My writer’s block was temporarily lifted as I was telling myself not to cry while driving down the dark road after barely missing a collision with two 8 point bucks in the middle of the road. The half moon’s reflection in the National Monument in which I drive a couple times a day, reflected on their weighted heads as I stomped on my brakes to avoid these creatures. I grabbed my phone from the passenger seat and found the button to call Marian and whined to her about me not being a pioneer woman and how much I would give to be in Minneapolis right now where the deer, moose and bears have healthy boundries and stay in the country where I don’t have to drive at night. She said, “honey it will be ok, you are just tired tonight. Go home and get in the hot tub and then go to bed.” God love her….I can’t get in the hot tub alone at night! THARS BARS in them thar woods!!! And tears were starting to well up again as I turned on to the three mile dirt road to ascend to the 9,000 foot elevated mountain home. Tears would blind me from seeing any more woodland creatures dart out in front of the car, more dangerous than texting and talking.
So when I finally unlocked the front door, I took my Chinese dinner up the stairs, turned on Unusual Dangerous Diagnosis (I think that’s the title), got out the tv table, told myself not to get on Facebook, because I am addicted to it and stuffed myself with egg Foo Yung and it was so aromatic and yummy, I moaned.
I got on Facebook. And I ranted the following paragraph on a status update of me eating Cheetos for stress relief. (The place wasn’t French. It was a stupid coffee house that served Italian sodas, Mediterranean plates and sold Greek Orthodox Icons!.with one waiter who said he was too busy and only one serving, to serve food, and there wasn’t even any wine…. So I left early bc I was hungry and a glass of wine would have been nice. And I stopped off for Chinese, took it home and celebrated that I actually found the only Chinese place within 45 mile radius. And on my way home, I almost hit 2 8 point BUCKS! I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a pioneer mountain woman, but at least I have my CHEETOS!)
I had already been down the mountain to work and rushed back up to clean the house for out of town relatives of my roommate’s and then had to go down the pass again to a get together with some women. I was really looking forward to civilization, a glass of wine and some good food. And a chair to sit in. And I did forget to explain that this charlatan of a coffee house named Sofia something with an identity crisis, my boss was playing Celtic music with her violin and a group of other musicians. And the tables were made to seat 3 and we were a group of six and there was not a chair!!! I wanted to crumble to the ground and have a tantrum. I want real food! Where’s the liquor? It’s hot and stuffy in here and why are these fiddles so loud? So instead I went outside and grabbed a patio chair, drug it in and sat down introducing myself to an outsider that decided to join us. She was talking about some medical problem and her hair falling out! Where’s the chicken wings? I’m parched and hungry, don’t you know what I went through to come down the mountain to this thing? I even wound my hair around my fingers and pinned it up to look half way civilized?
In Minneapolis, coffee houses are coffee houses. They don’t serve Italian sodas and fruit smoothies and Mediterranean plates. They have more than one waiter and serve food on the menu, even when it is busy! They also have plenty of places to sit. The animals have boundaries and don’t leap in front of your car unless you are in the country and if it’s a Celtic place they won’t serve Mediterranean pita plates and Greek Orthodox Icons.
Next time I get all dolled up to go down the mountain in the dark, I will have a firm description and identity of the place in which we are meeting. I will make sure that when one walks in this place of business the aroma of food will be in the air and corks will be popping and there will be plenty of comfortable chairs in which to sit. The place will not have a personality disorder and serve food synonymous of it’s name, and the conversation will not be of middle aged women’s medical problems, but of sit on the edge of your seat, chew your finger nails to the nub, driving down a dark mountain, road stories.