A Solo Breakfast in Someone Else’s Kitchen: My Great Escape

This week, I’m staying with a friend in Brooklyn, a far cry, in many ways, from my home in South Carolina. This morning, as snow fell from the sky, I tried not to smile. My friend had to go to work, and as she pulled on her boots and piled on layers of warm clothing, I felt bad, because I knew how much I was going to enjoy breakfast in her lovely apartment. I’d be warm and safe inside, with a comforting view of falling snow blanketing everything below, softening the sounds on the street. And, with nowhere to go, I’d enjoy the heck out of a peaceful breakfast.

Still in my pajamas, I sipped her delicious coffee, my bare feet warm on the smooth hardwood floor by her radiator. I eyed the spare pair of snow boots she left for me to wear, and thought about how much fun it would be to leave later and tramp down the street for a cup of hot chocolate or a bowl of soup. When and if I felt like it.

I made a favorite breakfast, egg in a hole, with her delicious multi-grain bread and a farm fresh egg from her Sunday farmers’ market. (Seriously, I need to get some of this bread.) Her pretty blue and white plate made my breakfast look even better. I perused her book case and was happy to see a novel I’ve been meaning to read.

I have wonderful food at home, too, including excellent, locally roasted coffee, satisfying multi-grain bread and fresh eggs. But everything tastes better when you feel like you stole the morning.

As a freelance writer, I never really take a vacation, and I’m working plenty this week, but it’s a luxury to wake up and not have to worry about anyone but myself. For a few precious days, my husband will have to make sure the kids have done their homework. (Well, more or less. I have sent a few texts when online monitoring indicated they had an assignment or three to complete. I am still a mother, after all. Be good, kids! Love, Mom.) He’ll have to try to get them to eat something before they run out the door, and he’ll have to make sure they all have clean clothes, including socks and underwear.

Though these things are never solely my job — the kids and the man share the responsibility — it’s a real luxury to not have to do my part. All I have to do is take care of myself, and it’s heavenly. I didn’t even have to buy these groceries! They were there for the taking.

So, I do feel bad for my friend. I’ve lived in snowy climates. For people who make their lives here, I know the snow is not a welcome bit of scenery. It’s an inconvenience, no matter how pretty. The snow is one of the many reasons I’m glad I don’t live in a colder client, especially with children. But right this second? It’s rocking my ever loving world.