I woke up this morning at six-thirty. Starving. When I came downstairs, the back yard was foggy and the neighborhood smelled like the brewery. I love living in south city on days like this. When I smell the brewery I can imagine what the city was like a hundred years ago, when our house was built. So I'm making breakfast, drinking my coffee and enjoying watching the last of the fog burn off. I've got cheddar-green onion biscuits in the oven, bacon on the griddle and fried green tomatoes, leftover from Saturday. I'll slap some eggs on those tomatoes and maybe a squirt of horseradish mustard aioli and have my self a huge, unhealthy breakfast before I start the day.

The boys are still asleep and I can't start making phone calls to all of the assorted doctor's offices that I need appointments at until nine, so I'm just going to gorge myself and relax on the porch.

I'd forgotten how much I love getting up early. I won't resist going to bed before eleven again.