My favorite thing these days is going to the local coffee shop for breakfast with my husband. We go twice each week. I love the atmosphere--old dark wood floors, brick walls painted creamy white, mortar oozing out thickly like abundant frosting. Yes, I want to eat the walls.
The coffee shop is set in old downtown. Huge glass windows allow a pleasant view of Main street happenings and passers-by. There are plants here and there and sometimes little flowers on the tables. Local artists display their work on the walls, adding a bit of culture, which I am always thirsting for.
Also, we enjoy seeing the workers. They are young, breezy, friendly types. We know them all by name, they know us too, and what we always order. They play cool music in there, but not too loud. Just the right ambiance. I like to watch people come and go. It's nice to see them enjoying each other's company.
This morning a little girl came shuffling over to the bus tubs to deposit two mini metal jelly roll pans. She was white blond, with part of her hair in a silly side-car pony tail. She smiled, turned around, and clomped back hoppily to her mother, who then lifted her up, seated her on the counter, and began bundling her up to go outside.
She was a young mom, with thick brown hair twisted into a loose old-fashioned bun. As she put a white knit hat on the girl, she paused. Then she put her face right up against her daughter's little pink cheek and whispered something. She then gently caressed the sides of her face as the little girl grasped the lapels of her mother's coat.
I can never express the tenderness of that moment.
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