My Husby loves to cook.
And he's good at it.
His family is very, very appreciative.
Well, his wife is.
Moving on . . .
He started out cooking breakfasts.
Mostly out of necessity.
I seldom got back from my run in time
to achieve 'hot and wholesome'.
Mostly, my family got “cold and
fast'.
I don't have to tell you which my Husby
prefers.
As the years went by, his breakfasts
got more elaborate.
And delicious.
And his family scurried to the
breakfast table, anxious to sample that day's offerings.
Not.
Grant usually had to call two or three
times before anyone showed their sleepy face in the dining room.
None of them wanted to risk getting
there too early or they would be immediately enlisted in 'table
setting' duty.
He started calling them earlier and
earlier in an attempt to get them there before the food got cold.
Finally, it became common for him to
start calling when things started cooking.
A good fifteen minutes before any food
approached the table.
But what was the custom in our house,
wasn't necessarily the custom in others.
Something we learned by experience.
A young woman was staying a few weeks
with our family.
It was her first morning.
Grant walked into the kitchen and
started adding ingredients to pans.
The he hollered,” Breakfast!”
And went back to stirring.
I had finished my run and walked into
the kitchen to set the table.
There was our little house guest,
looking very small and lonely at the large, empty table.
All by herself.
She looked at me. “I thought Mr.
Tolley called us for breakfast,” she said in a tiny voice.
I laughed. “Maybe I should explain a
few things,” I said.
Sadly, she learned to show up with the
rest of the kids.
Maybe learning about other cultures
first-hand isn't always a good thing.
