By golly, that’s not bad. A 2 1/2 egg omelet (eggs and egg whites) with cheese, sauteed bacon, peppers, mushrooms and red onions. I made three of ’em for Elizabeth and our sons. The magic ingredient is that truffle spice. It goes on the inside. Parsley flakes on the outside. Ciabatta bread with avocado spread added to the omelet.

I think I’m up because I have a meningioma, a benign tumor attached to the brain lining, and that’s a common side effect. I have at least two sleepless nights a week.

I’m having surgery at Stanford in June to remove what I call Manny the Meningioma, so I’m sure anxiety plays a part.

But why waste a sleepless night? So I make omelets. And I watch movies on Turner Classic Movies. Tonight it was this one.

To be truthful, it wasn’t all that good. The lead, Shirley Knight, is very attractive, a woman running away from her husband in a Ford Galaxy station wagon the size of USS Nimitz, so it’s kind of a road picture like so many from the late 60s and early70s—Easy Rider, Vanishing Point, Sugarland Express, but not, say Rosemary’s Baby.

I kept watching it because she befriends James Caan, as an ex-football player with traumatic brain injury. Right up my alley. And, in mid-movie, Robert Duvall appears as a motorcycle cop who woos Knight. Not well.

It was pretty thin soup, but it kind of compelling, too. Then, at the end of the film, TCM host Ben Manciewicz informed us that the director (his fourth film) was Francis Ford Coppola.

Wowsers.

I don’t know what Wheaties Coppola ate in the next three years (maybe it was omelets?), but he gave us, with Caan and Duvall, The Godfather in 1972.

A quantum leap. Casablanca is the only film I’ve watched more than The Godfather.

And seeing Caan and Duvall, no longer with us, as young actors was an honor. I miss them.

Now go out and buy some truffle spice.