I made myself pancakes this morning. Whole wheat, oat pancakes rolled up with strawberry jam filling. Ever since was a little girl I have preferred jam in my pancakes. There is no love loss when I am out of maple syrup. Its the jam and preserves that take over the door of my fridge not the sticky golden nectar.
With a stack of the hot, golden wonders I push aside a tower of the books and note books that litter the coffee table. Putting my ever present cup of Earl Gray down on a coaster I slide the plate out of the other and it steams next to my key board. NPR is streaming through my lap top telling me about today's good, bad and ugly as I take a pancake and smear a generous amount of strawberry jam down the middle. I roll it up in my fingers and eat every one just the same.
With a pancake in one hand and Earl Gray in the other I wonder silently to myself, "Why is it that I have never made pancakes for just me until now?" Well the fact of it is, this is my first pancake morning alone and since I make the best pancakes I have ever had I don't think this is going to be the last.