Breakfast

I don't usually care for toast, but a bottle of Ikea's lingonberry jam stared right at me from the top shelf in the fridge when I opened it to get the milk for my tea.

We're out of bagels, so white bread (blech) was the only other option. I toasted the bread and slathered on the jam. I usually don't turn the light on in the kitchen in the morning and since all the blinds were closed, it was darkish and gray. But out came the jam and suddenly it was like one of those photographs where everything is black and white save one bright red object, usually a rose or flower of some sort.

"That's why red is my favorite color," I thought to myself, yet again. (I've never had a favorite anything, but sometime last semester I decided on red. Since then, I've been a little more proud of myself than I should be for doing so).

I slid the knife over all corners of the bread, smearing it onto the surface the way a paint brush glides over canvas. Some spots got only one swish of color, but the middle of the bread was saturated. I sat down at my desk, and in the light from my window, the jam went from the red to a brilliant red-pink. I bit in and realized how important looks really can be. The jam isn't very sweet and has a fleeting bitter aftertaste that I'm not too fond of. The plain chewiness of white bread adds nothing. Still, I'm in awe of just how striking something as mundane as spreading jam can be early in the morning.