This Starbucks is always so trashy. I literally mean the tables always have crumbs and sticky, dried liquid on them and often straw wrappers or napkins are littered about on the floor or at least on a minimum of one counter or tabletop, too. It is the one local to me and I rarely come here except for when my instinct, like tonight, says so. Tonight when I walked in there was only one other customer and all the grody empty places to sit. That’s when I realized, oh this is why I’m never here.
In Laguna Beach it would frequently get that way, too, but only after the certain times a day that the rush of tourists coming off Main beach needed their afternoon caffeine. The employees there were always so good about getting it all cleaned up and put back together. It was one of my two regular spots to write and be alone without loneliness. I miss it, Laguna Beach, my lifestyle there, my independence, the so many places to go and simply be. I think of it daily, lately.
Today it was stormy since noon. I felt drowsy, emotional, in need of rest. I took a nap after work before therapy and knew before I even got to my therapist’s that when we were done I’d want comfort food. I drove immediately to The Farmer’s Wife when we finished up for fresh fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy even though the mug outside hung thick as wet flour air.
I didn’t have my wallet. Thankfully I figured this out before ordering.
In my car I called my mom to see if she felt like meeting me for comfort food. She said, your dad just called and asked me the same.
So she got my wallet for me, and we all met at the country place that used to be Jody’s a while. I sat across from my dad, my nose still stuffed from at least 8 or 10 tissues full of snot leak specific to him.
Life is surreal, its own weird storm. Its own odd, ubiquitous light shining out of its clouds of grey. Words, this is my co-created prayer to you–of you–of thanks for no matter the place, always yielding your own kind of quiet grace.