On the rare but special occasions that some of my closest girlfriends get together--all of us from hither and yonder--we carry on a tradition that started a decade ago when we went on the first of many all-girls ski trips.
And that's breakfast.
What is such a routine event in our daily lives becomes a meaningful experience of sharing a meal and starting our day together.
Our breakfasts are neither out of the ordinary nor elaborate. There are no fancy omelettes or fluffy pancakes. Rather we feast on simple but nourishing foods that energize us for the day ahead.
But more than the meal, it's the familiar act of making breakfast that we love.
Like a well-choreographed dance, everyone descends on the kitchen, pulling out cereal boxes, milk, yogurt, and fruit. Deals are made to split bagels, scrambled eggs, and bananas. Someone takes the coffee order while another pulls out plates, silverware, glasses, mugs, and napkins.
Somehow all the food ends up on the counter. When everything is ready, the breakfasting commences.
Cereals are mixed. Milk is poured. Bagels are buttered. Plates are filled. By the time each of us assembles our meal, it might take a good 2-3 trips to get all of it to the table.
Once we are there, both savoring the food and the company, conversation turns to the day ahead, the night before, or some other topic that's probably inappropriate for this blog. There are second helpings and refills and last calls for toasted bread products. We linger a little more.
And then dishes get cleared and washed, food is put away, and bathroom doors slam shut. Those are the beats and rhythms of our breakfasts together. They never change, no matter where we are.
We've done this so many times that we are in harmony. It is effortless to pull this meal together.
We had such a reunion last weekend in Montana, in Ali's new home. It's comforting to know that no matter how far we live from one another, breakfast will always be there to bring us together.
