Chuckling as I remember when I was 20 something and married and breakfast would be coffee and a cigarette! In my 40s I confess there was a time or two when I had melted Haagen Daaz coffee ice cream for breakfast. Thus the eventual necessity to remove gall bladder and accompanying stones! Making amends for such indulgence, I tried baked pears which are also quite yummy but I'm not much of a fruit eater. Now it's instant oatmeal sweetened with stevia from the Amazon rainforest and devoid of milk. I keep wishing I could get my Mom off the morning milk because it's sugar on an empty stomach. Not best for her Type II. I try not to badger.
________________________________ From: turquoiseb <no_re...@yahoogroups.com> To: FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com Sent: Wednesday, May 1, 2013 3:56 AM Subject: [FairfieldLife] Les joies d'un petit dejeuner Americans and Brits (and, to some extent, the Dutch) have this odd idea about breakfast. They believe that the only way to face the coming day is after pigging out on as much protein as humanly possible, stuffing mounds of eggs, sausage, and bacon (and, for the Brits, baked beans...ick) into their mouths and spending the rest of the morning trying to digest them. Me, that just makes me sluggish and sleepy, the *last* thing I want going for me in the mornings. Besides, my old and metabolism-slowed-down body is still working on digesting dinner early in the mornings, so I don't have *room* for all that stuff. So at home I content myself with coffee and a piece of toast or English muffin or (if I feel the need for a protein boost) a bagel with cream cheese. That keeps me going just fine until lunch, without any energy or attention-deficit dropouts. So France is just My Kinda Place. The French seem to have similar metabolisms to mine. The cafes may offer un petit déjeuner Americaine, with all of the above excess, but that's just for tourists. Real French people content themselves with what is in front of me as I type this -- a petit déjeuner consisting of coffee, a glass of juice, a tartine (a 1/4 slice of a standard French baguette, served with jam), and a hot croissant, fresh from the bakery next door. Heaven On Earth. Maharishi can keep his version of that term. I don't need world peace and blissed-out devas dancing the Brahmaloka Suffle in the streets to have a good morning. And I *certainly* don't need no spiritual fascists telling me what a "good morning" entails and how I *have* to enjoy it, trudging through the snow to the Holy Lemming Domes. Buck might be willing to settle for that shit, but I am not. It's too damned restrictive. It negates the joys and charms (and yes...occasional less-than-charming scenarios) of the real world, seeking to replace them with a fantasy world that does not, has not in the past, and never will in the future exist. Here and now exists. And it does a pretty good job of existing, if you ask me. It's still a little cloudy and chilly here, but that just makes for comfortable walking, and I plan to do a lot of walking today. My petit déjeuner will keep me fueled and walking just fine until lunch time, which I will hopefully spend in yet another sidewalk cafe. My kinda Heaven On Earth. YMMV.
