I was remembering this morning something very random. I was eating breakfast at a restaurant as the snow came down in torrents, and I remembered eating breakfast in Mexico. I was sitting out on the veranda with a friend, having a pleasant conversation over a simple breakfast and hot coffee, soaking in the beautiful weather, 70's and sunny, with tropical birds flying overhead. It was a beautiful morning, an excellent meal, pleasant company, and it's a precious slice of my life. It's one of my very fond memories of late.
And it makes eating bad scrambled eggs in a crappy restaurant, alone, in the middle of the Midwest, in a freak snowstorm, seem pretty shitty.