Hibernation

We’ve been in Buena Vista for almost three weeks now. Our home is about ten minutes out of town, so trips in are intentional and sometimes not so frequent. Often I carpool with my mother-in-law or husband. There is always a time of hibernation when returning from oveseas. You settle in, unpack, look around at ‘home’ and remember. It takes awhile before you’re ready to explain yourself; your shock at a menu in a restaurant, your confusion in the grocery store, your extra relishing in a bagel. After three weeks I am ready to come out, ready to be caught by an old friend in a coffee shop or the local library. I was also ready to leave the house and get a little ‘alone’ time.
I asked Scott if it was alright if I took that time, Friday morning, he looked at me and said, ‘You better go.’ So I went. As I kissed Emma good-bye I felt guilty, dirty, free. I drove down into town and cranked the Janet Jackson song on the local radio station. Mother’s, a local coffee shop, was my destination.
I ordered a single cappuccino and upped my order to include a blueberry scone to fit the five dollar card limit. BV the only place in America where you still have to carry cash. I look down at the tiny scone that Barista serves me, for two dollars it would be nice it filled a dinner plate. Oh well.
I go outside to chose a table on the patio while the barista makes my drink. There was a marble sculpture in the midst of the mismatched chaise lounges and wrought iron tables. I rotated around it, it was good work. The sculptor had deliberately left scars from the anfle in the meat of the stone. I never know what to think about that choice, Lazy? Artistic? Nonetheless it’s a pretty sculpture and obvious the artist has talent. I feel some jealousy, as I think about all the artistic things I want to do, and all the time I don’t have.
I go back in to collect my drink. The barista is still making, I lean on the wall and wait. She turns around, calls me honey, which I find humorous because I think I may be older than her, and tells me she can’t get good foam. So take this one to sip on and I’ll bring you another one outside. I shrug and thank her, take the first drink outside and watch the local Coloradans shuffle in and out of the patio area, with their scraggly hair and bra-optional attire. When she brought me the second one she was right, the first one the shot tasted a bit old and the foam wasn’t great, the second hit my tongue with that perfect espresso bite.
I loved this. I can tell when I get a bad espresso shot, I think few can. Many prefer their coffee laden with vanilla or caramel, I like it pure, either black or with milk. I do hate when I spend my money and get a drink reminiscent of old dirt rather than that smooth dark bitterness. This cappuccino was a treat, this excursion was a treat, and rather than giving me a bad cup of coffee because she was lazy she re-did it. I would have been disappointed with a bad drink, maybe a little more than is emotionally sound. You never know how your actions will affect a person and for her she definitely made me happier…who knows with this she may have just made a regular customer.