First, let me thank you for visiting. I mean, really, truly, Thank you. I can't even tell you how many times I've attempted to write a blog. Whether it started as a weight loss, recipe, or general ridiculousness blog, I've started them all. And now, well, now, I'm hoping, like really hoping, like, fingers and toes crossed, pinkie promise, cross my heart and hope to die, promising that this one is going to stick.
Honestly, I even like the description of this blog the best out of all the others I've ever created. I like it because it's real. I can't tell you how often I wake up to song lyrics in my head, or wrack my brain for a recipe, or think of a witty comeback right. on. time. Ah! Success!
I describe my brain as a filing cabinet, because, well, it is. Except that unlike a real filing cabinet, I have several drawers open at once. And by several, I mean, like, 89 separate drawers. And no, they don't all close when I try to fall asleep, or focus on something for any length of time. Which might be why I've had such a difficult time keeping a blog going before.
In any case, let's get this show on the road. Something old...
I have an old soul. Well, at least I'm pretty sure I do. I savor the simpler things in life, and get nostalgic and choked up about things from the past: Sunday morning restaurant breakfasts with my family, picking up my mom for errands/shopping on Saturday mornings, just like we used to pick up her mom on Saturday mornings, reminiscing about freeze-tag and playing "Photo Drive-Up" with my sister and our neighbors.
This past Saturday I had breakfast with my family, including: Momma Lynn and Papa Leonard, my sister Colleen, Frank, Auntie Donna, Uncle John, and his girlfriend Liz. As the food was served, I started buttering my pancake when Momma Lynn caught my attention. I looked at Uncle John's plate, and I was instantly 8 years old, watching my grandpa butter his pancake, gingerly placing his over-easy eggs on top, and pouring syrup over the whole thing. Then, maybe, after he'd broken all the yolk and swirled it all around with the syrup, he'd add a healthy spoonful of apricot jam.
Uncle John repeated these steps exactly, save for the jam. I announced, rather loudly (which shouldn't shock you), "Ladies and gentleman, Jimmy Lacitignola has joined us for breakfast, everyone!" We all looked at his plate and laughed. I didn't even think much about this until several hours later when I was driving home, and honestly, I almost cried.
Maybe I felt choked-up because the last time I watched my grandpa eat his pancake like that was over 11 years ago, maybe I just missed Uncle John while he was away, or maybe it was because I hope, beyond all hope, that one day my kids will watch my dad do something ridiculous - which is pretty much everything he does - and laugh/freak out/get grossed out about it. And then, when my dad is gone, I'll sit at the breakfast table with them, and they'll remember him, and laugh.
Incidentally, if you're looking a great, homey breakfast place near Willow Glen, but not in WG, check out Café San Jose (my family calls it San Jose Café) and have some breakfast. I especially love the pancakes...