Mornings… a peaceful time; a time to gently ease into the new day; a time to contemplate what must be done, and what might be put off ‘til tomorrow. For me, there’s plenty of time to mull over these things each morning. I’m what you might term an early riser... a short sleeper... a dawn greeter. It’s routine.
After a time, I find myself searching out some breakfast, and some breakfast-time conversation. Since no one else will be up for several hours (including the dog), my options for conversation are limited:
“Good mornin’ Cap’n Crunch! How goes it this fair day, sir? Will ye and Sea Dog be shovin' off to sail the Good Ship Guppy this morning? Be mindful, sir; I hear the Barefoot Pirate, Jean LaFoot has been trolling about, a-searchin’ for trouble. A toast to the new day! Here’s to success in battlin’ the Soggies, and to be sendin’ that rascal, LaFoot, to Davey Jones’ locker!”
And so I toast the Cap’n, with a hearty swig of milk from the Quisp mug that I purchased some years ago, with a dollar bill and four box-tops.
I’ve enjoyed cereal at breakfast for as long as I can remember—I never tire of it. One of the pivotal moments of my childhood came when Mom, after a long and hard-fought battle, finally waved the white flag, signifying the end of the Cereal Wars and the purchase of my first box of Kaboom! The box claimed that the cereal was fortified with vitamins and iron—a ploy by the manufacturer to foil all the Moms. We kids knew, from our careful study of Saturday morning television commercials, that the clown faces and marshmallows in Kaboom would provide a psychedelic, sugar-charged blast of fruit flavored insanity. We were cautious to avoid eating it too fast—we had heard stories about a kid who had attacked it greedily, causing his head to explode. (A story no doubt circulated by the moms.) KABOOM!
“I’ll not partake in any of your mischief today, Leprechaun! No, you can’t tempt me with yer pot-o-gold; 'tis the Charms I’m after. I hear they’re magically delicious!”
One morning, I might gossip with Count Chocula about Franken Berry. On another, it’s a lively chat with that ever-energetic trio: Snap, Crackle and Pop. Many a morning, I’ve sat expectantly waiting for Cornelius the rooster to proclaim the dawn of the new day with his Cock-a-Doodle-Do… as I sop the limp Corn Flakes from my bowl… wishing I’d had Frosted Flakes, instead.
Frosted Flakes... once known as Sugar Frosted Flakes. The manufacturer dropped “sugar” from the name due to pressure from those pesky nutritionists—probably all moms. Thankfully, in spite of the name change, the sugar remained firmly and generously frosted to the flakes. Sugar Smacks (Now disguised as Honey Smacks) and Sugar Frosted Flakes. They’re G-r-reat!
Every morning, no matter where I am, you’ll find me up early, practicing my morning routine. “I follow my nose! It always knows! The flavor of fruit! Wherever it grows!”
“Ah! Good morning Toucan Sam! What shall we talk about today?”