weary and shaming me at 6 he says, "It's Christmas, Ma. Can't I have some pancakes?"
Guiltfully I slogged through cookbook after cookbook, trying to find something appropriately festive to make for breakfast with the ingredients I had on hand (scant few, but including, curiously, dried cranberries.) Finally, I found something that didn't require buttermilk, and an hour later ceremoniously presented him with some lovely, light and fluffy Cranberry Puff Pancakes!
He didn't like 'em; ending up opting for nuked oatmeal after all.