Rising at a leisurely 8 or 9, she puts on her dressing gown and pads into the kitchen. Sets to brew her little 2 cup Krups and gets a grapefruit out of the fridge. Puts half a muffin in the oven to warm and goes and gets the paper from the driveway. Sets up the paper on the wooden paper racks made by her now deceased husband and brings her half a grapefruit with her half a banana to the table with her always black coffee. Begins perusing the headlines and at some point remembers the half a muffin or scone or cinnamon roll in the oven. Half a grapefruit, half a banana, half a muffin, half a pot of coffee. One-side of a conversation. Evidence of over 50 years of shared life with someone.
It's part of an article on Slate about morning routines.
Reminds me in part of an interview Kevin Smith once did with a weekly newsmagazine (Time? Newsweek? Can't find the link) where he said something like thinking about having sex with anyone but his wife made him feel physically ill.
The roller-coaster gestures and appreciations of our adolescence shift, if all goes well, into the gentle emotions of our babyhood and old age - the routines that keep babies ecstatic, the rhythms that are the mundane pleasures of the divine.
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