Cooking Breakfast

Some mornings while cooking breakfast the memories are like a movie playing in my head. 
Those mornings when we didn't need to rush around, no time clock to punch, no school bell to beat, no where in particular to go, no thing screaming for us to hurry. 
A cup of coffee while sitting outside, sometimes in quietness, sometimes just talking about the day.
Once that first cup of coffee had us at attention - we would stand up, stretch a mile, a tender hug, sweet kiss ... and back into the house. 
The music came on. Depending on the "mood" - old country, old rock and roll, Bluegrass, Southern Gospel, or perhaps a mix. 
Rick would cook the bacon and/or sausage - he was "The Meat Man". 
I would cook the eggs, or French Toast, or pancakes - whatever we wanted that particular morning. 
There would be conversation ... laughter ... a quick kiss here and there ... 
Kids would wake up, stumble to the kitchen, and usually roll their eyes at us. Lol
Rick loved to be up and alert when the kids got up. He was quick with the "Dad Jokes", or anything that would make the sleepy-heads look at him and say, "Huh?" It would take every ounce of breath not to dissolve into giggles. 
And his sweetness to me in the kitchen. Sometimes coming up behind me while I stirred the eggs, he would cover my hand with his and whisper in my ear that his love covered mine. Or when I was buttering the toast he would say, "That's you and me! You are the butter to my toast." 
No phones were answered. TV didn't play. This was our Family Time. 
We never ate breakfast in those days with the TV on. When we sat down to eat, even the radio was turned off.
​Rick would give the blessing of the food, and on each one of us. 
Then, plates were filled, laughter rang, and times were good. 
​Yes, the memories ...