Breakfast. And Baggins.

The cracky old cat is laying on the table in a spot of sun, quite content to sprawl out on the new placemat (Nicky’s typical spot.)  I myself am feeling quite fat and happy after indulging my craving for a morsel of a sweet something in the afternoon.  Blueberry pudding cake, which my beloved one shared with me, which made me happy.  Perhaps I’d not have snacked at all, had I not been reading The Hobbit earlier today.  In it, if you’ve read it you know, the hobbits—who I’m quite convinced are my long lost kin about thirty times removed on my Mother’s side—eat several breakfasts and dinners and snacks each day.  (Elevensies, afternoon tea with cakes, and so on.) 

With hobbits merrily munching already in my mind, the subject of what to sup upon this evening seemed an appropriate twist in the conversation.  There hasn’t been a great deal of conversation lately, mind you.  I’m far too hot and midway through the melting process because of the deviously early arrival of summer.  Argue with me if you like, “No, it’s not summer Jeffrey, it’s just a very hot spring.”  Fuck you.  No.  It’s summer.  Then it’ll rain next week, return to spring, then work backwards from there, going to Autumn, we’ll have a few more sunny days (Indian summer) and go in from the picnic blanket to eat Halloween candy, dye eggs, and wrap Christmas presents in heart shaped boxes, because it’s started snowing and without the predictability of weather from former glorious years, we lose track of time and have to celebrate all the holidays in one week so that HallMark doesn’t have to file for bankruptcy and become a government franchise. 

Anyway, as I was trying to tell you before you completely altered my line of thought by asking me about the weather—the subject of dinner popped up (from the living-room land of floating question marks and light bulbs, hidden somewhere between the couches.  I think its under the coffee table…)  It was then settled upon between my Beloved One and I, that it would be breakfast for dinner tonight. 

Three cheers for breakfast!

So, there I was, happily tucked away in my red chair, thinking about a lovely repetition of the breakfast we had for dinner the other night, when I looked at the clock, and suddenly felt quite down.  It was only about half-past two o’clock in the afternoon.  Dinner-time’s a long way off.  Quite down indeed.  Depressing.  Hungry!  Then she reminded me of the treasure in the kitchen, and we decided to break into the golden, glittering, great glob of gooey goodness.  That being, of course, the precious pudding cake.  Blueberry pudding cake, that is.

Now my thoughts have returned to breakfasting, but in a much more organized fashion, and I’m starting to crave cookies for an after breakfast-for-dinner nibble.  It’s a bit hot to turn the oven on, but I could try making some in the tiny counter-top, pizza oven contraption. 

Snickerdoodles perhaps?  It will require more thought than you have patience to read me write about.  (“Hear me talk about”?  “Read me write about”?  Make sense.)

A cigarette for now I think.  Or “a bowl of tobacco out of doors”, as The Hobbit is still scurrying through my mind.

© Jeffrey Puukka, 2009