A person can get so much done when her kids aren’t around at the weekend.
First of all, she can get up when she likes, without fear of bumping into a teenager making a snack before retiring to bed for the day. I was up this morning at 5am and busy on my computer.
By 8am I had hit the yard sales–3 pieces of quality jewelry for Gretel’s Christmas stocking, two sturdy candles shaped like a cross between breasts and blimps, and a 1960s fruit bowl: total expenditure $5.
Then to the Heavenly Grill for breakfast. No Fox News this morning, but rather contemporary Christian music. So that’s what happened to Mandisa after American Idol…
I ordered a biscuit with bacon, egg and cheese, which caused many problems with sequencing and recall. After 20 minutes of frenzied activity around the hot plate, the biscuit came with egg and cheese, the bacon having been forgotten. Never mind. When I pointed out the omission, there was much scurrying to save the day and really, the fried egg was cooked to perfection, all oozy in the middle, and the biscuit was salty, flaky and well-buttered, just as it should be.
The Heavenly grill is run by a family of five: a holy father, a harrassed mother, two affable but largely useless sons and a grumpy looking girl. The father has obviously cooked and served food before. The others? Not so much. While I was there the father stepped out for a word with a passing policeman and panic thus ensued. Everyone hovered over the hash browns hissing at each other and casting furtive glances at the door. Would they manage to work it out before the boss returned? They did, just about, but it will take some effort and the sustained power of prayer before they are able to do it reliably one hundred times a day.
I am determined to support the Heavenly Grill, however slipshod their service–gotta love a place that offers Holy Cow Burgers and Sancti-fried Chicken and calls the large coffee a Goliath.
By twenty of ten I was sitting impatiently outside Second Wind consignments waiting for it to open, desperate to get my hands on other people’s junk. I can’t divulge too many details of today’s haul–suffice to say some of it will end up beneath a Christmas tree near you.
Home to plant a dozen plants and walk the Blarney acres. I’ve already done the laundry. It’s now 11:30am and, without a child to chivvy out of bed, I have simply no idea what happens next.