The colony is the new black.

Today I am sweaty mess after a nine hour day of juicing and serving and running up and down seventeen flights of stairs. I served this one really interesting med student breakfast and lunch and our happy over-the-counter banter helped pass the hours. I have been having a few problems with my eyes lately; blurred vision etc. and he reassured me after a hilarious Q and A session that I was Glaucoma free. Thanks, Doctor Adrian, you are the boss (even if he was lying, I felt better). Sven came home from Swisse bearing gifts of snobby chocolate and so the mood hanging over Fresh was one of delight and happiness and much laughter. Even though I have my moments of rage at work, slide some eggs benny and bacon down the hatch and I am happy as a clam. I have really appreciated my regulars lately and serving the young Doctor reiterated that today.

I am currently stationed in front of my Apple in embarrassing Bridget Jones-esque panties and just caught my torso's reflection in the mirror moving to the rhythm of the fan revolving to my left. Summer is here. I feel lighter and surprisingly content considering the events of this past week. I have been riding my bicycle pretty hard, finding a rhythm in my legs and body that works with the bicycle. I think it is safe to say that we are now one, which is nice.

Last Sunday I escaped to the country for an impromptu swim and BBQ with my family. After floating around the pool for a few hours I stumbled back to my parent's and was happily bombarded by my aunty Marj, uncle Jim, tante Daryl, Grandma and Grandpa who had shown up for dinner while I was channeling a poolside Cleopatra. We have a hundred unspoken traditions in our family, but one that is woven into our genetic selves is our love for table talk. Long after the plates have been cleared, the coffee brewed and sipped, the hostess sat, and the dessert wolfed, we sit. And sit. And sit. And sit. And talk. And talk. And talk. And laugh. There is always laughter. (My friends make fun of my habit of sitting around the table long after the food is gone. My table is the size of a cardboard box and comfort is lacking. But still, I don't care, it is a welcomed habit. It is anchored within). The table where we gather together (usually at my mum's house) is shaped somewhat like a ship and the seating plan is usually segregated before we say 'Amen'. Naturally, the women take the bow, and the men the stern. Like cream that separates over time, so does the course of our banter. Grandpa's recycled dirty jokes meld into my brothers rants regarding townies with outlandish names like R dot A dot E dot com, Feastly, Scotch Tape Panna, Squeaks and Deadwin; my mother's dramatic deliveries of town scandals are listened to and laughed over. As her cockamamie recount dwindles and tapers, our heads swivel in anticipation to the direction of aunty Marj who always ups the ante of any story. Her exaggerations and fabrications make us claw at our eyes, clutch our throats and gird our middles because our reactions are too much to just sit there motionless. The existing story becomes history and the new outlandish one miraculously segues into something my dad is saying at the opposite end of the table. Cue our melodious howls. Our singing voices rise and fall into a range of seprano, alto, tenor and bass and so do our shrieks. We are a choir of harmonious shrieking teens. Conversation weaves together with regularity but there is never only one person speaking at a time. Each grandchild has learned to multitask in our various workplaces thanks to these family dinners. I can singlehandedly serve a table, tell them three specials while listening to the kitchen tell stories to each other, remember a joke to pass on after leaving the table, laugh at both the joke in my head and the comments made by my table, and remember four or five ridiculous breakfast orders of eggs over easy, bison sausage and sourdough rye toast dry. I am sure any one of my family members can attest to this skill. We had to learn to jump in and out of conversation with cunning remarks and dry punch lines at a very young age. That was half the fun and still is to this day; making a table of my family members erupt is my greatest victory. I don't know what spurred this sudden bout of familial pride--we too have our downfalls--but I just love them. I love that we admire each other and look forward to seeing one other. The colony is the new black.

On this joyous note, I am off to call my mother.

Madge.