banana pancakes

The alarm rang off at 6:00 a.m. I slowly cracked out of my paralyzed lying-position and a few minutes later rose out of bed. This time was early for me, these days. I staggered down the tight hallway and veered left into the kitchen. It was Valentine’s Day, and I ran across town yesterday, scooping up breakfast items and other holiday treats. Porter would be rising in an hour, maybe later, therefore, I better get moving.

The day before I gathered strawberries, pancake mix, bananas, chocolate chips, eggs, sausage, potatoes, orange juice and champagne. This meal wasn’t going to be just breakfast, but a downright feast. Disclaimer: I have no experience making pancakes. Yet, I provided myself with some extra time for a trial run, however, the process turned out to be just as straightforward as the directions on the side of the box.

Nearing 7, the sausage was sizzling, the pancakes were browning, and the home-fries were almost touching a crisp. Then I overhead Porter’s door squeak open and her footsteps pounce down the hall.

“Hey!” I said. “You shouldn’t be seeing this.”

“Are you making breakfast?” She asked. “I woke up early to go out and get you bagels.”

So we were both holding our plans under wraps, but we settled on the grandiose amount of food I already bought. Porter joined me in the kitchen, and I turned up some Bob Dylan to jumpstart our morning. Then I popped open the champagne at roughly 7:10 and mixed up some mimosas.

It’s not frequent we devour large meals to kick off our days. We soon hit our limitations not long after we sat down and ate. Valentine’s Day, like many other holidays, has transformed into a consumer holiday, capitalizing on the love and care between individuals. Although I do feel corporations and companies exploit the customers by jacking up the prices on these days, I nonetheless advance with the orchid purchases and dinner celebrations. It’s an addition to the recognition of the love shared.

We all have lives to carry out, outside of our relationships, and sometimes we become entrapped in our day-to-day affairs. I feel these holidays, allow people to intently focus on the special people in their lives, even if it’s just for a special meal in the morning or at night. It’s a tribute of gratitude to them, by simply acknowledging what you deeply feel for the other. It’s a more open opportunity to be vulnerable and express honest feelings; not that they can’t be displayed on any other day, but holidays are a marked period of reflection.

Porter and I scraped up our plates and stored away the leftovers. She had to get moving, so I proceeded with cleaning up the dishes. We arranged to meet in Chinatown after work to grab some noodles and wine. Holidays are also a time for eating well.



Open Pavement

The weather was bland and it was the day after Christmas, therefore, a justifiable excuse to be exceptionally lazy. Porter, my girlfriend, stopped over the night before, and stayed through the next day. We indulged in leftovers, which propelled us back into a deeper state of indolence: cuddling on the couch, watching re-runs on Eastbound & Down. Then, hours later, we complied a grandiose effort to ramble over to the park to skateboard.

The park is enclosed by a mile-long paved track which outlines it. Trees are scarce as the park primarily contains baseball fields, soccer fields, a playground, and a basketball court. We hummed around the park, hollering and shouting while picking up speed. It was a cry of release.

My girlfriend carved in and out ahead of me. She was riding a longboard, which I gifted to her for Christmas. The present appeared to be evoking exuberance as she grinned back at me. Her knee-length, purple jacket fluttered out as she bombed down the decline, extending her arms out while her boots gripped for all they could get. Porter had been catapulted out of her slumber state.

We looped around the path several times, sporadically stopping to catch our breaths. Then, we exchanged boards for a brief ride.

“How do you carve on this thing?” Porter shouted behind me, as she struggled with my traditional-shaped skateboard.

I glanced back at Porter; she was standing in a dead-stop position. I rolled back to her, restraining a tutorial, and instead, switched back boards once again. She smiled and pushed off, launching herself forward. There was open pavement ahead.