Monday, May 30, 2005

Sunday Morning

Teeth and hair unbrushed. Stomach growling. Yesterday's pants thrown on, and into the chilly car with Dad. Sand left on the street from the winter crunching under the tires as we pull out, on our way to Town Landing.

Under the painted store front signs that advertise native ice cubes, fresh lobster, nad bagged ice, the car pulls to a stop. I skip up onto the big telephone pole logs they use as parking bumpers and onto the store's front stoop.

Inside, it smells of bacon. The golf green carpet is thin worn by boat shoes, flip flops, and Bean boots. We answer the warm greeting, then go about our business.

Dad to the papers - Barons's, Times, Press Herald. Me to the bakery case. Reach high to get a piece of wax paper, then slip behind the case. The wood doors, divided into three panels, slide open to the right. I inhale the sweetness, and maybe a little powdered sugar goes up my nose. Oh what to choose? Donuts of course. But which ones? A glazed, a cinamon-sugar with little cross-hatch marks from the cooling rack, and a chocolate covered in coconut. Maybe a jelly-filled, powdered -sugar-covered one too, just for good measure. Dad doesn't usually say no when it come to donuts.

The ching of the register, and we're back at the house. Eggs Bruce coming up (poached egg, ham, tomato, cheese on English muffin). I set the table -- I'm really hungry now. The kitchen smells so warm. We sit, the newspaper is shuffled through, comics passed to me. Mom takes the front page, Dad dives into the editorials. Munch, munch, munch.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Isn't it great that no matter how old or grown-up we might get, our parents always pass us the comics?

4:20 PM  

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