Monday, April 21, 2014
Stephen Glass
I think that is a difficult movie to watch because as an audience, we are drawn and get attached to Stephen in the beginning. He even comments about one of his co-workers who doesn't like to be fact checked. They way they set up the movie and events unravel, we never suspect anything like this to happen...until it does. It leaves us feeling betrayed. That's exactly how the editors and his friends must have felt. Especially when they wanted to believe in him so much. At the beginning, you love Stephen and at then end you regret loving him. Then you're left with the feelings of should I keep trying to love him or should I be okay with letting him go? Once again, I'm sure the editors and magazine people had very similar feelings. I think he deserved to get in trouble for that. I wish he hadn't done it and he had done his fiction writing elsewhere because it was brilliant. He did suffer the consequences and his fiction writing did get acknowledged, there was just a lot of deceit in between. I'm still not exactly sure how I feel about everything. I wish he would have been a man about it in the end and owned up to his actions because I think I would have a little more respect for him. I wonder how spot on the movie is compared to real life. I wonder what Stephen thought when he watched it for the first time.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Studio time (a work in progress)
Choose
a place that you want to write about.
Say what meaning the place has for you right now, what seems important
about it. Include a narrative of one
visit you made to this place, what happened on that visit, and how the trip
made you feel. Begin by telling us how
you get to this place: what you see, what you hear, what you smell, and how you
feel. Use all of your senses.
I am walking barefoot up a familiar street when I come to a sudden stop at mailbox 62, which is directly across from 43. I never understood how the neighborhood mailboxes were set up, but that
another story. I had to stop there because seeing that house again causes the floodgates to open and all the memories come rushing so fast all I can do is stop in my tracks and reminisce. So I sit down and stare at the house before me, trying to remember all the little things. I close my eyes and see my room and the walls. The walls are special because they're covered in letters, decorated envelopes, lyrics, inside jokes, and signatures. My life was written on four walls. I see the rest of my room and focus on my bed. Memories of my friends and I having late night talks there start to blur together. I change my gaze to my door, which is open so my eyes are drawn to the afternoon sun shining through the living room. So many things come to mind when I see that room. I remember all the game nights with family over the holidays, summer parties full of silliness inside to avoid the heat outside, and I remember holding my nieces when they were newborns on the couch right where the sun shines the brightest through the window. I look out the window now and see the time when it wasn't so sunny. When the storm was so bad the trees were bending to the ground and the rain was hitting the window so hard and with so much water that it looked like a watercolor painting. This makes me look out the other window above the sink in the kitchen. I remember staring out that window and admiring my mother's beautiful flowers on the porch. It was almost like a greenhouse and I loved it so. I look past the flowers and see the yard where we had water-balloon fights, played hide-n-seek in the dark, and star-gazed. I snap back to reality here. Maybe the new owners of my house won't mind if I walk around the back. I decided to do it and on the way I peeked in the porch window. No one was home. So I lay down on the grass and stare into the sky, smiling.
Six sates. My life has been spread over six states. There is a beautiful appreciation that forms in the heart of a child that has traveled. I am thankful for what I have experienced, though I am currently still working through the heartache of our last move. I think about the day we drove away from the house I lived the longest in. The house that I grew up in. I would say the house that built me, but that's a Miranda Lambert song and it makes me cry every time I hear it so I won't call it that. I have chosen not to be sad about the move anymore, but to embrace the new things that have flourished from it and remember the life I had there. I think about that day and I hear my mom stifling her sobs as I try and do the same. It's time to be strong. There's no point in crying right now, I'll have time for that later. Be strong for mom, I tell myself. I don't even look back. I can't bear it. I keep my eyes straight ahead and focus on my breathing so my mom doesn't hear me struggling for air. I stick my hand out the window and try to embrace the freedom of leaving as I wonder what is in store. We are on the road. One family split into to cars that contain all our belongings for the next 4 months.
This place I return to over and over again in my head is not only my old home, but the hometown as well. It's where my life was. Now I know I am still living and have another life here, but I did leave a life behind when I left Georgia. I often think about my favorite memories there. I believe it's good for the soul to do that. I think about the late night trips to Waffle House where my friends and I would see who could drink the most coffee and we would stay there for hours telling stories and laughing so hard our stomachs ached. Then there's the summers filled with tennis and ultimate frisbee. Frisbee was my favorite sport to play there. Nothing beats running barefoot with the green grass under your feet. One time it was 98 degrees and so humid we all could barley breathe when all of the sudden it started pouring down rain. A once organized frisbee tournament turned into a mudslide. It was beautiful. I also loved the bonfires we would have after the sun would set. We would watch the stars and a lot of my friends were musically gifted so at one point in the night, they'd all whip out their guitars and we'd all sing and sing. That was my favorite part. At one of those bonfires, we threw an old and dead Christmas tree in the fire. I still laugh when I think about that today. There was a lake very close to my neighborhood. It was a refreshing place to hangout on a hot day. I went there once with a dear girlfriend of mine and we went swimming and walked all over the place with our summer hats on, cameras in one hand and a bottle of coke in the other. We walked by the water, through the neighborhood surrounding the lake, and we walked to the closest town. I've never loved walking as much as I did that day. We had the lake close by, but even closer by was the creek that went through the nature trail in my neighborhood. I used to take my dog here a lot. It was a beautiful place to let her play in the water while I pondered life.
My mind goes back tot he lake. Such a perfect place for kids to spend their summers. I think about all the summers teenagers must have enjoyed there and am reminded of the history of the lake. It is a man made lake that was created by building a dam in the nearby Etowah river in 1946. When the dam was built, the whole town of Allatoona got washed away. While it was originally constructed to help with flood control by the Flood Control acts of 1941, it now is a serene place to spend hot summer days.
A lot of my most cherished memories come from my last summer there. I think that's because I chose to live life to the fullest that summer. I wanted to embrace everything and live as much as possible with everyone who would join me. I realize now that the things I love most about summer are being barefoot outside, and spending time with people you care about. That's all you really need in life. That's what Georgia taught me during that summer.
Georgia will always have my heart. Although I am only nineteen and have a lot of life to live, Lord willing and a lot of memories to make, I will never forget where I grew up. I will carry those memories with me forever. That state and my home there are important to me now because they remind me of my story and how I became me. Georgia is part of me. I did not leave myself behind when I moved, I merely opened a new chapter in my life and kept going. If I hadn't have lived there, I wouldn't have the experiences I carry with me now. If I didn't have those, I wouldn't be who am today. I believe it is important to remember the past and be reminded of the lessons learned and the favorite moments. I cannot go to this place very easily anymore. It used to be a place I lived and now it's a fourteen hour drive. That isn't impossible, this I know. I plan on going back this summer. I do love road trips.
I have been warned that when I do go back to visit, to expect change. My dear friend Star and I had a phone date recently and she said, "Everything will look different to you. There's a new by-pass so we don't take our favorite back road anymore, lots of people have moved away to college, and it's almost as if the atmosphere itself has changed". When my good friend Jacob came to visit, he told me about my old house. He said "Morgan. We can't even drive by your house anymore. It just looks so different. There's a new family there. They don't take care of the yard the way you dad did. They never go outside. They aren't you guys". Change can be scary, but it's better to embrace it than to be sad about it.
I want to go back and visit my old home because I know that in the midst of change, there will be familiarity. Maybe it will hit me the moment I lay down in my old back yard that some things are still the same. Just maybe it will be in that grass that only Georgia seems to have, that I finally am able to move forward. I already know there's something special about my old yard. It is the "Sport Grass of the South" after all. That grass was like heaven to the feet. I think it was so special because it was the kind of grass sometimes found on a golf course. "Extra cozy", as my mom would say. Regardless of the Bermuda grass,
research ideas:
-talk to friends about things that have changed since i moved (star, jacob, emily)
-something small from the narrative to expand on (like a window or something)
hometown memories to tie into essay:
-late night trips to waho
-tennis courts & ultimate frisbee
-bonfires at calebs
-lake allatoona trips
-the creek with friends
-street kids (log cabin, woods...together)
grass...
http://golftips.golfsmith.com/types-golf-course-grass-2482.html
http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/turf/publications/bermuda.html
lake...
http://www.lakeallatoonaassoc.com/history_of_lake_allatoona
I am walking barefoot up a familiar street when I come to a sudden stop at mailbox 62, which is directly across from 43. I never understood how the neighborhood mailboxes were set up, but that
another story. I had to stop there because seeing that house again causes the floodgates to open and all the memories come rushing so fast all I can do is stop in my tracks and reminisce. So I sit down and stare at the house before me, trying to remember all the little things. I close my eyes and see my room and the walls. The walls are special because they're covered in letters, decorated envelopes, lyrics, inside jokes, and signatures. My life was written on four walls. I see the rest of my room and focus on my bed. Memories of my friends and I having late night talks there start to blur together. I change my gaze to my door, which is open so my eyes are drawn to the afternoon sun shining through the living room. So many things come to mind when I see that room. I remember all the game nights with family over the holidays, summer parties full of silliness inside to avoid the heat outside, and I remember holding my nieces when they were newborns on the couch right where the sun shines the brightest through the window. I look out the window now and see the time when it wasn't so sunny. When the storm was so bad the trees were bending to the ground and the rain was hitting the window so hard and with so much water that it looked like a watercolor painting. This makes me look out the other window above the sink in the kitchen. I remember staring out that window and admiring my mother's beautiful flowers on the porch. It was almost like a greenhouse and I loved it so. I look past the flowers and see the yard where we had water-balloon fights, played hide-n-seek in the dark, and star-gazed. I snap back to reality here. Maybe the new owners of my house won't mind if I walk around the back. I decided to do it and on the way I peeked in the porch window. No one was home. So I lay down on the grass and stare into the sky, smiling.
Six sates. My life has been spread over six states. There is a beautiful appreciation that forms in the heart of a child that has traveled. I am thankful for what I have experienced, though I am currently still working through the heartache of our last move. I think about the day we drove away from the house I lived the longest in. The house that I grew up in. I would say the house that built me, but that's a Miranda Lambert song and it makes me cry every time I hear it so I won't call it that. I have chosen not to be sad about the move anymore, but to embrace the new things that have flourished from it and remember the life I had there. I think about that day and I hear my mom stifling her sobs as I try and do the same. It's time to be strong. There's no point in crying right now, I'll have time for that later. Be strong for mom, I tell myself. I don't even look back. I can't bear it. I keep my eyes straight ahead and focus on my breathing so my mom doesn't hear me struggling for air. I stick my hand out the window and try to embrace the freedom of leaving as I wonder what is in store. We are on the road. One family split into to cars that contain all our belongings for the next 4 months.
This place I return to over and over again in my head is not only my old home, but the hometown as well. It's where my life was. Now I know I am still living and have another life here, but I did leave a life behind when I left Georgia. I often think about my favorite memories there. I believe it's good for the soul to do that. I think about the late night trips to Waffle House where my friends and I would see who could drink the most coffee and we would stay there for hours telling stories and laughing so hard our stomachs ached. Then there's the summers filled with tennis and ultimate frisbee. Frisbee was my favorite sport to play there. Nothing beats running barefoot with the green grass under your feet. One time it was 98 degrees and so humid we all could barley breathe when all of the sudden it started pouring down rain. A once organized frisbee tournament turned into a mudslide. It was beautiful. I also loved the bonfires we would have after the sun would set. We would watch the stars and a lot of my friends were musically gifted so at one point in the night, they'd all whip out their guitars and we'd all sing and sing. That was my favorite part. At one of those bonfires, we threw an old and dead Christmas tree in the fire. I still laugh when I think about that today. There was a lake very close to my neighborhood. It was a refreshing place to hangout on a hot day. I went there once with a dear girlfriend of mine and we went swimming and walked all over the place with our summer hats on, cameras in one hand and a bottle of coke in the other. We walked by the water, through the neighborhood surrounding the lake, and we walked to the closest town. I've never loved walking as much as I did that day. We had the lake close by, but even closer by was the creek that went through the nature trail in my neighborhood. I used to take my dog here a lot. It was a beautiful place to let her play in the water while I pondered life.
My mind goes back tot he lake. Such a perfect place for kids to spend their summers. I think about all the summers teenagers must have enjoyed there and am reminded of the history of the lake. It is a man made lake that was created by building a dam in the nearby Etowah river in 1946. When the dam was built, the whole town of Allatoona got washed away. While it was originally constructed to help with flood control by the Flood Control acts of 1941, it now is a serene place to spend hot summer days.
A lot of my most cherished memories come from my last summer there. I think that's because I chose to live life to the fullest that summer. I wanted to embrace everything and live as much as possible with everyone who would join me. I realize now that the things I love most about summer are being barefoot outside, and spending time with people you care about. That's all you really need in life. That's what Georgia taught me during that summer.
Georgia will always have my heart. Although I am only nineteen and have a lot of life to live, Lord willing and a lot of memories to make, I will never forget where I grew up. I will carry those memories with me forever. That state and my home there are important to me now because they remind me of my story and how I became me. Georgia is part of me. I did not leave myself behind when I moved, I merely opened a new chapter in my life and kept going. If I hadn't have lived there, I wouldn't have the experiences I carry with me now. If I didn't have those, I wouldn't be who am today. I believe it is important to remember the past and be reminded of the lessons learned and the favorite moments. I cannot go to this place very easily anymore. It used to be a place I lived and now it's a fourteen hour drive. That isn't impossible, this I know. I plan on going back this summer. I do love road trips.
I have been warned that when I do go back to visit, to expect change. My dear friend Star and I had a phone date recently and she said, "Everything will look different to you. There's a new by-pass so we don't take our favorite back road anymore, lots of people have moved away to college, and it's almost as if the atmosphere itself has changed". When my good friend Jacob came to visit, he told me about my old house. He said "Morgan. We can't even drive by your house anymore. It just looks so different. There's a new family there. They don't take care of the yard the way you dad did. They never go outside. They aren't you guys". Change can be scary, but it's better to embrace it than to be sad about it.
I want to go back and visit my old home because I know that in the midst of change, there will be familiarity. Maybe it will hit me the moment I lay down in my old back yard that some things are still the same. Just maybe it will be in that grass that only Georgia seems to have, that I finally am able to move forward. I already know there's something special about my old yard. It is the "Sport Grass of the South" after all. That grass was like heaven to the feet. I think it was so special because it was the kind of grass sometimes found on a golf course. "Extra cozy", as my mom would say. Regardless of the Bermuda grass,
research ideas:
-
-something small from the narrative to expand on (like a window or something)
hometown memories to tie into essay:
-the creek with friends
-street kids (log cabin, woods...together)
grass...
http://golftips.golfsmith.com/types-golf-course-grass-2482.html
http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/turf/publications/bermuda.html
lake...
http://www.lakeallatoonaassoc.com/history_of_lake_allatoona
Monday, April 7, 2014
Crayon
I would be that one blue that looks like the ocean. I can't remember what it's called. It's always been my favorite one. When my brother and I were little, we used to see who could find it first in a new pack and whoever did would claim it for the rest of it's crayon life. It is a trick color because it's always different than it looks. It's a stunning teal, but the crayon itself looks like a dark gray-blue. It always made me feel giddy as a child because it's the magical crayon. The color is perfect for the ocean. It looks like the gorgeous Caribbean. This crayon reminds me of my favorite beach. If I dropped the crayon in the water there, I would never be able to find it. The waters there are the kind of blue that are so perfect and stunning, you wonder if the sea in front of you is real. Just like the color is a little tricky to find, this beach is a little tricky. In order to get there, you have to hike up the mountain and down to the beach. From there, you swim through some caves to get around to the other side of the beach where this incredible place is. I love it so much because it's secluded, the waves are lovely, the water is clear, the fish are plenty, and it is just plain stunning. I've only been to this beach once. It was during a cruise almost 5 years ago, but to this day it remains unbeatable and I plan to go back one day.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Point of View - Gabe's first day on the job
Today is Gabe's first day on the job. Ugh. Part of me is genuinely excited about this and part of me is dreading it. I'm excited because I won't have to drag him along anymore, but not excited because something is bound to go wrong. Everyone loves Gabe. He means well and he's a lot of fun to be arou-oh gosh, there he goes. Almost got hit by a car! C'mon Gabe.Yep, he's on his way to the bench. Just flashed me the signal. Alright. Good job boy, looking casual..oh my, you're not Tarzan, Gabe. Watch out for the trees. You know they're aren't very many on the sidewalk. Okay there we go, he's at the bench. Phew. Mmm I can smell that bagel shop from a where I'm standing. Do an old man a favor and bring him some bagels, why don't cha? I can almost taste them now. Nope! The wife said to stick to my diet or else I'll have to make supper. I shudder. Anywho, Gabe is a real fun guy to be around. He makes us all laugh in the office and he works hard. He's always wanted to be out in the fiel-Gabe! There's a pigeon. It's attacking him! Atta boy, give him the bagel. Actually, show him who's boss! That nasty bird can go find a bagel somewhere else. I cover my eyes for this one. The bird is actually attacking him. I stifle a laugh. Oh Gabe. Hopefully this is the worst thing that happens to you today. Uh..what! Oh no! How did that happen! I look away for two seconds and the bird is inside the briefcase! Get him out, get him out! I can't believe what I'm seeing. The bird is actually pushing the buttons and flying the suitcase around and firing. The bird is firing! This is chaos! C'mon Gabey! Think of something! There you go! The bagel! Brilliant! Alright coast is clear. Let's carry on now. Oh my gosh. Did I just see what I think I saw? The bagel set off the rocket! Are you kidding me?! There's no hope. We're all gonna die. Because of a bird and a bagel. Go big or go home, right? That's what my kids tell me. At least the kid got a day out on the field like he wanted. Too bad he'll have to work behind a desk for the rest of his life. I'm probably gonna get fired. We're all gonna get fired. Wait! He's flying the briefcase to stop the rocket! Gabe what are you thinking? Why is that darned bird still after him? Someone shoot that thing before it takes over the world! Ah dangit, my eyes must be giving out on me. Time for the binoculars. I fumble for them until my hands grasp that old familiar feel of cold metal...oops that's my gun. Got 'em! Okay I see him! He's gonna make it! Way to go Gabe! You're gonna be the hero today after all! I'm so proud. Wait a second...what the heck! That stupid bird is getting in the way again! Where's that bagel Gabe?! Ahhh there you go. Phew. Bird is busy chasing the bagel. Good call Gabe. You did it, you stopped the rocket. Come on down now. That sure is a long ways up. There we go. Safe and sound. The ground is a much more comfortable place to be. I still think someone should shoot that daggum bird. That's right boy, put those snazzy glasses on and walk away like nothing happened. Looking good. Well done. Oh! The rocket! Gabe watch out! Oh phew. It just landed on the bird. Aha! Pigeon anyone?
Friday, March 28, 2014
Kirsche
Kirsche is an ingredient in my Nan's crepes. It is cherry brandy. Eau-de-vie is a French term for brandy, it means water of life. Since my Nan is french, I think that's appropriate.
Sunrise
This picture takes me back to two places at a first glace. The first place I go back to is a the summer a group of my closest friends got to go to the beach and stay in a condo together. It was perfect. There were six of us and it was the summer of sixteen. We got to go out to the beach every day and swim, tan, and talk. Even though there was some silly girl drama, it was a really incredible trip that made us all a lot closer and we carry those memories with us to this day. My absolute favorite part of the trip was when we decided to pull an all-nighter on our last night so we could be up for the sunrise. We walked on the beach that night and looked for shooting stars as we talked about our future. We ate mangos and put our feet in the water as we waited for the sun to wake up. It was the most beautiful sunrise I've ever seen. There's just something about a sunrise over the ocean and the way it reflects on the water is breath taking. I will never forget that morning. The other sunrise the picture above brings to mind it the one from last summer at camp. It was a similar story. I went to camp with one of my closest friends, Joanna. She was actually at the other sunrise with me which is really special. But yeah. We waited until our last night there and decided to pull an all-nighter along with like 700 other high-school students. It was crazy fun. The night started off with swing-dancing in the hotel ballroom in our pajamas, then one of the condo rooms was hosting a pancake party so about 90 kids crammed into one condo until the hotel patrol showed up, and then we played games on the beach. There were groups of kids singing and playing guitar everywhere. It was incredible. Some people set up hammocks while we waited for the sun to come up. When it did, it was the most incredible thing I've ever seen.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Sunday Morning
It's getting late. Time to decide what tomorrow holds. Sunday mornings have been very rushed lately. I decide tomorrow will be different. Breakfast is usually the first thing that happens in the morning so maybe I should start with that. My favorite breakfast food goes way back to when I was little. Countless
times I sat in my Nan's kitchen and watched her make me crepes. My
brother called them crappers because he didn't like them until he got
older. I loved watching her make them. She would tell me every time that
she had a secret recipe passed on to her by her grandmother when they
lived in Belgium. They are traditional and delicious. They carry with
them heritage. I remember wanting to help my Nan make them. She would
let me. We would get out my special stool and I would stand on it with a
huge smile across my face. She would steady my hands as I scraped the
extra flour out of the measuring cup and hold the bowl for me so I could
stir without it wobbling. She would even let me put the secret
ingredient in. After I put the butter in the pan and twisted t it
around, making the pan sizzle is my favorite part. Pouring the batter in
was easy, but flipping the crepes and keeping them in their perfect
thin, golden, and round loveliness was the hard part. I would make these
for breakfast every time I went to visit her. When we moved away I
slowly forgot about the crepes until one day I had friends over and we
were going to have pancakes, but were out of batter. I made them crapes
just like I did with my Nan.
All that reminiscing convinced me to make them again. It's been a while. Mmmm Nan's crepes. I have to remind myself before I go to sleep that I need to make the batter so it can sit overnight. I tiptoe down to the kitchen and put all the ingredients together. My only light source is from the pantry. I do not always make them this peculiar way, don't worry. It just so happens that I want to surprise my family in the morning by cooking them breakfast. That will make tomorrow special by throwing off the usual morning routine. All of us Hamiltons love crepes, but I am the only one who makes them because I am the only one who has the secret recipe. So with the pantry light and a little assistance from the moonlight, I mix the batter up. I hum to myself as I add in the bowl of flour, sugar, and salt to the other bowl of eggs, milk, and butter. I mix all that up and keep humming away. I don't even know what the name of the song is that I'm humming. I'm just happy and enjoying myself. I reach for the secret ingredient. Of course I'm not tall enough. I have to stand on top of the chair to get it. I knew that. I guess I thought maybe I grew a few feet since the last time I made these. I add the secret stuff and mix it in. They are done until morning. I sneak back upstairs with a new giddy-ness in my step.
In the morning, I wake up with the sun and repeat the familiar process of forming perfect golden-brown crepes. I enjoy the stillness of the morning along with the wonderful kitchen noises that we humans find so comforting like the sizzling noise the batter makes when it meets the butter, the triumphant sound of a plate hitting marble as it waits for the meal to be placed on it, and the gentle clamor of forks piled up on the wooden table. I have a wonderful idea. I smell the crepes as the stack becomes higher and higher and my stomach agrees that it's time to eat. I think back to when I was little and how badly I wanted to be able to flip them. I always told my Nan I'd be able to do that when I was all growed up. I slip three in a row with ease. Maybe I am all growed up. This thought is bitter-sweet, but reminds me that I want to teach my future grandchildren how to make these crepes too so they can strive to become expert flippers too. I start the coffee, I know the sound of the grinder starting and the smell of fresh coffee will wake my parents up. Sure enough the come in the kitchen sleepy-eyed but with smiles. Maybe I should make some bacon. That always works for my brother. Soon, we will all be enjoying a beautiful Sunday morning all thanks to my Nan's crepes.
All that reminiscing convinced me to make them again. It's been a while. Mmmm Nan's crepes. I have to remind myself before I go to sleep that I need to make the batter so it can sit overnight. I tiptoe down to the kitchen and put all the ingredients together. My only light source is from the pantry. I do not always make them this peculiar way, don't worry. It just so happens that I want to surprise my family in the morning by cooking them breakfast. That will make tomorrow special by throwing off the usual morning routine. All of us Hamiltons love crepes, but I am the only one who makes them because I am the only one who has the secret recipe. So with the pantry light and a little assistance from the moonlight, I mix the batter up. I hum to myself as I add in the bowl of flour, sugar, and salt to the other bowl of eggs, milk, and butter. I mix all that up and keep humming away. I don't even know what the name of the song is that I'm humming. I'm just happy and enjoying myself. I reach for the secret ingredient. Of course I'm not tall enough. I have to stand on top of the chair to get it. I knew that. I guess I thought maybe I grew a few feet since the last time I made these. I add the secret stuff and mix it in. They are done until morning. I sneak back upstairs with a new giddy-ness in my step.
In the morning, I wake up with the sun and repeat the familiar process of forming perfect golden-brown crepes. I enjoy the stillness of the morning along with the wonderful kitchen noises that we humans find so comforting like the sizzling noise the batter makes when it meets the butter, the triumphant sound of a plate hitting marble as it waits for the meal to be placed on it, and the gentle clamor of forks piled up on the wooden table. I have a wonderful idea. I smell the crepes as the stack becomes higher and higher and my stomach agrees that it's time to eat. I think back to when I was little and how badly I wanted to be able to flip them. I always told my Nan I'd be able to do that when I was all growed up. I slip three in a row with ease. Maybe I am all growed up. This thought is bitter-sweet, but reminds me that I want to teach my future grandchildren how to make these crepes too so they can strive to become expert flippers too. I start the coffee, I know the sound of the grinder starting and the smell of fresh coffee will wake my parents up. Sure enough the come in the kitchen sleepy-eyed but with smiles. Maybe I should make some bacon. That always works for my brother. Soon, we will all be enjoying a beautiful Sunday morning all thanks to my Nan's crepes.
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