For everything there is a season.

The Roystonian is a restaurant where I’ve eaten often. Long ago. Recently. Regularly.

Many memories of many meals on many mornings with many people through many seasons.

Conversations. Laughter. Confessions. Stories. Ideas. Hopes. Prayers.

My regular order? Scrambled eggs, grits, sausage, wheat toast (not burned), and strawberry jelly. With a to-go box. I only eat half at breakfast; I save the rest for lunch.

Business breakfasts and family breakfasts and breakfasts with friends.

Those who live in town. Those who are visiting town. We would meet there and eat there. Morning breakfasts at the Roystonian, while aging and enduring life’s seasons of joy and pain and waiting and thinking. Yes, many meals during many seasons.

Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Decades.

But places close. Seasons end. Goodbyes are said. Stories are recalled. Faces are remembered.

What do I remember? My last meal there with Pops before he died. My last meal there with DaddyO before he died. My many friends eating there for their first times. And now, eating there for the last time.

It reminds me of changes. It reminds me of goodbyes.

What do you remember?

Let’s enjoy sitting at the tables where we sit. Let’s enjoy the meals we receive. Time changes things. People die. Restaurants close, or move to new places.

Thank you, Roystonian.

For everything there is a season.