Home > Cambridge, Relationships > Breakfast at the guest house

Breakfast at the guest house

I’m finally home from my trip to Philadelphia.  I have a slamming headache after 28 hours of travel and the breakdown I suffered in the Amtrak parking lot, but I’m still a little too fragile to discuss all that.  Instead, I feel like writing about breakfast in Cambridge.

To start, I loved breakfast in Cambridge.  I loved waking up to the incredible smells of the big English breakfasts Pete made for the workmen on the other side of the house.  I loved going downstairs and sitting at my chair at my table and having Pete greet me with a big good morning.  I loved the routine of gathering my breakfast supplies: cup, saucer, teaspoon, milk, check if there’s butter out already, pour a glass of orange juice.  Pete coming back out of the kitchen, almost always drying his hands, and asking if I wanted a pot of tea.  I liked falling into the rhythms of Pete’s morning.  I could tell when he was busy because he’d ask me about a pot of tea first; on quiet mornings he asked if he could get me something this morning.  I think Pete liked that I drank tea; none of the other girls did and I think that baffled him a bit.  I liked how quickly breakfast came – two pieces of toast, two poached eggs, sometimes a piece of English bacon.  Pete usually brought the tea, then the toast, then the eggs (and sometimes bacon), giving me just enough time to pour my tea, then butter my toast, then eat my full meal.  Many mornings it was just me down at our breakfast table for most – or even all of – the meal.  I learned not to come down so early on Mondays, a morning the workmen weren’t around for breakfast, because Pete wouldn’t be up yet.  If I delayed breakfast by 15 or 20 minutes, I was usually able to eat with one of the other girls, and I enjoyed our breakfast conversations.  Liz would blow into the room, colorful and full of energy, even when it was still dark out.  Abigail would stumble in just out of bed, still in pajamas.  Kaitlin always ate just before she left, almost always turning down the hot breakfast for a bowl of a chocolate cereal. [time]

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