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Breakfast is simple. A couple of eggs, toast prepared the way toast SHOULD be prepared – on a cast iron griddle over the heat. And naturally, coffee. It’s hard to think of a better breakfast venue than mine here on the aft deck of my boat, the river quiet, serene, before the people show up with powerboats and the loud music that they seem to want to drag everywhere with them.My river. A hundred decibels of hip-hop or plasticized ‘country’ music does nothing to enhance it. The sound of a redwinged blackbird with mating on his mind does enhance it. On mornings like this, even my library of classical music doesn’t offer anything to compete.My mind wanders to the subject of Miss Gee. Nine? She said she’d call. We’ll see. Pickles’ movement catches the corner of my eye. He’s shifted to a resting place on the deck. Twenty hours a day. I think I tracked him one day and he slept twenty hours, getting up only for input, output, and I guess, to stave off bedsores.But who am I to talk? I’m. A girl from the other team sprinted over and stopped to pick up my disfigured eyeglasses. She handed me the bent metal frame and the lens that had popped out. I stared at her dumbly and then Helen took the ruined eyeglasses from her. The girl retrieved the ball and ran back onto the field.I stood there with my daughter in my arms and watched the last five scoreless minutes of the game with blurry vision. It ended in a two-two tie. After the coach gave her after-game talk, the four girls we had brought to the game gathered in front of me, all talking at the same time to Helen. My wife packed up our stuff and I carried Helen to the car with the troop of girls in tow.I had driven to the park with my wife in the front passenger seat of our Lexus. I always considered SUVs too large and clunky, but when I had squeezed five teenage girls in the back I realized their convenience. Since Helen and Tara were the smallest, they sat on other girls' laps.The girls took the same seats they had on.
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