I stay upstairs a while and put laundry away while Tom and Abby head downstairs to start breakfast.
This is a simple and lovely joy, eavesdropping on these two. Our house is small and thus, listening in is easy. The Band gets loaded onto spotify. The electric tea kettle is filled and plugged in. He explains how to cook an over-medium egg. She murmurs something and I can tell by the tenor of her voice that she’s nervous to crack the egg into a hot pan. I pause with the laundry and strain to hear what happens next.
Snap and sizzle. . . success. She hums.
The front door opens, hinges creaking and I know the Sunday paper has been collected from the porch. She makes her way up the stairs and delivers a perfect egg sandwich to me. She’s thrilled with her cooking.
The lure of coffee is too strong, so I head down with my plate to join my loves.
3 egg-y plates. 3 sections of the newspaper. 3 Sanfords at the Sunday Morning Breakfast Table.