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.