Saturday mornings have always been magical times in my life. When I was a kid, I’d wake up on Saturdays and the first thought that would strike me would be, “NO SCHOOL!” Then, I’d bound out of bed, tiptoe past my parents’ bedroom, (God forbid that I should wake them up early on a Saturday…the ONE day of the week that my hard-working father got to sleep in!), and then I’d scamper down the stairs to watch cartoons until nine o’clock. (Yes. That’s right, children. I had to leave my bedroom in order to watch TV!  There was only one TV in the WHOLE DAMNED HOUSE, and it was situated in the “family room”. ) I would meet my two younger brothers in said family room, turn on the set, AND…

Bugs Bunny! Road Runner! Yosemite Sam! Porky! Foghorn Leghorn!  Daffy! (and, sometimes, some strange little black Martian with no mouth or nose, a gargly voice, and Roman Centurion helmet!)

We three boys would sit there in stitches for an hour. I can still recall the theme song for the Bugs Bunny Show –

 “Overture! Curtain! Lights!

This is it – the night of nights!

No more rehearsing and nursing a part;

We know every part by heart!

Overture! Curtain! Lights!

This is it! We’ll hit the heights!

And Oh! What heights we’ll hit!

On with the show! This is it!”

After the show, if it was rainy outside, we’d continue to watch TV: My Friend Flicka, Sky King, and Roy Rogers.

But, if it was NICE outside….LOOK OUT! It was time for bicycles, tree climbing, fort building, baseball playing, or sledding (depending upon the season)…ALL FREAKING DAY LONG!

The “Monday” that brought school to us was an eternity away! Time to play!!!!!

Having Saturdays was like having fifty-two extra Christmases a year!  Well…almost.

***

Now-a-days, I’m not all that into cartoons or building tree forts any more, but Saturday mornings are still pretty much as magical now as they were when God and I were kids.

Instead of NO SCHOOL TODAY, the predominant thought in my head on Saturdays is NO WORK TODAY! Even though that is not entirely accurate because I DO do work on Saturdays, but it is the kind of work that I LOVE to do – the physical stuff like cutting and splitting firewood.)

Saturday mornings are now leisurely times. Sleeping in. Reading the paper. AND making exquisite and decadent breakfasts. (Saturday is the one day of the week that magically removes ALL cholesterol from all foods, and I take full advantage of that proven, indisputable, scientific fact!)

So, this past Saturday morning, I got up, made the coffee, and began making Mary Ellen and I breakfast.  The thought of making Hetrick-enchanced scrambled eggs made my stomach growl as I made my way down the stairs, followed by my two German Shepherds, Fritz and Dixie, and one of my cats, Smoky. 

Once in the kitchen, Dixie ran to the back door, begging to go outside. So I let her out. Fritzy and Smoky decided that they would rather hang around inside with me.

I then walked into the living room and stoked the woodstove to make the house nice and toasty for my groggy Honey when she finally forced herself out from under the covers and came downstairs to share the morning with me.

Next, I made my way back to the kitchen and fried up several strips of thick-sliced bacon. I KNEW that smell would be enough to entice Mary Ellen out of bed and come down to join me!

As the bacon was sizzling in the cast iron pan, I fished a large mixing bowl out of the cabinet. I cracked open farm-fresh eggs (my neighbor sells them to us for $2.00 a dozen.) and dumped them into the bowl.  I then chopped up some of the jalepeno peppers that were given to me by another neighbor, added some mushrooms,  shredded cheese and milk , and I threw them all into the bowl too.

Next, I took the cooked bacon, crumbled it up, and dumped that into the mix also.

I was happily whisking the whole concoction into a foamy, yellowish liquid when I heard something go thump in the living room.  Thumping sounds emanating from the living room always pique my interest because of the fact that the woodstove is there.

So, I put the mixing bowl on the butcher’s block and headed into the next room to investigate. Upon finding nothing amiss with the woodstove, I turned to head back to the kitchen to resume preparing my wonderful breakfast.

It was as that point that I heard the clanging noise that made my heart sink. As I rushed into the kitchen, I was confronted with a ghastly sight. The mixing bowl that I had placed neatly on the butcher’s block was now lying upside down in the middle of the floor. Scrambled egg concoction was everywhere – on the refrigerator, on the side of the stove, dripping down off the butcher’s block, and all over the freaking floor and Smoky the Cat was licking everything in sight, thinking, I’m sure, that she had died and gone to Heaven.

My bewilderment quickly turned to anger when I realized what had happened. (I am not used to having a dog as big as Fritz, who is large for German Shepherd. At ten months old, he already weighs 75 pounds, and he has paws as big as soccer balls and ears like a deer. He is tall enough to put his head on the kitchen counters, the butcher’s block and the dining room table without even having to lift his front paws off the floor.)

“FRITZ!!!!”

I screamed his name as loudly as I could, ready to beat the living crap out the creature with anything I could get my hands on…until I saw him.

He knew that he had done wrong. When I bellowed his name, he sheepishly poked his head into the room from the doorway leading to the dining room. He slinked into the kitchen, ears back, head down and tail between his legs. His head was completely covered with egg, milk, peppers, mushrooms and bacon. His tongue was working furiously trying to lick off the mess as it dripped off his nose and face.

I fought off the urge to laugh. Instead, I gave him the perfunctory, “Bad Dog!” Then I threw open the back door and let him bolt outside, happy to be clear of my wrath.

Then I turned, confronted the mess before me, sighed, shrugged, cleaned it up, and preceded once again to make the magical Saturday morning breakfast.