🥣 🫖 Breakfast in Bed - The Slow Life Stories - Bedtime Stories for Adults - Calming Stories for Grownups and All Ages

0:02 Welcome to The Slow Life, a village filled with cozy stories for everyone. I'll read this story 2 times to help you zone out or even fall asleep during the second reading. This story is called Breakfast in Bed, and it's about taking up all of the space, being able to wait, and a luxury taken once in a while. I roll over onto my back, scooting myself onto the hill that has formed in the middle of the bed.

0:47 It's firm and feels good on my back, this sheet. Sarah bit rumpled around my limbs, so I puff the top sheet and the fluffy duvet up, letting them float down, settling over me as smooth as can be. Reaching my hands and feet to the four corners of the mattress, starfishing as wide as I can, I sink into the stretch. The rain taps at the window across the room telling me it's OK to stay like this for a while. Letting me know there's no rush to get anywhere or get anything done quite yet, or even at all to day if I choose. Noticing my movement from somewhere in the house, my 2 cats hop up and find spots to settle in around me. Well, if you insist that I stay a bit longer. I sigh towards the ceiling.

2:00 The thought comes to me of having breakfast in bed. I only do this every few months and it always feels like something indulgent to day. Feels like the perfect day for it. Carefully, I ease myself out of bed so as not to disturb the cats too much. The one by my knees barely stirs, the other lifts its head, then sinks back into sleep. I tiptoe into my slippers, swooped my house coat around me, and head downstairs to the kitchen. Moving slowly and quietly, I click the kettle on to boil and take out a small teapot.

2:52 Its roll is usually a decoration on the top shelf of the buffet and hutch by the pantry, so I give it a quick rinse, ice, scoop loose tea into the ball and rest it in the teapot. One that's floral and dark, that opens slowly with the heat on the counter. The fresh sourdough weights from yesterday's farmers market. I sliced 2 pieces and lower them into the toaster. I dig out the lap tray that I keep in the pantry, opening its legs to stand on the kitchen island while I fill it with breakfast supplies.

3:41 The farmers market also provided the granola that I moved into a glass clamp jar, its lid sealed but popping open with ease. It smells sweet with almonds, cinnamon and raisins as I pour some into a bowl and put oat milk into a Creamer. Beside it. I arrange fresh strawberries, already washed and hauled, and a few Peach slices on a small plate, the fruit glistening, making my mouth water. But I can wait. Orange juice, cold from the fridge, goes into a short glass. By now the toast has popped.

4:31 I slather the slices with soft butter, then spoon jam into a ramkin in case I want to sweeten it up. The jam is thick and dotted with chunks of fruit. Raspberry in this batch. It's the one my grandmother made for me last summer in jars with handwritten labels. Placing everything onto the tray is a bit of an art that I'm still trying to master. The tea goes on last with a small cup I love for its delicate handle.

5:11 I breathe in for a moment before picking the tray up carefully, carefully and carry it up to the bedroom. The cats have shifted only slightly. 1 blinks at me, unbothered. The other is now sprawled beside my pillow, luckily both out of the way, leaving room for me and my balancing act. I set the tray to one side and put some music on before sliding under the covers again. The tray fits perfectly over my lap, sturdy and high enough to keep the crumbs contained. I arrange a napkin just in case, adjust my pillows, and settle in.

6:04 I start with the T, pouring it into the cup. The steam curls up right away, and I take a few seconds to watch it dance. I put some milk into the granola, hearing the crisp chunks tapping the sides of the ceramic bowl, not wanting to wait. A spoonful gives the satisfying crunch, with the texture broken up by the chewy raisins. I alternate between bites of granola and sips of juice, the Tang of orange bright against the deep cinnamon flavour. I add in bites of the toast, opting to cover one piece with the jam.

6:55 I think of the afternoon my grandmother made it, jars lined up across her kitchen table while we chatted over tea and biscuits used to test out the jam. Of course. I wonder how many jars I have left. One of the cats stirs and stretches, long toes flexed in slow satisfaction. I want to offer a tiny crumb of toast but no, they're better off without it, their content just being near by as it seems we all like the company. With the toast gone, I finished the fruit. The strawberries are in season and the taste proves exactly that.

7:45 The Peaches are juicy and soft as well. I move to the tee, now cooled just enough to drink freely. Everything is mostly gone now, only the teapot and cups still partially full. Beside me on the night stand, a neat stack of books awaits some fiction that I've been dipping in and out of. Setting the tray to my side, careful not to stir the sleeping ones around me, I reach for one, thumbing through its pages to decide if it's the right one.

8:27 For this moment. There's no plan, no obligation, I read for a while. Not long enough to get deeply lost, but enough to let my breakfast settle. Eventually, I stretch. One cat rolls over on its back, belly exposed, legs sprawled in their own starfish position. The other rises and does a slow walk across my lap before curling up again on my other side. They seemed to have enjoyed this as much as I have, this luxury taken once in a while on mornings such as this.

9:19 Breakfast in bed. I roll over onto my back, scooting myself onto the hill that has formed in the middle of the bed. It's firm and feels good on my back, this sheet. Sarah bit rumpled around my limbs, so I puff the top sheet and the fluffy duvet up, letting them float down, settling over me as smooth as can be. Reaching my hands and feet to the four corners of the mattress, starfishing as wide as I can, I sink into the stretch.

10:07 The rain taps at the window across the room telling me it's OK to stay like this for a while. Letting me know there's no rush to get anywhere or get anything done quite yet, or even at all to day if I choose. Noticing my movement from somewhere in the house, my 2 cats hop up and find spots to settle in around me. Well, if you insist that I stay a bit longer. I sigh towards the ceiling. The thought comes to me of having breakfast in bed. I only do this every few months and it always feels like something indulgent to day.

11:00 Feels like the perfect day for it. Carefully, I ease myself out of bed so as not to disturb the cats too much. The one by my knees barely stirs, the other lifts its head, then sinks back into sleep. I tiptoe into my slippers, swooped my house coat around me, and head downstairs to the kitchen. Moving slowly and quietly, I click the kettle on to boil and take out a small teapot. Its roll is usually a decoration on the top shelf of the buffet and hutch by the pantry, so I give it a quick rinse, ice, scoop loose tea into the ball and rest it in the teapot. One that's floral and dark, that opens slowly with the heat on the counter.

12:03 The fresh sourdough weights from yesterday's farmers market. I sliced 2 pieces and lower them into the toaster. I dig out the lap tray that I keep in the pantry, opening its legs to stand on the kitchen island while I fill it with breakfast supplies. The farmers market also provided the granola that I moved into a glass clamp jar, its lid sealed but popping open with ease. It smells sweet with almonds, cinnamon and raisins as I pour some into a bowl and put oat milk into a Creamer. Beside it.

12:53 I arrange fresh strawberries, already washed and hauled, and a few Peach slices on a small plate, the fruit glistening, making my mouth water. But I can wait. Orange juice, cold from the fridge, goes into a short glass. By now the toast has popped. I slather the slices with soft butter, then spoon jam into a ramkin in case I want to sweeten it up. The jam is thick and dotted with chunks of fruit. Raspberry in this batch.

13:35 It's the one my grandmother made for me last summer in jars with handwritten labels. Placing everything onto the tray is a bit of an art that I'm still trying to master. The tea goes on last with a small cup I love for its delicate handle. I breathe in for a moment before picking the tray up carefully, carefully and carry it up to the bedroom. The cats have shifted only slightly. 1 blinks at me, unbothered.

14:16 The other is now sprawled beside my pillow, luckily both out of the way, leaving room for me and my balancing act. I set the tray to one side and put some music on before sliding under the covers again. The tray fits perfectly over my lap, sturdy and high enough to keep the crumbs contained. I arrange a napkin just in case, adjust my pillows, and settle in. I start with the T, pouring it into the cup. This steam curls up right away, and I take a few seconds to watch it dance.

15:03 I put some milk into the granola, hearing the crisp chunks tapping the sides of the ceramic bowl, not wanting to wait. A spoonful gives the satisfying crunch, with the texture broken up by the chewy raisins. I alternate between bites of granola and sips of juice, the Tang of orange bright against the deep cinnamon flavour. I add in bites of the toast, opting to cover one piece with the jam. I think of the afternoon my grandmother made it. Jurors lined up across her kitchen table while we chatted over tea and biscuits used to test out the jam. Of course.

15:57 I wonder how many jars I have left. One of the cats stirs and stretches, long toes flexed in slow satisfaction. I want to offer a tiny crumb of toast, but no, they're better off without it, their content just being nearby as it seems we all like the company. With the toast gone, I finish the fruit. The strawberries are in season and the taste proves exactly that. The Peaches are juicy and soft as well. I move to the tee, now cooled just enough to drink freely. Everything is mostly gone now, only the teapot and cups still partially full.

16:50 Beside me on the night stand, a neat stack of books awaits some fiction that I've been dipping in and out of. Setting the tray to my side, careful not to stir the sleeping ones around me, I reach for one, thumbing through its pages to decide if it's the right one. For this moment. There's no plan, no obligation, I read for a while. Not long enough to get deeply lost, but enough to let my breakfast settle. Eventually, I stretch.

17:32 One cat rolls over on its back, belly exposed, legs sprawled in their own starfish position. The other rises and does a slow walk across my lap before curling up again on my other side. They seemed to have enjoyed this as much as I have, this luxury taken once in a while on mornings such as this. I wish you sweet dreams.