I am at McDonald's for breakfast with my family. Our Saturday morning ritual. My daughter used to come, but she became a teenager. Sleep is more important to her now on a Saturday morning. I understand that. I used to be a teenager once, believe it or not.
I don't know how this little tradition started. It was a while ago, when my sister was still alive. Back then, we had quite the crew. Five or six adults. Five or six kids--cousins and friends. All morning, we would eat and talk and laugh. Some of my best friends would show up for the fun. It was a weekly event.
Now, the group that convenes is much smaller. Three adults. One kid. Siblings and friends and kids have moved away, grown older, passed away. It's the natural way of things. Call it evolution or devolution. Natural selection. Every once in a while, I receive an e-mail from a friend, and he or she will say, "I miss Saturday mornings at McDonald's."
I am a leftover from a different time, holding on. That's okay. I have my memories of those times. Happy memories.
Saint Marty just wishes he knew he was living in the "good old times" back then.
Drummond Island Fossils
by: Keith Taylor
Take the ferry out of Detour
then drive up across the alvar plains
to a path that leads you to the shore.
There, rock ledges step down to the lake.
Kneel. Look closely. You'll see shadows, then
limestone honeycombed with delicate
coral branches that waved from the floor
of an ocean we can't imagine.