Coffee shop perspectives

What does a writer do when they are one day early for a breakfast date...

Original photo of my delicious breakfast, taken to pass on to my friends to entice them for tomorrow’s actual meeting

Concerned that I would be late, I arrived a full day early to meet friends Kathy and Keely to discuss a joint business adventure, similar to a business venture but infinitely more fun. Having discovered the error of my ways post placing my order, I settled into a lovely table for two in the sunroom.

The restaurant is quant; filled with interesting tables, chairs, and tchotchkes reminiscent of what one might see if we were in France, instead of Regina, Saskatchewan. The main room as well as the adjoining addition are outfitted with fireplaces; choice tables are occupied by the long-retired set; sitting alone quietly, I am privy to their conversations. I heard about the exploits of others; children and grands filled with opinions about the various goings on. These are the retired well-to-do sharing pride and worry about the state of the world.

Why do ten-year-olds need electronic devices? Why are women these days so certain of themselves? It makes one lady uncomfortable to be in her presence. We weren’t like that when we were their age…

I used to suffer extreme discomfort sitting alone. I worried what the others would think of me being all by myself. “Doesn’t she have any friends? She must be lonely? I wonder why she cannot get anyone to come with her?” The truth of the matter is they are not thinking about me at all. They are deep in their own conflab.

The discussion has turned to “losing children”. This is not the type of loss that I experienced with my daughter passed away at age five, thankfully; this loss they speak of is when a child chooses to move away from where the parents reside. I cannot relate to their concerns. My sons are grown and I hope I have instilled in them confidence to follow their dreams; to go where their hearts lead, confidence to know they will be okay wherever they put down roots.

I did not do that when I was younger. My dreams of being a home economics teacher were doused by the belief that my parents could not afford to pay for me to attend school over two hours away in another city. I never asked, instead assuming that was not an option for me. Instead, I settled into first hear university pursuing a Bachelor of Arts with a psychology major and a French minor. I lasted one year, then decided to take a break. The break lasted forty years, I could go back…

Now the ladies closest to me are deciding what one’s eldest granddaughter should do with her life after graduation in the spring.

“Well, I would not push anyone into acting; then again, I wouldn’t push them into accounting either…”

Hearing that activated my inner judgement; I wouldn’t “push” anyone at all.

These elders seem to be deciders. I prefer to ask questions, probing the other, hoping to assist in dislodging of their dreams, propelling them into the light of day. There is joy in those who speak of their dreams; I love to watch that fantasy plays across their faces. I also prefer not to take responsibility for the important life decisions of other people.

Hopefully, today’s parents are encouraging offspring to follow their heart’s desires; seek out the rainbow and peek in the pot. Is there gold in there or something far more precious?

Ooooh… now the discussion is far more attractive to me, one is describing a podcast where scientists investigating the nature of dark matter. The Big Bang; is it spontaneous, or an act of God? I will sit this chai latte more slowly now. Would it be rude to inquire for the name of the podcast? Likely yes. Perhaps her companion will ask?

Outside the window, geese are coming home to roost. A flock in their infamous V formation just flew in the view of the window. Others call them Canadian Geese; we locals refer to them as cobra chickens; it is best to admire them from a far and also to watch your step if you dare to walk where they gather. That makes me wonder if the term “goose step” is actually about how they walk, or how we walk to avoid their green gooey leavings…

Oh darn, the conversation turned to politics and the ongoing teacher’s strike. The podcast name will remain a mystery to me.

This is day three hundred ninety of my practice of writing Morning Pages as per Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way book; the first day of writing them in public.

The table in front of the fireplace has filled now with more of the silver haired set; this time two men. Their discussion is sports related, no surprises there. Armchair coaches of hockey and curling; if only the coaches could access the collective wisdom of the collective couches…

Time to wrap up my pages for today. A book club has taken the table closest to me and it is getting too loud to concentrate.

Thank you for reading this far, following the ramblings of My Weird and Wonderful Life from this perch in Le Macaron.

Original photo with characters to hide the identity of the characters in the room ;)

I hope your day is filled with passionate pursuits which light sparkles of joy in your heart.

In Oneness,

~~Patricia Meier