Breakfast

A well-known adage unfailingly percolates when entering upon a conversation about breakfast; namely, that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. An equally apt dictum to occasion of any repast is that the best sauce for any meal is an appetite. I believe both are correct - not because of some complicated theory of nutrition or palate but because one becomes naturally hungry after eight hours of sleep. This elemental component of voracity - like almost anything else for that matter - is nonetheless propelled by attributes of distinction. Such was my plate this morning.

Recognizably it may have accelerated my transport to have begun the day with an improving haircut at nine o'clock sharp chez Michael.  It is a mark of my maturity and flourishing intelligence that I instructed Michael to do whatever he liked - and by extension to ignore even asking me for my contribution to the artistic process. It appears to have been an accommodation (or should I call it an evaporation) of distinct advantage!  For my part it added to the general buzz of the morning that I got to drive me car.  Once we've landed on the Island I seldom drive. It was a rare frivolity which coalesced nicely with what followed.

Thus spirited I regained the condominium ready to tuck in. After changing into my bicycling togs (since I determined to exercise in spite of the gathering grey clouds), it was a matter of pure routine to lay out the makings for breakfast - three slabs of Boar's Head Tavern ham, topped with two slices of Land O Lakes American cheese (stodgy I know but nonetheless my pick), ornamented with halved cherry tomatoes, circled by pieces of crisp green apple (organic naturally) and finally daubed with two fried eggs cooked in pure olive oil. To wash it all down there was Roasty Sweet and Dark Cocoa Café Verona (100% Arabica ground coffee) which was iced from the fridge (having been brewed last evening). And for dessert - a simple sweet for breakfast - there was raw Acacia honeycomb from the Savannah Bee Company. I ate it sparingly and ever so gingerly - with a teaspoon as much as I confess to adore English muffins.

"Honeycomb is the most raw form of honey. It is beautiful to look at and delicious to eat. Acacia honey is one of the most sought after honey varieties in the world. Its light color, mild taste, incredible clarity, and slow rate of crystallization put it at the top of the honey world. To have it in honeycomb form is simply divine. The beeswax comb is entirely edible, contains vitamin A and is a source of roughage."

I'm sorry but I haven't abandoned my passion for a sweet.  This honey is undoubtedly the nec plus ultra and the Sacrament of Heaven! It works surprisingly well with chilled, black coffee - all of which is a veritable narcotic concoction in my books though admittedly not a combination to everyone's taste.

The exit out-of-doors onto my trusty Sun Drifter was a acquaintance of instant ecstasy! The balmy air and the mounting appearance of gaping holes of blue sky above made the pancake ride along the shaded paths utter bliss. My hedonism had struck a new height of shameful self-absorption, one I barely diminished. I boldly asked myself why should I not relish these delightful moments? It requires little foresight to acknowledge that time is running out and that perhaps the opportunity (or at least the necessity) of public service and altruism has long ago expired. Having thus expiated my guilt, I willingly boosted my ride to the far end of the Island, no limit in sight! As so often happens in these spectacles of enhancement I found myself nattering about the tolerable foibles of my erstwhile friends, clearly a mark of conceptual deterioration. Thankfully I soon recovered from this perversion of intellect and adopted instead the less prosaic reality. But the sobering decent did nothing to quell my exhilaration. I was indisputably on the cusp of discovery, the synthesis of my past, present and future. This is where I am meant to be! As a vulgar contamination of my matutinal reflections I permitted myself the indulgence of materialism, as ephemeral as it may be. I won't further petrify the lapse other than to confess it.

In deference to possible dissolution - and seeking to remove my backside temporarily from the increasingly sharp mien of the bicycle seat - I stopped in Bayfront Park and sat instead upon my customary park bench to relieve my gluteus maximus, to rest my soul and to collect my thoughts.  And to check my email. There was an uncompromisingly cheering message from a West Virginian woman who was principally a friend of my late mother. Her terse but penetrating comments immediately buoyed and inspired me (as she has previously done when we talked on the telephone).

This endless persuasion accompanied me upon my return to the condominium where as usual I parked my bicycle then trotted to the beach to lie prone on a chaise longue in the sultry afternoon sunshine. Dependably on the heels of this modest cycling exercise I succumbed instantly to dozing while bathed in the yellow warmth. About an hour later - after having mechanically rotated my carcass to ensure an even sear on both sides - I strode to the edge of the Gulf of Mexico then waded into the sea for an uncommonly refreshing swim. The salt water succeeded to assuage my eyes and hair and innermost self.