Down to the Last Bite: Breakfast Time

I have always been a fan of background music. Perhaps you’ve noticed this with some of my previous entries, especially when I describe music as a necessity to set the stage and improve the atmosphere.
I use music to help me navigate and move around. I might not be listening to every word or every lyric but somehow, the music can almost put me in a state of auto-pilot. I might not even notice the song playing at the surface level of my thinking but I can hear everything. I can feel the rhythm and I can feel the change in my chemistry. I can feel the music which, to me, is the exact intention. This is what music does; it helps us invoke a feeling or somehow, music puts rhythm to our thoughts that cannot be explained.
I don’t need the volume to be loud so much but in fairness, I do enjoy the loud volumes. I do admit that certain driving music can result in me pedaling faster, so-to-speak. But then again, different music inspires different emotions and different emotions respond with different changes in our chemistry. 

For now though, this entry is associated with something a bit more calming than my other choices of harder or faster bands from my metal head days.
No, this entry has a different sentimental value to me

Then again, music from our youth or the songs that link us back to moments of being wild (or unforgivably young) are enough to switch the chemical stations of our thinking, — and just like that, we can relive a section of our past lives even if only as a memory.
We can smile and almost feel the exact result of, say, the first time we heard a great song. We can almost recalibrate ourselves and launch our mindset to an old, familiar moment. We can see where we were and remember when we were elsewhere.

As I write to you, I am listening to a quiet album that comes with a special history. Though my taste for flavors in the classic rock genres might not match the same as you or anyone else, I have a track playing in the background to act as a contrast to the sounds of my fingers punching the keys as I type.

It’s bluesy. It’s more instrumental, somewhat trippy yet I have a relationship with The Pink Floyd that goes back to my childhood. In this case, or better yet, for this application, I am listening to one of Pink Floyd’s lesser-known albums called Atom Heart Mother — specifically to hear a song called Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast. 

I have said this to you before but I am here to say this again. Music is an additive that gives depth and sound to our memories. This allows us to revert back to a time and shape our thoughts around them. This helps us see where we were and how we smiled or laughed.
And me, well –
The Pink Floyd and I have been through a lot together. They have been with me through some of my crazier times. They have been with me during some of my loneliest times as well. Yet, they have been with me through times of triumph, victory and romance.
But for this entry, I am thinking of the times I’ve heard bacon frying in a frying pan. I am thinking about the times when I had a big breakfast. I’m thinking about the sound coffee makes when it pours into a mug and how this differs from the sound of orange juice as it pours into a glass.
I’m thinking about toast. I like toast.
Butter, jelly, jam, or as it says in the song called Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast, “Marmalade, I like marmalade.”

I’m thinking about the flavors that coincide with morning on a snowy or cold winter day. Nothing is pressing and there’s nothing scheduled.
I am reminded of a breakfast that I had with my sister, who passed away several years ago — and though my memories are limited, I remember a time in my youth when I stayed at my sister’s apartment near Queens Boulevard.
It would be important to say how I seldom report or regard my sister or my “other” sister and brother because I did not grow up with them at all. They were half-siblings (which I was told never to say). The family models we come from as people are not typically unbroken or branched into severed pieces or broken connections.
Nevertheless, as the background music plays, I can clearly see an old memory of mine.

I remember the sound of the sizzle when my sister poured pancake batter into the pan. I remembered the way she treated me to breakfast. But more, I have no specific recollection of the food nor can I guarantee that my memories are absolutely accurate. However, and for whatever reason, the song Alan’s Psychedelic Breakfast always reminds me of a morning in my younger youth and a moment in Jodi’s kitchen.

There are reasons why my sisters and brother and I were not very close. However, life is a strange teacher and our lesson plans are funny to me. We often learn as we go. We often look back and say, “Ah,” now I get it. We also learn how to move on and how to pardon our past selves to create a better or newer version of life.
I understand this. I also understand there is only a certain amount of time allotted to us all. There are only so many moments when we get to enjoy certain things. And there are only a certain amount of times that windows of opportunity can open before they shut permanently.

There will be times to fight and argue. Trust me, these memories will always be around.
There will be moments of confusion and times, when let’s face it, we simply don’t get it. And there will be tiny moments that act like giant windows into a memory. These can link back to times that perhaps we thought we’d lost, which is why it’s great to detail our memories with some sort of musical apparatus. Trust me. This works.

Let’s be clear, not every song will be the coolest song and there are songs that played on the radio when we were younger and somehow, the sound alone can bring us back to a moment in time – exactly as it was, perfectly.
For example, there’s a song from The Little River Band called Reminiscing which fits perfectly because the sound of the song allows me to reminisce the older days or memories from a long time ago.

Hence, my relationship with music or in this application, this explains my connection with The Pink Floyd. By the way, most people call them Pink Floyd or just Floyd for short. However, I call them what I choose (because I can) and also, The Pink Floyd is how they were introduced in one of my old bootlegged albums. 

There was a time when I was hidden away in my town. I was hidden from my so-called friends. I was hiding during the sunset in the thick of the autumn months. I was watching an orange sky with music in my ears, wired to a contraption we used to call a Walkman. I was smoking a cigarette and drinking from a bottle of something or anything (but who knows what it was).
Of course, I am dating myself when I offer this description because this dates back to a time when we listened to cassette tapes. This is back when music stores were still in business. Therefore, the trips we took to music stores were like journeys or an excursion of sorts. These trips were voyages to me. I was on my way to define my life with a soundtrack and allow my memory the details of music. Maybe I didn’t know this at the time, but what I did was find music that helped to provide me with depth when I need my memories the most. 

I like a good breakfast though – some fresh fruit, maybe some berries, some eggs, some bacon or maybe some sausage. A good steak and eggs is a nice meal. A few pancakes wouldn’t hurt. Or maybe a Belgium waffle with butter and syrup. Now, that’s a fine idea.
I love a huge table, covered with food and a full belly; in which case, it would be fine to lay back and enjoy a moment like now – it’s approximately 9:38am and the sun is up. It is autumn in New York. The colors of the leaves vary from orange to yellow and from yellow to purple. The sky is otherwise unblemished and the air is cooler now.
But I don’t mind.
I don’t mind at all.

Down goes the last gulp of my coffee and in the upcoming moments of morning, I plan to take a walk and enjoy this moment with the best soundtrack I know (and that’s you).

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