Beans, Bacon, Bream

Dear Maria,

I don’t know if a young mockingbird spreading its wings in the sun for a few moments constitutes real news, but it’s the show for the moment. More exciting entertainment—at least when I am sitting at my desk—is watching nearly a dozen house sparrows mug one another at the feeder. Then a dove comes fluttering in and off the sparrows go as if tail feathers on fire. High hilarity, to be sure. Almost a daily show and so they could go on the road, south most likely.

The wind is up and winter temperatures are forecast for most of the next ten days, and that will get us deeper into January—see, I believe spring comes in March no matter what and so carving out a chunk of January is cause for celebration.

Yesterday, while I was eating a variation of beans and rice, etc. that dominates my cuisine, I got caught up in two message threads and an email exchange. I know, shouldn’t multi-task when eating. Sometimes I do just sit in my chair, enjoying a meal and the view. Sometimes outside at the table, and I never attend to anything else—just taking in the surroundings.

When I got back to the bowl at hand, the food was cold. I ate it anyway, black beans and all. Not terrible, just different. Reminded me of eating Campbell’s pork and beans out of the can for breakfast.

When I was a kid, my grandfather and I would drive up to Lake Tarpon from St. Petersburg to fish for bream—worms and cane poles for the fishing, the beans for our early breakfast. I think we always caught a few good-sized ones and sometimes a bucketful.

Two most vivid memories are of my grandfather chuckling as I kept dangling a worm in front of a bream on her nest and on another occasion his thrashing at a moccasin with his net. I think he chopped down more brush than inflicting any harm on the snake.

After a few hours, if that long, we’d come back home and out would come the black skillet and with it the best part of those days—even as I loved fishing back then—eggs and bacon and fried bream and grits.

Fishing and food. And food. And food. Yep, pretty much.

Nope, no recipe for the beans, etc. Nope, no resolutions.

No longer absurd to speak of 2020—sounds ridiculous, but it is within hailing distance, and more outrageously the Social Security folks calculate having me around until 2036. Certainly don’t want to disappoint on that front.

Bundle up, hug the kids, and take good care of yourself.

Yours, srk