John's Sunday Morning Musings

As John was standing over the stove making his coffee, the first morning light started peeking through the window. His morning ritual, you cannot start the day without a hot, cup of coffee. He was home today. Sunday morning was his bit of luxury.

The only one he got to spend at home, as all the others were dedicated to the restaurant. This one was for him and for them. Alex and the children were still sleeping. He will have his coffee and then make them the biggest and greatest breakfast ever.

As the coffee was seeing to itself, John looked outside in the garden. Their garden. He found it strange that even now, after all these years of living here, almost four or five maybe, he still could not believe that this was their house, their garden, his life.

He thought about it sometimes, about his life, about how it had all come together, and in those moments he felt so humbled and so grateful. Not in his wildest dreams would have he thought that he will have all of this, not ever.

He hoped for good things, of course! Don't we all?! But he never thought it would be this good. And in those moments he would panic, he would be afraid, very afraid, that his unbelievably amazing life would be stolen from him, that something bad will happen and all will be lost. He would then have to talk himself out of it, out of his darkest fear.

Sometimes he would call Alex, just to hear her voice, just to ask how the children were, if they need anything from the shop or whatever, small talk that would ground him and bring him back to reality. His mind was his greatest ally and his greatest enemy, but they had been together for so long that he had learnt how to deal with it.

Most of the times anyway.

John took his steaming coffee into the garden. Everybody should have a garden, or a bit of outside space, there is nothing like being outside, next to your house. He sat at his garden table and while lighting his cigarette he looked up at the sky. He had never seen anything as beautiful as the Irish sky.

The air was fresh and the birds moved slowly in the cold morning. February was a good month, a bit chilly, but this year it was not actually that bad. Lets hope we won't have snow this year, he thought, or at least not as much as last year.

The children were delighted, but for him it was white madness, the city stood still while chaos took over. Thank God it only lasted a few days. We cannot handle snow, that is for sure, he thought and smiled to himself while having his coffee and puffing his cigarette.

I should quit. I should do many things.

There is this ad on TV with a guy that quits saying he wants to be there forever for his little daughter. It touched John as he thought at Una, his little daughter, but then he thought, you can never be there forever, not even if you quit smoking, that is just an ad, to sell you something else then cigarettes.

Hm, maybe it is just my addiction talking.

When John went back in the kitchen the warmth covered him and made him feel happy.

It is so nice to be home.

For Una pancakes, for Michael, his son, French toast with honey, and smoked salmon omelette for mommy.

He smiled thinking about his children tastes. When he was young he got toast and tea, but he was the one that had taught them like that, to express their wants and needs, to be their own person.

He smiled to himself. Just to think that he was still working on it and still could not do it as well as his children. Maybe being your own person is difficult to learn when you don’t practice it from the beginning.

Maybe. He would not know, he was just a cook.