The best things come in one (or two or three or four) lines.  And I’m happy when I’m a part of them.

In a meeting:

Lecturer: Our company wants to be great, not big. There’s a difference. Can you think of something that is big but not great?

Me (who speaks before thinks): Texas.

Lecturer: I’m from Texas.

On the street:

Oldish man: You look like Kate Hudson.

Me (in hat which hides my face): Is it the hat?

Oldish man: No, it’s the eyes, and the smile.

Me: Hm.

On the subway:

Another Oldish man (to me and another blond standing next to me): Sisters?

Me: Strangers.

That’s all for now.  ————-

In other news, let us talk mornings.

 (This may or may not be a picture of a sunset, but who’s to know? I try to only use my own photos…)

Mornings. Crisp, fresh, and curious– as the mystery of an unlived day begins to unfold. (isn’t that nice? Hallmark material for a …”happy morning” card? eh?) 

Mornings are something I saver.  I adore.  I wake up early whenever I can, and I cherish every single minute that I can relax and stretch my legs before I have to go “do” something.  I have this idea where I want to travel the world and talk to different people in different places about their different morning routines. (Hi, Publisher. You reading this? Good idea? I’ll book my flight(s), and I promise not to use the word “different” three times in one sentence).

Mornings since high school surely have improved.  I used to literally get up 15 minutes before I had to leave for that first bell.  I’d take a three-minute shower, dress, get my backpack together, and head out the door with really wet hair.  And on the weekends, I’d either be getting up at the crack of dawn for a track meet, or sleeping until noon to recover.

Noon-Are you one of those people who will sleep away the day? I may have to judge you, just a liiiittle.

Now, I strive to start my early mornings with a mimosa and/or bloody mary.

If I can’t find a bar that’s open at 8am I’ll stick to coffee or tea.  In any case, I’ve found that no matter where I wake up, my Ante Meridiem is always one thing: simple.

My mornings in Ghana:  I’d get up (at 5am, mind you), scramble out of my mosquito net, and go fill my large bucket with water several hundred yards from my dorm.  I’d come back and take a brief, cold bucket shower, then quickly go out again to buy a large plantain.  For breakfast, I’d make mashed plantain with oats and brown sugar, and serve it to the girls in my suite.  We’d have tea.  Some mornings I would go straight to my friend’s home in East Legon; Id take a taxi there and go to his “mother’s” house, where she would make us huge bowls of porridge.  We’d all sit around and listen to the radio.

In Saratoga, I lived fantasy mornings.  I usually had an hour or two before work, so I would wake up and make oats and tea, watch CNN, and play with our kitten.  Then I would bike to the bakery I worked at and serve fresh muffins and baguettes. No complains there.  DC was similar, although instead of a kitten, I played with my roommate’s dog, ate waffles, and watched the news before going on conference calls with my boss et al.

(How I love animals that aren’t really mine so I can play with them without shelling out money for food and vet bills).

And here I am now in Brooklyn, in a living room that is also a dining room that is also a kitchen that could also (arguably) be a foyer, mud room, and/or den.  I have my coffee and a bowl of oats, and am catching up on work emails and freelance articles. After I’ve read the news, I’ll try to run or go to yoga before I bon voyage my morning and finally come face-to-face with the real world.