Life is getting too complicated. I suppose that complexity is a sign of sophistication, advanced civilization and high culture, but it sure does rack up the stress level. My personal opinion is that things began to get complicated shortly after computers were invented. I mean, one can’t have a brilliant invention like the computer sitting around with nothing complicated for it to process, now can one? Everything has got to be categorized, specialized, accessorized or systematized.
This was brought home to me this week when I succumbed to the nostalgic whim to have breakfast at a café that I had neglected for several years. The place used to be one of my favorites. I remembered it as a rustic log building tucked into the woods on an undeveloped stretch of road in Northwest Fairbanks. I had been a regular there a number of years ago, and had always been impressed by the friendly, laid-back atmosphere, the 15 cent bottomless coffees and their enormous “Prospector’s Hollow Leg” breakfast platter. The Hollow Leg was served on a full sized gold pan which groaned under the weight of four eggs, a McKinley sized mountain of hash browns, a necklace of sausage links as fat as a Sumo wrestler, a queen mattress of ham, a teetering tower of blueberry pancakes, half a loaf of toast, and the best side dish of biscuits and gravy north of Nashville.
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