“Teaching a kitten to bark. . . ” That’s how futile it is to try to change reality, I’m told.
What is, just is. 217 more words
Every morning, my husband G. and I have a breakfast ritual. He takes out his cinnamon and raisin bread from Crown Bakery, makes a big pot of coffee, does his stretching exercises downstairs with his orange juice and brings upstairs the Telegram & Gazette newspaper (for him) and the New York Times newspaper (for me.) I, on my part, have a half glass of orange juice, make a bowl of oatmeal or cook two soft-boiled eggs that I eat with a dab of Chinese oyster sauce (like my Dad had for his breakfast.) Our breakfast ritual is characterized by contented silence eating our breakfasts, rustling the pages of our individual newspapers and drinking cups of hot coffee. 547 more words