Pieces of perfect

We stayed at this little darling hotel on the quiet end of town. We walked through the rainy streets with bags and no umbrellas to get there and if the warm colors and adobe spiral staircase weren't welcoming enough, the staff was. They knew our names from the moment we walked in the door and offered us everything from directions to umbrellas to comfort us. The manager, whom I nicknamed Pavarotti because he was singing when we walked in, helped me reacquaint myself with Spanish. It turns out I can find more than the beer and the bathrooms when I'm in Mexico*.

It was an interesting place to see the fusion of different cultures. It always amazes me how if you take the time to talk with people and make the effort, you'll get an amazing response. You go from feeling slightly lost and very out of practice to knowing that yes, even with the barriers of language and culture differences, you can make friends anywhere.

Like the young lady at a small bakery we stopped in for dessert one day. Though it was simply apple pie, there was something oddly magical about her teaching us to call it tartleta de manzana as we ate it and read magazines while Springsteen tunes floated out from the back room. It was a fantastic contrast that settled me. One step up, two steps back, indeed.



The sky also happened to stay in a constant state of bright blue, of which the thought only causes me great discomfort today. It is fifty-four degrees (F) in Colorado right now and I didn't see blue sky all day. Call it nature but I think it's Colorado's karmic way of getting back at me for pining after others.





Mexico, and likely any place if you'll let it sink in, is filled with detail. And just a couple steps away from the mainstream, you'll see this more and more. Little things people do and say that show an effort to be unique. An effort not only to stand out but to do it in a way no one else does. We should each be so lucky to have these efforts noticed. We should be so lucky to always try to make the effort at all.


I must admit, was not enough time. But when is it ever? I took an entire week off running (not to mention every other endeavor) and I have to say, for the first time in a while, I really miss it. I miss the open road and the air being stolen from my lungs. I miss the sweat and the way it clears my mind. Oddly, though I so badly believed I needed to be taken away, I missed my feet being on the ground. And if we know anything at all, we know it won't be long before I'm floating again anyway.

* See Me: 101, #70.

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Last week's guessing game answer: C. I made it up. And if the above didn't make it obvious enough I will just explain by saying I think it would be nearly impossible for me to be friends with someone that so decidedly hated warm weather. There's just a certain basic level of understanding that must occur between friends.

My Windshield on the World, Wyoming & Utah Edition (Part 8, probably)

Here we are, two days from the weekend that, in the United States, marks the end of summer. Sure, go ahead and wait until September 21st if you'd like, we'll all sit by while you pretend it's not the end. And we'll secretly laugh at you because everyone knows you're just living in a fantasy. Truth be told, I'll live in that fantasy with you a little bit anyway. We've still got those Indian Summer days ahead of us out West here, and if you think I'm packing up the flip flops before the first snow, well you don't really know me at all.

It has been quite the trip, this summer. Months filled with babies getting older, pirates, unforgettable moments of turquoise water and perfect days, friends and fireworks, live music, oh so much music, refusing to let Summer go by too fast, early mornings, calling it quits, sisterly bonding, and realizing that life, no matter my inability to predict, has some really great things in store. And if all that isn't a reason to take one more week and live it up for all it's worth, it ought to be.

Tomorrow I'll be hitting the road one more time for the year. I'm headed through corn country, then up the corn belt (I have totally made up these names and really have no idea what is or is not identified as corn country or the corn belt). All this for, you guessed it, friends. I'm meeting one, and going to do the race in the hometown of another. Hey, we do what we gotta do.

Upon returning, I'll spend a total of twenty-four hours at home before heading out again, but this time, there will be no race. Remember this little scenario from a few weeks back? Well, a decision was eventually reached. After careful examination of personal schedules, work schedules, flight schedules (and availability) and, well, a little bit of pure fantasy, we decided we'd head to the beach. I know how shocked you are right now, that I would make that decision. I promise, I did not coerce my friend. I can't help it if I'm really super excellent at travel research.

I will admit, it was not our first choice. We considered New York City (more hustle than we wanted, and I mean that in a good way), New Orleans (flights just did not work- this was a huge disappointment), and the West Coast (but then realized there were some flight restrictions and it made no sense to start in the middle of the country, head East and then turn around and head West). So, when it came down to it, South of the border became the obvious choice.

I'm about to cover more miles than I can count, set foot in approximately seven cities, three airports, several corn fields (how could I not) and several more cantinas. I plan to update in between to the two so as not to confuse corn and tequila but in the meantime, I'll leave you with some windshield commentary from my last trip.

Happy Labor Day weekend, my fellow Americans. And happy end of Summer/whatever season you may be leaving behind right now to all.

Utah, via Northern Colorado and Wyoming:

After getting through the madness that is North Denver these days, you're reminded Northern Colorado still has some wide open spaces. And thank God for that.

But as soon as you cross into Wyoming, you're also reminded that fireworks aren't legal in Colorado.

Lucky for us, Pyro City is just a drive away.

Once you're all stocked up on the sparklers, you can head out into the wild blue yonder that is Southern Wyoming. Wind farms, a repaving project and, oh yes, a little red Corvette (look closely, waaaay up ahead) kept me company for hundreds of miles.

Sooner than you think, however, you'll be near Utah and entering the beautiful Wasatch Mountains. Or at least the sign says so.

Then, if you're really lucky, you'll participate in a 178 mile relay with eleven of your closest and sweatiest friends. And it will be beautiful!

And if you're really, really lucky, the van your team uses is a rental so when you back it into a tree in the middle of the night because you're driving barefoot and parallel parking, it will not matter.

All too soon, though, you'll be headed home.

As you drive those hundreds of miles back, you'll stare out into the wild blue yonder that is southern Wyoming and know that every mile, both driven and run, was totally worth it. Because they always are.

I'm normally not a huge fan of pink

However...

The part about the run isn't really the point

Yesterday morning I got up at about 5:00 a.m. (yes, on a Saturday) to get my run in. I wanted to do twelve miles and avoid the heat. I'd also had a thrilling Friday evening of watching Music and Lyrics (we thought it was just "eh") and going to bed early so I figured I was setting myself up for a great morning run. Aren't I mature.

Well, almost because for some very non-mature reason, my idea of carb loading on Friday night was cereal and popcorn. I know. So for miles 1-3, I felt great. It was easy. Just about that time when I started feeling that great I-could-run-forever euphoric feeling that never comes around often enough, my poor choices from the night before came back to haunt me. We'll just say it felt like someone was putting a citrus peeler under my ribs and stirring. And trust me, I could get much more graphic than that, but even the memory alone is far too painful.

And you'd think I would have stopped, but no because despite my upper abdominal muscles being in some sort of seizure, I was determined. Well that determination took me another five miles before I gave up and walked the remaining mile home. Nine miles felt like nineteen. I sat down on the couch and stared at the wall, asking myself why I'd ever gotten up to begin with.

But I'm not really telling the entire story, here. There was actually another reason I got up early yesterday. I wanted to get that run out of the way because I had somewhere to be.

Some friends of mine have a small ranch property in Eastern Colorado- you know, horses, cows, pastures- and I'd been invited out to ride. Yes, horses. I am not going to lie, I was Christmas morning excited about this all week.

I've been around horses on and off my entire life. I can't remember my first ride and I've never owned my own horse, but I've always had friends with horses and I've always known enough to get by. So when I pulled up yesterday after having driven down miles and miles of dirt road and my friend said "are ya ready?" I was. At this point, I still had no idea we were actually going to be doing anything with a purpose. Sometime during the whole "saddling up" process, my friend says we're going to move some cows. Wait, what?

I'll save the whole story of how I had an internal freak out and managed to stay calm and just tell you, this is some of the most fun I've ever had. And the most tired I've ever been. Some friends from up the road (or "over yonder" as I started calling it- I know, I'm hilarious) joined us and we herded and moved the cattle from one pasture to an adjacent pasture in less than an hour. I probably just used five words incorrectly and sounded like some ridiculous city girl, but that's fine.

It was hot, dirty, tiring, and so much fun. And when we were finished, and did some "fun" riding, we came back to the house, had a couple beers, watched an incredible rain storm blow across the prairie, followed by rainbows and a beautiful sunset.

I was told I am allowed to come back and help again. And I will, next time I'm over yonder.

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I think I'm ready for my spurs now.

Every Day is a Glory Day

I close my eyes. I can hear the splash of the water, the laughter of the children. I take a deep breath, the scent of chlorine and barbecue fills the air. The sun beats down, it feels more like July than August. The Dog Days, these must be them.

Work was heavy last week. Every day worked seemed to be followed by an especially demanding evening. The curse of doing too much. The consequence of having it too good. I look around, it's all here. Now. An afternoon in time. A beach ball lands at my feet and instinctively I kick it back into the water.

The sky above is a remarkable blue, and I remember that no matter where I lay my head there's just no sky like the one here, at home. It's deep and wide, it's clouds are bright white. It this sky I stared up at, on my back, from the grass of my childhood front yard, making shapes out of nothing. My feet are hot on the pool deck and it brings me back to the moment.

I can't quite put my finger on what it is here lately. I can't quite understand why it's suddenly so easy to take stock. To look out into the blue or into the faces of people I care about, and realize how lucky I am. Maybe it's just summertime, maybe it's the hard work, maybe it's age. I can feel it, though. It's tangible. Although I'm not ever likely to stop trying to do more and work harder, I'm glad I can see where I'm at. It's a quiet reassurance to know that even if it were to all stop tomorrow, I'd still have known it today.

Life is more like a river than a lake

Yes, there is a possibility that I have just been allowed to have it too good lately. Though I've been working hard enough to come home at the end of the day and tell myself "you've worked hard, you need a break" I also think I've been pretty lucky with the breaks so far.

If nothing else, I've at least been lucky to have spent them with really wonderful people. Although the places and the weather have all been beautiful, I can't help but think the people you spend your time with, if they're really awesome people that you love, would be people you'd be with anywhere.

I found myself thinking that a lot over the weekend. Around the campfire or on the lake shore, I just sat back and took it all in. I'm always in fear a little of bringing up the good. I don't want to brag anyone to death or, heaven forbid, make it all go away by talking about it. At the same time, though, that is what the good is about, isn't it? It's there to enjoy- to celebrate as if this feeling, this moment itself might be what we always use to define good.

Earlier in life, at times when I didn't know what awful really was, I wasn't great at recognizing life's truly good moments. I didn't really know the stark, meaningful contrast between love and hate or peace and fighting. Hate was the girl that purposely kicked sand on me, war was a yellow button I wore on my jacket.

Growing up, growing old, is such a bittersweet contrast in itself. The nostalgia, the lust for those days gone by is only overshadowed by the appreciation that develops over time. Over the weekend, as is often when friends get together, the question came up of would you ever go back in time?

.

My first instinct is to say yes, knowing what I know now, of course. But then I think about it, and realize nothing I remember would have been remotely as grand had I not had the privilege of innocence. I wouldn't have cared deeply about getting a perm or missing an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. I wouldn't have gotten butterflies at the thought of a boy sitting next to me on the bus or have been surprised by Halloween haunted houses. So no, today I'd say going back would just not work. Mostly, it would prevent moving forward. It would prevent weekends at the lake, to be with friends and reminisce.

And what are good weekends with empty margarita glasses and clear blue skies worth if you can't reminisce about being seventeen again? I certainly wouldn't be able to tell the story of the last time I was at this here lake, when the girls met up with the boys, likely all having stretched the truth with the parents. Where we walked shoulder to shoulder, wondering if he was going to take our hand. The boathouse where the girls would go to tell one another which boy liked them and which was a "loser." The hill where, in the late night hours, you might sneak off and, you know, read.

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I don't need to go back to that. Remembering it is part of the magic. And life, in it's sneaky, quiet way just keeps getting better and better.

Endless in my mind

A few days ago, when I asked for opinions about the cities you call home, I was very impressed by all the responses. Sometimes, I think it's easy to forget that home, like many things we love, can both drive us crazy and amaze us.

This weekend, I'm off to the lake with some friends. They are nice to invite me although they all seem to agree there is something wrong with me as I actually enjoy living in the small space of a trailer. Either I'm low maintenance or I'm just overwhelmed by how "cute" everything is. Seriously, a house squeezed into forty feet of sheet metal is cute. Have you seen the oven? Adorable.

Of course, my excitement isn't just about miniature appliances and toilets. I get to hang out with friends, float around on the boat and soak up some sun, too. Sometime in the past few years, when I wasn't paying attention, I became one of those people that says "where has Summer gone?" The difference between me and most people is that the idea of Summer being more than half over sends me into a panic.

I feel a sense of urgency to soak up even more, hold onto it as if it's slipping away. Sure, I've done quite well with enjoying it so far, but I can't help but feel it's being taken away. So I'll head out to the lake, and off into the mountains. I'll have drinks on patios and you know I'll wear the heck out of the flip flops and I'll keep asking you if you're doing the same. We can keep it alive, right?

And if that's not enough, at least I know when the cooler days start to sneak in here, there's also a land of endless summer I have look forward to.






Enjoy it, y'all.


And don't make fun of me for saying "y'all."

In summer, the song sings itself. ~William Carlos Williams

There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart. ~Celia Thaxter

Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability. ~Sam Keen

A life without love is like a year without summer. ~Swedish Proverb

No price is set on the lavish summer;

June may be had by the poorest comer.

~James Russell Lowell

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it. ~Russel Baker

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon;

to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

~Henry James

__________________

And how are you soaking up your summer?

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Now who wouldn't want to run down this road?

(Look closely, those are balloons. Isn't that cool or am I just too easily amused?)

An open road. Few things entice me more. Even sleep-deprived, in pain and having skipped breakfast, I couldn't wait to run down this.

What sight makes you feel like hitting the road?

Yeah... about that

Remember how I was SO grateful here because of this whole slew of reasons and I wasn't going to let myself get upset about the teeny tiny fact that I didn't win a trip to Mexico?

Well, that is all still true. I did not win a trip to Mexico.

The next best thing, however, is when your best friend wins a trip to Mexico.

Don't worry, I don't believe it either.

Almost Poetry

We spoke of sun and sand and sea
Of trying to find purpose and life and honesty

He said he liked beaches and mountains and rum
Didn't understand those who didn't like fun

I said my two favorite things were flip flops and freedom
He agreed, I could barely believe him

He said he loved family and together and friends
I loved hearing that so much I wanted to dance

We laughed and mused well into the night
Shared made-up fantasies of catching the next flight

He believed in hard work, always knew it would pay
I nodded my head so much he asked if I was okay

He told jokes and grinned, turns out he wasn't so shy
I couldn't tell if he was nervous, I laughed until I cried

It all seemed so perfect, no keeping score
And it could have worked out, if he wasn't seventy-four

Not a Moment Too Soon

If last week were, say, part of a contest- a really not fun contest where a family could compete with other families, or a twenty-seven-year-old woman could compete with other twenty-seven-year-old women- to see who could have the worst week ever, my family and I would have been fierce competitors. Or maybe, if there were a television show called Worst Week Ever and they featured people that were really having a really bad week, we might have been one of the top stories.
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The loss of a family member started the week. Then, a much beloved couple close the family have decided to separate. Then, a family member attended and then, subsequently, was stranded at a wedding-gone-wrong. In Kentucky. Kentucky, where none of us is right now. And we thought that was it; we thought we had our Unfortunate Things Happen in Threes trifecta. But then someone had a heart attack and all my theories of threes just went out the window, along with the cake I'd tried to bake but couldn't because the middle kept sinking. Twice. Thank you. (The upside to that is, you have to do something with all that icing you made. I opted to eat it, rather than slapping it directly onto my thighs. Yes, thank you, again.)
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So many times in the last week, I've found myself just shaking my head, trying to think but not really being able to get anywhere. I've written a thousand things, most of which make no sense now and the rest of which will probably make very little sense in the days to come. I've gone for countless runs (yes, more than once per day), thrown myself into work only to come out feeling drained and guilty, and tried passing the time with friends and drinks and catching a little bit of sunlight. It's incredibly challenging to catch sunlight in between all the clouds, by the way.
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While I know this is not the worst plight in life (I'm well aware more people than me could be on the Worst Week Ever) I'd be a complete fraud if I didn't admit to what I'm thinking right now: I have a break coming in seven days and my gosh, I feel like I've earned it.

In Like a Lion

How do you know it's Spring in Colorado? It snows. And it's freezing on Easter. It was a wet, heavy snow. More like rain that just decided to be colder, and more spiteful. Like a scorned- dare I say- woman getting her one last gesture in revenge before she was finally chased out by the new love. It was cold and uncomfortable. The sort of cold that, when coming out of the movie theatre late Friday night and having to scrape windows, made me think seriously of moving to the desert. I even dreamed about it that night, hearing over and over in my mind "it's a dry heat."

Nonetheless, it is Springtime. There are certain signs everywhere and though it was cold and likely will be again later this week, I know I'm not the only one who's impatiently waiting for warmer days. And I'd be lying, a little, if I said I didn't at least like this weather to an extent.


Spring weather is very unique in Colorado. And though I hate, hate, hate to be cold, the erratic nature of this transition in seasons fits me. It changes it's mind, seemingly on a whim (though always carefully calculated behind the scenes) and when everyone thinks it's become boring and predictable, it throws something new into the mix. Though, I assure you, if I were weather, I'd never throw in snow. It'd be more like sunshine. And beach chairs. I digress.

I suppose this is why the desert will have to wait. I'm somewhat accustomed to this changing of seasons. It's timing and it's ability to surprise from one day to the next is comforting in a way. It's weather that reminds you to soak up the moments, it reminds you of how to live. It's weather that makes you draw every breath a little deeper, to let those mental pictures of smiles on faces and shadows on the ground sink in a little longer. It's the kind of weather that makes you sit on the porch in the late afternoon, hoping to absorb a little sun in anticipation of upcoming getaways. It's the kind of weather that makes you snuggle up one evening only to run through the grass barefoot and toss a ball around the next day.

Most of all, it has promise. Promise of newness, of warmth and of more. Promise of summer bar-b-ques, outdoor concerts and patio lunches. And really, in my mind, even if I have to endure some window scraping, there's still nothing better than knowing the best, what I love and look forward to most, is yet to be.

Good Like Sweat

Well here I was all ready to sit down and write a post about how fantastic my run yesterday was. It was seventy-five degrees (I know!!) and sunny and hot hot hot and let me tell you, I just soak that stuff UP. Yes, sweat and all. There are few things in life that are really worth it if you don't even break a sweat, right? I mean, there's running, eating, drinking, laughing, kissing, singing in the car, dancing in the car- all a little better when it's hot.

But back to why instead of writing about my run yesterday, I cannot. I'm all scatter-brained and, as my Grandmother would say, full of piss and vinegar. I've got a mere ten hours and counting until I have to have my butt in a coach class seat headed East and I haven't packed a thing!

In those first two paragraphs, I got up twice to a) get a snack and b) get another snack. Heh. Clearly I'm in no shape to be all mushy and lyrical over my absolutely beautiful and sweaty run yesterday, right? And you might say it's pre-race jitters but you know, I've never really had pre-race jitters. I only get nervous about two things before a race: that I won't be able to go pee enough times before the starting gun goes off and therefore will ruin the whole thing from the start or, that I will forget something that's important like Gu or Body Glide and then bonk and chafe- ouch! Other than that, I'm always good. I know, barring serious interruption, I'll get myself across that finish line eventually so meh, whatever. I don't freak out.

The little ball of energy I am now, rather, is pre-friend freak out. Pre Spring Break '07 freak out, actually. I'm just so excited to land in a different city, hop off a plane (with my luggage, please airline, please), and see my friends and hang out for a few days and deal with nothing consequential. The house we'll be waking up to in the morning has an ocean view, a pool table and a hot tub. We've billed the trip as Spring Break '07: Like Spring Break '97 But a Lot Less Stupidity and a Lot More Money which I think is a good thing because instead of phrases like "dude, I am NEVER doing that again" it'll be more like "dude, I am not even going to try, I have to run in the morning." Those introspective walks on the beach will consist of thoughts like "are you taking that job offer in Toronto?" rather than the post-hangover pep talks of "yes, I swear he said he likes you! Who cares if he was kissing Beth, he wrote a song for you! He likes you!" As good as those days were, it's sort of nice to know we won't ever have to choose between drinks or food again.

I plan on packing the tech gear (dang, I am nerdalicious), mostly for picture downloading and sharing purposes, but as for blog posting, I don't know what will happen. I'll either be missing for a few days or updating with something like "You wouldn't believe what Jeff did yesterday! At 8:00 he had one beer and then, an hour later, HE WENT TO BED. This trip is off da hook, y'all!"

Either way, all the best to all of you. Get out there and do some sweating.

Re:

It's list time.

Re: Sailing trip
Still working out the details. There's a little more cost involved than I thought but something's still telling me I need to do it. So what's the best way to tell people you're skipping Christmas [gifts] this year?

Re: Half marathon
I'm doing one in a couple weeks. Or didn't I mention that? Yeah, I plan to bring my little camera and make it a "fun run." If I thought this were anywhere near a PR opportunity, I'd need a psychiatric evaluation. Immediately.

Re: Dating
It is less fun than it used to be. I don't like the dragging out of it all. But hey, I'm okay with that. It could be worse, I could be an astronaut.

Re: George Strait
Remains one of my favorite things in music. He was in Denver last weekend. Leave your smoke and mirrors at home, kids, this guy doesn't need any of that, and that's just the way I like it. And if I'm being totally honest, the guy could walk out on stage and sing names from the phone book and I'd love it.

Re: Weather
It has been beautiful here. Spring is coming, I need not whine any longer about hating Winter. I am not sure who's more relieved, you or me.

Re: Caffeine
I haven't had any in three weeks. Some might say I gave it up for Lent, but just started early. I might say I just wanted to see if I could. So far, I can and against all my prior beliefs, I'm not dead yet. I also feel better, I can't explain how. More calm, maybe? I don't know. I'm sure it won't last forever, though. I love chai tea too much.

When everything starts reminding you of Summer

Yeah, it's no secret, I'm ready for Summer. Dying for it to get here, actually, which became quite apparent to me when I was cooking this weekend and started having memories of last summer. Food memories, which explains the asparagus. I haven't had asparagus since last summer which is not really significant except I'm reaching for just about anything I can right now.

Along with the asparagus, I also made turkey meatballs and whole wheat pasta with chipotle cream sauce made from this recipe. If I may be demanding for a moment, TRY THIS SAUCE. Be ye not afraid of sautee and puree, it's not difficult and it's entirely worth it . So worth it, in fact, that it was used on both the pasta and the aspargus and while I won't go so far as to call myself any sort of supercook, there were certainly no complaints from the eaters.

Anyway, so Summer. Yeah, I'm ready. And anything that reminds me of Summer, or makes me feel that it's near is welcome, anytime. (Hear that, 40 m.p.h. windgusts? You are NOT welcome.) As the wind gusted on Saturday, bellies full of good food, I sat down to go through some 2006 travel photos. I'm finally getting around to organizing them into some sort of non-digital format. I'm nothing if not eventual, I tell you.

The photos of a Vancouver trip seemed to be better than I'd remembered. It was such a whirlwind trip of quick sight seeing and driving, that I'd nearly forgotten the days I was able to soak up everything around me. In particular, I remember feeling very summery during a visit to Granville Island Market.

On a sunny day, under a very pretty Summer sky, we pedaled borrowed mountain bikes over to the ferry, hopped on and rode across the water to the market.

I know it's really not going to be a shock to see that I had to take pictures of everything. But really, how much better does food look and taste when you're in some far off place, padding around in sandals in warm weather with a light ocean breeze? A lot better, I think.

The fruit was all particularly beautiful. It's possible it might have been sweeter than normal fruit, too. Or maybe it was just the entire day.

I'm also nothing if not a sucker for foods arranged in a manner pleasing to the eye, especially vegetables. Those tomatoes? Went on some burgers later that were the kind of burger that makes you want to unbotton your pants so you can eat that one last bite. Of course, that might also be the way we grilled them outside and and ate them on the patio, while drinking homemade beer.

Also, the bread. Oh my Heaven and Earth, the bread! I think, if I were to allow myself, I could go on for a good eight to ten paragraphs easily about my love for bread. I will never, ever go on a no carb diet. Never. And if you were to take bread away from me, well there would be a lot of hostility. Let's just leave it at that.

Let's not forget dessert. Mass quantities of reasonably priced, beautifully arranged desserts is about all I needed to get down on one knee (okay, two) right there and ask the woman behind the case to please, marry me and if she wasn't the baker could she please find him or her so that I might marry him/her, handcuff them to me, and drag them back across the border and home to Colorado. Because then, I might be happy forever.

Thank goodness we'd biked twenty miles there and back and I was able to a) come down off my high and b) get it out of my head that marrying someone who would get up at 3:00 a.m. to make cheesecake for breakfast would actually be the answer to all my prayers.

We all know that is silly. They would also have to have a boat.