I am running late but still my brain and heart are running slow. They're both somewhere behind me, around 30 years to be exact. As I fixed my toast, with the smell of the coffee just starting to fill up the cold morning air, and the Christmas music I had playing to wake the girls up and to try and pick up my own step surrounding me I was hit by an odd sadness. I missed my Papaw.
My Papaw ate two breakfasts most of his adult life. Cereal and coffee with my Granny, then toast and more coffee with my great grandmother who lived two doors up from them. I got to go with him on this breakfast journey a few times. The smell of toast and coffee will forever take me back there.
My Papaw loved food, loud music, kids and Christmas. I have a story about him but alas time is short this morning. I'll have to revisit this later. Good morning all. Wishing I could just stay and write today.
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