My last few posts were heavy, let's lighten the mood. As I work to carve out a little "me" time, time that is by myself and for myself, I am going to try to visit some places in this small city that I haven't been to before (and a few that I visit a lot). Some might be theraputic, some might be indulgent, and some might be for amusement. My first stop, now that the dizziness from my medication has worn off and I can drive again, was The Overflow Cafe, in Northgate Plaza, where The British Shop was...
I walk through the door, which is built to resemble a British phone booth, and am instantaneously greeted. I find a two top around the corner from where I entered. I am nestled in the corner, my back to the window, with a view of the whole, quaint cafe.
A table full of men laugh and crack jokes, sharing stories about driving trips and cars. A group of coast guards walk by outside, and one man grins ear to ear, and says, "Ahhhh, women in uniform..." It makes me smile and picture this table of middle aged men as a table of teenagers. I think the man who spoke knows I heard him, his cheeks are a little bit red. The table beside me is swapping ideas back and fourth at an increasing speed. They sound like they are planning a new business venture, and I find myself picturing their imagined space, wondering if it will come to fruition. Another table harbours a loner diner. At one point, our gazes meet, and she greets me with the warmest of smiles. This simple action fills my cup a little bit. The waitress comes by quickly to take my order, and then often, offering coffee, which is a little bitter, but not the worst coffee I have ever had. My breakfast arrives, and I am impressed with the portions, knowing full well that I will only be able to eat about half of it. Poached eggs, rye toast, home-fries, and bacon. The food is well made, hot, and came out in a reasonable amount of time.
I continue reading the article that I started this morning while I pick away at my breakfast. I am not overly hungry, but one of the medications that I take for crohns must be taken with food. This article pulls me into another world, it is sad, it is dark, and it is sprinkled with stories of hope. Although I am often flippant about how I can best serve to help others, the way that this article touches me reiterates inside this feeling of being called to offer help.
I ask for my bill, and the waitress promptly returns with it. When I walk up to pay, I only have to wait a moment. I leave a 50% tip, because breakfast waitresses work hard, and head off to an appointment. I will definitely be back.