Usually, my mom brings C’s food every day for breakfast, lunch, and snacks. Yes, I’ve got a sweet deal going here. But with her not here this week, I am in charge of the munchies.

It turns out that you can’t open canned veggies or canned pears without a can opener. Who knew? We might just have to go to WaHo for lunch today. Just kidding; there’s no Waffle House in town. Thank goodness!

Note to self: bring can opener tomorrow.

Wednesday, on the way from the funeral to the office, I decided I had some extra time before having to be at work, so C and I made a pit stop at the Waffle House. C – who had one previous Waffle House experience under similar circumstances – has gotten to that age where it’s difficult to take her out to a restaurant, but I decided to chance it since WaHo is usually pretty prompt. And she did ok. She asked to get down a few times, but I managed to distract her by talking about her piggies – always a good topic of conversation at a restaurant.

Later, when telling Katie about how C had done well but had very cutely put crammed the whole top layer of hash browns in her mouth at once, Katie remarked that it sounded like C and I were starting a new tradition. Personally, I think it’s a fabulous idea. As she gets older, maybe C and I should make some special time for each other for WaHo runs. And maybe that can be a stepdad thing for me, too – sitting across the table from a loved one, enjoying some hash browns and coffee.

I think you have to make your own traditions. And they really have to come from the top down. I’m sure I have continued many of my parents traditions without even knowing it, but I’ve quashed some of them as well. I have always hated basketball, and I really don’t enjoy any live sporting events. My dad and I had a lot of one-on-one days centered on sports. But we did that because he enjoyed it. Sometimes he did things just because I enjoyed them, but those never became traditions.

I think it would be neat for – ten or fifteen years from now – one of the kids to ask about our WaHo runs. “Why Waffle House?” they’ll ask. And I can explain how I learned to love WaHo from college as a good place to get away, have some tasty food, and get into some great conversations, and how I wanted them to have that experience, too.

It sounds like I’ve got a lot of hash browns ahead of me.

I know what the musical pick for my Waffle House trip would be: “Helter Skelter.” It’s just a given.

I went to my local Ho for a study brunch, note cards in hand. I did learn a lot about audit risk while I was there, but I also learned about the fascination that Charles Manson still holds over so many people. You see, I also brought along my current book, in case I should decide that I needed a break (I didn’t). And I got into two separate conversations about the book, one with the waitress, who wanted to know where I’d bought my copy because she lost hers and couldn’t find a new one here in town. I also had a ten minute chat with the guy sitting beside me (I always sit at the bar), who is 66 and lived in Oregon (=too close to LA) at the time of the Tate murders. I could have told you that Helter Skelter isn’t a book you can read lightly, but I didn’t realize that it was also a book you cannot bring into public unless you’re prepared for discussing it (I was).

And on a different note: when I was younger, I dreamed of owning a coffee shop (it’s their fault). You could say it was the only real career dream I’ve ever had, my current career being more along the lines of the chauffeur father in Sabrina who loved to be able to sit and read in the lull times at work (a tax accountant has lull times from mid April to mid January) – which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy my job. Anyway, coffee shops no longer hold the fascination they did for me when I was 20, but am totally in love with Waffle House. Nothing beats going to a WaHo all by yourself and sitting at the bar with a cup of coffee and some hash browns (covered and chunked) and a BEC. I could live there. And apparently I’d have lots to talk about.