MFK Fisher writes:

I also think that if you eat meat, it is disingenuous not to eat all of the animal whence your choice cut may have come.

-Eat My Globe by Simon Majumdar. New York: Free Press, 2009.

Alaska Airlines used to offer stamped gold ingots to frequent travelers, a program that preceded the current type of mileage program. I think I earned a few of the smallest ones, which were paper-thin and rectangular, with rounded edges. Dad suggested that people could make earrings out of them, but I never was so lucky as to have mine converted.

I also recall that he had a poster of the various sizes one could earn with their travel. He, of course, had ones larger than mine, and I could only dream that any of us could ever receive the largest shown at the top of the picture.

Imagine this in the current age of mileage programs. At first blush, most would pshaw receiving gew-gaws instead of accrued credit toward an airline ticket. But now consider that those ingots are plain gold and easily sold for their weight.

Which would you prefer for your loyalty program - mileage accrual or a cash rebate?

Now that we're showered, let's think about breakfast. Downstairs I go, still wearing my interim tee-shirt!

In the kitchen, I'll start by pulling forward the coffeemaker next to the sink and insert its filter holder and pot. I fold an oversized paper filter to fit the mini holder (mine is a 5-cup model), preferring the thrift of bulk-purchased filters to the convenience of the smaller (and more expensive) filters. I used to use the golden metal filter that came with the unit, but it took on an old-coffee flavor over time.

I measure3 generous scoops of ground coffee from my canister over the sink. The coffee is a windfall for me - my father-in-law is a coffee-lover and is generous in sharing his mail-order Starbucks with me. I pull the faucet sprayer over to this side of the sink and fill the water tank to the "3" level and close the top. I plug it into the wall and press the power button to commence brewing. Since it is meant to be left on all day (for the 1/2 hour of use I give it?), it has a digital clock, which now blinks to remind me to bring it current. I press the hour button once. If I had a young child just learning to tell time, he would think that we breakfasted at 1:00 a.m. every morning.

With the coffee in the works, I put the small fry pan on to heat. On my particular gas stovetop, I turn the dial on the closer-left burner to just-after-4. Sometimes I have to pivot the handle around because the body of the pan tilts up and away from the flame; the handle needs to extend in the same direction as one of the iron arms of the stovetop.

I put on exam gloves once the pan is heating, and reach into the fridge for bacon and eggs. The gloves are a protective measure against excessive hand-washing - a recommendation from my dermatologist for my continual hand eczema, an "affliction" I've had since my teen years. My bacon has already been sliced into halves, and I choose 3 of these for mincing. I do this quickly so I can get them into the pan and melt the grease.

With gloved hands still greasy, I break 3 eggs into a bowl and fish out one of the yolks to toss down the garbage disposal. The shells get put into a brown bag specifically for egg shells. When the bag is full I'll crush them in one lot and sprinkle them on the ground outside.

I toss my gloves in the trash and return to the fridge for mushrooms (1 if I have the large ones from Costco, or 2-3 if they're from nearly anywhere else). I slice these and add them to the spittling bacon. I'll also take the opportunity to scrape up the less-fatty bacon bits from their adhesion to the pan (non-stick, my foot!).

I return the egg carton, bacon bag, and unused mushrooms to the fridge, trading them for the Costco carton of pico de gallo. Depending on how new it is, I drain a bunch of liquid using the cap to catch solid stuff. Otherwise, I just dip in a slotted and regular serving spoon and squeeze a reasonable amount of juice off before adding the mix to my eggs. I lightly whip up the combination with a fork, at least making sure that the yolks are broken.

The egg-and-pico goes on top of the cooking bacon and mushrooms. I can let these sit for a moment, and find a mug to pre-warm for the coffee. I put away the pico-de-gallo and any other items that are out of place and easily handle. Every so often I take my rubber scraper (silcone, so it won't melt) and move the egg mix around for even cooking. I don't try to scrape up what burns to the bottom; I consider that the "cost of doing business" with this recipe. The bacon grease helps quite a bit, though.

Finally, when the eggs are done to my liking, I put the whole batch out into a bowl. If I have avocados available, I'll slice one on top (even though they serve only a single purpose, I highly recommend avocado-slicers!). Then I add a fork and put it on the table. The pan goes to the back of the stove for later attention. While the eggs cool to an edible temperature, I dump the warming water from my cup into the sink and fill it 3/4 full with coffee and add perhaps a tablespoon of French Vanilla Coffee-Mate for sweetness and creaminess.

When I'm completely virtuous, I "absorb" the meal with all my senses while I eat it. More likely, however, I read a book at breakfast. Or blog.

I take a shower every morning. Night doesn't work at all - my hair is all greasy and I'd spend the whole day smelling like "night sweat." Each day starts clean.

Find undies in drawer and grab relatively-clean tee from closet door handle. Proceed to bathroom and close door. If we're in the middle of winter darkness, I'll turn on the shower light. If there's enough ambient light at that time of day, I'll do without the light.

Open shower door, nudge nozzle aim toward wall, turn to HOTTEST, step back out for warm-up period. Turn ventilation on to 60-minute setting.

Remove clothing: pull nightshirt inside-out and hang on peg. Pull off sweats and hang on same peg, carefully keeping space between stinky night clothes and cleanish re-wearable clothes. Socks and undergarments are then removed, I crack open the door, I toss the items in the laundry basket outside, and re-close the door.

Pee in toilet. If I don't do this, I will have the unignorable urge to pee once I climb into the shower. Peeing is a must, even if I don't think I need to go. Flush and wash. (Not sure why I wash, given that I'm about to immerse in a full-body cleanse, but it seems a good habit not to break.)

Pull floor towel from either the side of the towel rack (if husband showered last) or from front bar (if I showered last) and place on floor in front of shower door.

Adjust water from HOTTEST to GOOD-N-HOT and re-aim nozzle back to center. Step into shower and close shower door. With back to nozzle wall, let water soak my hair until I am completely warm.

At this point, if I find I have been scatter-brained lately, I begin to count sets of ten. I estimate each task should take no more than 10 counts, and thusly counting can keep me on-track and away from day-dreaming time away in the shower.

10 counts to shampoo. (No enlightment here - I apply some citrus-smelling stuff and scrub.)

Turn to face nozzle wall and 10 counts to let hot water melt the adhesive on my Breathe-Right nosestrip. Used strip gets placed in Dixie cup next to shower toiletries.

10 counts to apply face wash to face, make sure to massage into my nose creases. If I squirted out too much, I'll apply the extra to my neck.

Turn back around and cut length of dental floss. Wrap around fingers and count off the spaces between my teeth (more than 10). Used floss gets placed in Dixie cup trash.

Adjust nozzle to JET setting.

10 counts to rinse the shampoo out of my hair. I typically move my head in a zig-zag pattern to get a full forehead-to-nape rinse.

Soak washcloth under nozzle for 10 counts. Wring and scrub facial wash off face. Rinse washcloth, wring again, and replace on hook.

Warm plasticy used-to-be-a-spa-pom-pom under spray. Wad and dip in soap dish residue and measure 10 counts to scrub under arms. Allow for any other cleansing at this time.

If I recently had my legs waxed, I will allow 10 counts per leg to scrub the lower leg skin, as to discourage ingrown hairs. I'm not certain this actually provides any protection, but it's a satisfying scritch nonetheless.

Twist nozzle back to shower mode and rinse fully before turning handle to OFF position. Brush water off easily-accessible large swaths of body. Open door and step out onto floor towel.

Reach over toilet area divider and pull bath towel from towel bar. Dry self, starting with face. It helps to make "mrfff mrfff" sounds while drying this part. Continue to dry, top to bottom, and end by twisting towel into turban atop head.

Apply fancy hand cream to face, being careful to cover area under eyebrows, but not so far as the eyelids (I risk sweating the lotion oils into my eyes otherwise). Apply deodorant. Apply different hand cream to biceps, as they always seem to be dry.

Assess chin for tweezing. If hairs found, curse that I didn't do this before I applied the somewhat slippery cream on my face.

Remove towel, fold lengthwise and snake it over the towel bar to dry. Same with floor towel.

Don undies and brush hair with green plastic Goody brush with protected bristle ends.

Don cleanish pants from bathroom hook. Don tee I brought in with me. I'll wear this for the next 1/2 hour 'til I've stopped sweating from the hot shower, at which point I'll put on my "real" shirt for the day.

Exit bathroom, squeaky clean.

There are certain foods I've recently come to believe just aren't worth: the calories, the effort of eating, or the slime in the mouth. It's not a diet thing, it's just a complete realization.

Example:

Doughnuts. My child asks for them as a special treat. We make the date. We visit the hole-in-the-wall doughnut shop. We browse for our favorites: maple bar for her, perhaps an old-fashioned for me (or a bismark, apple fritter, cherry turnover, etc.). They smell yeasty and sweet. The sugar is pleasant, but then the fat begins to coat my teeth and mouth. Pretty soon it seems to hit my gut. Gas follows sometime after, and perhaps a Tums-worthy moment. Hopefully it won't seek a rampage on my bowels.

That's a lot of displeasure for a nice smell and an initial sweet sensation. What I find most interesting is that I still believe I crave them.

Stupid doughnut lust.

I, too, have a birthmark. ("Too"? Remember that these posts are inspired by theEncyclopedia book. Read it if you need to understand my references.)

I've had a quarter-size birthmark on my right shoulder since I can remember. It used to be dark brown and fuzzy, like a peach. My mother dutifully had it inspected at my annual pediatric appointments.

One year, while on vacation, half of it turned an unsightly greenish color, and I think my mother may have panicked; that half was removed and biopsied almost immediately. The results were negative (in other words, positive for good health) - no cancers, no infection - nothing but a mole (or, as my mother's family called them, "Wyllers").

Back at home, we scheduled a visit with a specialist to have the entire thing removed. Careful to preserve my back-modeling career, we also met with a plastic surgeon who had a procedure for taking skin from behind the ear to graft over the surgical area. The result would be blended skin instead of an unsightly 1-inch scar.

Unfortunately, the graft never "took" and I have a puffy slightly-larger-than-a-quarter-sized red mark on my back. Yeah, way better than a linear 1-inch scar.

It's a great ice-breaker at fancy dress parties where I wear strapless dresses, or at the pool when I put on a swimsuit. It always gives a new massage therapist pause; just wait 'til they touch it!

When I was in middle school, I wrote a poem about it, entitled, "The Devil on My Back." I illustrated the work with pencil drawing of a fanciful tree burl... with satanic horns. Did I mention I was a middle schooler?

All-in-all, it doesn't bother me as an adult. I only remember it's there I attend the aforementioned parties or pool events and another guest makes a small, compassionate gasp. It's as much a part of me as my hand eczema or the way my connected nerves make my finger web and throat tickle at the same time.

I live a sexy, sexy life.