I allow myself the luxury of breakfast (I am no nun, for Christ’s sake). Charmed as I am by the sputter of bacon, and the eye-opening properties of eggs, it’s the coffee that’s really sacramental. In the old days, I spread fires and floods and pestilence on my toast. Nowadays, I’m more selective, I only read my horoscope by the quiet glow of the marmalade.
dorothea grossman