Memory Monday

So, it just happens to be Monday and I want to share a memory that was recently stirred up during my several sojourns in Texas.  I've related this to Dad already, so you don't have to read it if you don't want to, Dad, but I wanted to share it around as a piece of our family history.  Houston is filled with this lovely little restaurants called Taco Cabana, as you can clearly see in the photograph.  Each time I saw one I tried to figure out why I knew them, and what the significance of their familiarity was to me.

Then a few days in it hit me: Breakfast.  1996.  Saturday mornings.

After the family moved to Colorado and I was commuting weekends, I would leave early Saturday morning and catch the early flight to Denver.  Dad would meet me at door 2 or 4 or 6 (sorry, the memories not that clear) and we'd head home, often stopping first for Huevos Rancheros or some other Mexican specialty at Taco Cabana.  These were good times, a chance for a strange teen and his Dad to touch base, share and reflect on the week past and the week ahead.  Had I stayed in Houston, I'm sure I could've persuaded Dad to fly down and I'd pick him up on Saturday morning and we'd do breakfast at the The Original Mexican Patio Cafe.  Although I don't regret leaving, I'm sad we didn't get to relive one of those moments.  Alas, memories are just that because they don't happen everyday.