Drinking a hot chai latte on a cold winter's morning. With peanut butter toast. Crunchy. Both the toast and the peanut butter. Comfort food and drink.
It's nice in the morning before the masses awake and the cars start to roll down the streets and commerce starts to whir around in a recession-like kind of way. This time of day in the house it's just Kooper, the two cats and me who are awake. Time to think a bit. Which I do little of normally. And ponder. And write some, too. That puts the little thoughts down on electronic paper so they can stare back at me and see who created the strings of letters and spaces and punctuation marks, and if they or their creator make any sense.
Kooper likes peanut butter, too. Crunchy or not. But with his stomach being as sensitive as it is, it's not a good idea to give him globs of it. He does get to lick the nearly empty jar at the end of its useful life, though. Gives his tongue some exercise as he exorcises the jar of the last remnants of contents. It takes awhile and is always an entertaining five or ten minutes for Kate and me. But we are days away from an empty jar. Many morning pieces of toast to go before Kooper gets his end of the bargain.
In pet stores they should sell almost empty jars of peanut butter. I bet they would be a hit.
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About Me
- Mark Gorman
- I was born in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, along the banks of the Susquehanna River, in the valley made up by Bald Eagle Mountain to the south, and gentle hills and valleys to the north. That place that sheltered me, gave me food and friends, and both physical and spiritual nourishment for 18 years. That is the space where I was physically and emotionally formed. Ever since growing up there . . . because of growing up there . . . I have been inexorably linked to nature . . . to the earth and to all life.