One Good Morning

Life is predictable.

I am alive now but I will die sooner or later. Predictable, ain’t it?

And that makes for a happy wife. Not that I will die soon but because of it, we decided to make more memories so that one will have more to remember -and forget, when the other has moved on.

At our age, memories are just some of the few things that we can still make, produce and reproduce effortlessly without the assistance of a caregiver. So why not make them, right?

So this morning after attending mass at our parish, we drove off north along Mindanao avenue to look for a place to have a decent breakfast. Ye beach, it’s a Saturdate!

Scanning both left and right of the avenue for a carinderia, or a bakery that serves my favorite sugar-raised donut, or a hole-in-the-wall 3-star Michelin restaurant, we drove near and far. But who are we kidding? A Saturday morning breakfast at Starbucks trumps all those. Besides, I need to go to the bathroom quick. Damn old renal tubules that even daily kegels can’t fix!

Starbucks, it is.

So what did we talk about worthy of the golden memories of tomorrow? You. Because you weren’t there, we talked about you. And oh, this and that. Some of no importance, making them seem important. And then some more. My lovely breakfast mate had them endless. We talked about ’em while the morning sun sets its warm rays on my shiny head.

Next time, we try South or Southeast. Wherever my bladder takes us.

Cheers!