Saturday Morning Breakfast Meditation

I love Saturday mornings when I make my breakfast without turning on the television to listen to the news. Instead, I stand in front of my kitchen sink and look out the window at the birds outside chirping as they scrounge for delicious morsels of food.

After a few minutes, my stomach begins to tell me that I need to make breakfast. I listen to my slippers shuffle on the tile from the kitchen sink to the refrigerator. As I pull on the handle, I hear a very small swish noise releasing the suction between the rubber insulation and the refrigerator frame. I noisily collect a carton of eggs and my can of coffee grounds, slamming the refrigerator door as I turn and and shuffle back across the kitchen.

At the sink as I turn on the water, it moves through the cold washer inside the faucet making a gurgling noise and gushes into my teapot. It’s been waiting all night to be released from the confines of the water pipes.

After filling the teapot, I hear myself slam it onto the heating coils on the plastic base and click on the switch that starts the movement toward boiling hot water. During the week, I don’t hear this noise when I am listening to the news on the television. I notice my habits more when I am being mindful in the silence. The cold water begins to jump around in the teapot as the water molecules move from cold to warm to a hot boil and I listen for the sound of the rapid movement of the liquid hitting the sides of the teapot. The kettle makes a clicking noise when the water has reached the perfect temperature that I don’t usually hear during the week when I’m listening to the television.

I pull out my Chemex coffee carafe and shuffle to the pantry to find a coffee filter. Remembering that I am in mindful-mode, I consciously pull off the plastic top on the coffee can and dump the two tablespoons of coffee grounds into the filter. Today I can hear the plop, plop of the coffee and then I pour the hot water over the grounds. This noise of the steaming liquid moving from the teapot is different from the water arriving through the faucet.

I slide the eggs out of the paper carton and place them into a pot. They roll around the saucepan as I carry them over to the faucet to add the water and return to stove and turn on the burner. As the water quietly heats up, not like in the teapot, the eggs move around the pan until they find a comfortable place to sit to cook.

I go off to read the paper at the kitchen table until I hear a splashing noise and look over at the stove to find the water boiling and the eggs dancing and jumping in the turbulence of the boil. I never hear this noise on a weekday morning with the television on and many mornings I overcook the eggs because I haven’t looked up in time to check on them. Today, the eggs are perfect, as I crack open the shell, and gently pull the hard protective covering apart revealing firm egg white cushioning a golden yolk inside.

I shuffle back to the kitchen table with my coffee mug and bowl of soft-boiled eggs. I look out the window above the table to watch the birds find their morning breakfast in the grass.