Our mess hall has a terrace overlooking the ocean (actually, it's the Mississippi Sound), properly equipped with outdoor furniture, including canvas sunshades.
When I do dine in our mess hall, it's generally dinner or supper, and if the weather is nice and sunny, I almost always choose to eat outside on the terrace, where I can bask in the sun and fresh air, while watching for the silhouettes of distant passing ships on the horizon.
Very few other residents ever go outside to eat, which is a mystery to me, since the experience is so pleasant.
Possibly, it's because the overwhelming majority of the residents here are physically unable to open and close a door while carrying a tray full of food, unassisted.
Because there are steps outside the door, leading from the terrace to the garage, I'm guessing the administration doesn't want anyone out there who might fall down those steps and kill themselves, something which did happen in Washington, D.C. at the Old Soldiers' Home.
Anyway, this morning, I had breakfast on the terrace.
Now, just think about that for a second.
I had breakfast on the terrace, looking out over the ocean.
You only see that phrase in novels and major Hollywood motion picture productions (the kind with a buget of millions and a cast of thousands), and even then, it's only the very rich, ultra-sophisticated, and world famous celebrities who do it.
Ain't that some kind of neat?
I had breakfast on the terrace.
Or to be a bit more stylish and snooty, I reckon I could say,
"I breakfasted on the terrace."
Who was that famous author who specialized in writing novels about life in his native Mississippi?