This morning as I was eating them I had a memory of pancakes. That doesn't sound very deep does it? No, not like I was remembering every pancake I've ever eaten (boy, that would take some time) but actually pancakes my Dad used to make when we were children.
It seemed like Dad often made the weekend pancakes and he was great at it. He would make these perfect little circles of tender lightness and we would load up on the butter and the warmed syrup. I would eat my way carefully all the way around the outside of the stack, going in further and further until there was a perfect bite of pancakes left. The center of the pancakes with all the butter and syrup soaked in. A technique that only works with small pancakes because you get full too quickly with big ones and never get to the center.
I think I was remembering this today because Wednesday is both my Dad's 81st Birthday and my son's 30th Birthday. How can this be? It must be impossible.
Surely it was only a few years ago when my Dad was making his weekend pancakes, and only a few weeks ago that my son was a little fella with curly blonde hair and a big appetite for pancakes himself.
How did all this time pass?
I read a saying recently that says "you live your life like you live your days" and it gave me pause. It made me wonder if while I'm waiting for the perfect bite of pancakes, I'm actually enjoying all the outer edges as well.
Or are the outer edges what actually makes that one perfect bite of pancakes at the center so special?