Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Summer – Assaulting Peppers

    Spence wanted to prepare a special breakfast for our visiting son, Charlie.

    While Spence clattered pans and rattled utensils in the kitchen, I climbed to the loft and inserted a Rodney Yee DVD into the player tray for yoga practice. Below, in the great room, Charlie petted fat cat George with one hand and took notes for a story with the other.

    I breathed out for plank position and in for upward dog.

    Whiffs of bacon floated to the loft. The refrigerator door swished closed, a plastic bag rustled, and a knife thudded against the cutting board.

    In the middle of holding downward dog for five breaths, I coughed, the lining of my nostrils tingled, and my eyes watered. Spence wouldn't be cooking hot peppers, would he?

    “Are you cooking peppers?” I yelled.

    “Yes!”

    I sniffed and whipped my eyes. “Turn the fan on,” I said without adding “please.”

    “But the lid's on,” Spence shouted, “and I can't smell the peppers,”

    I coughed. “Turn the fan on now.” Cough. Cough.

    In the great room, Charlie chuckled. “This from the woman who hates the sound of fans.”

    The buzzing fan blended with droning flutes and my coughs for the rest of the yoga routine.

    When I went downstairs, the pepper essence saturated the kitchen more than it had in the loft. I couldn't eat breakfast at the kitchen table as usual. I walked to the front door, and said, “I'll eat on the porch.”

    Stepping outside, I took a gulp of fresh air then sat on the love seat.

    A mourning dove cooed. A robin sang “cheerily, cheer up.”

    The front door swung open. Spence came out with a breakfast burrito, pears, oatmeal, and peppermint tea for me. Charlie followed with his breakfast tray. Spence headed back for his own breakfast and met George in the doorway.

The fat cat stood on the threshold and contemplated the scene.

    To clear the way for Spence, Charlie scooped George up and set him on a folding aluminum chair. He thrashed his back legs displacing the fabric cushion and falling through the metal slats. With back paws on the cement floor and front paws on the seat's frame, George dangled with a dazed expression on his face.

    Charlie grabbed the cat's ample middle, pulled him straight up, and said, “You're okay.” He set George beside me on the love seat. The fat cat circled and circled and circled and circled. Finally he lay down, tucked his tail around his back legs, and closed his eyes.

    Chef Spence created something special for all when he prepared that special breakfast for Charlie. Spence served me a porch breakfast on a lovely day. He inspired George to lounge on the love seat all morning which gave Emma, our other cat, quiet time without her face-licking brother interrupting her rest. Spence joined our alfresco meal to eat his meat and vegetable stir fry.

    His menu for Charlie?

    Bacon, potatoes, and a cheese omelet with onions, tomatoes, and the assaulting hot peppers.