A woman with a beautifully dark complexion and a thick mass of hair that hangs down past the ties of her green apron just came and cleared my table. "Got left with the dishes," she commented.
"That is a GOOD deal," I said. "Left with the dishes but no kids. I'll take that ANY day."
I stood up and tried to help her load up the black tray and succeeded in tipping over plastic cups and wadding a bunch of white napkins in one fist. "We had a bit of an incident with the hot chocolate," I explained. (Was I twitching? Was my eyelid fluttering uncontrollably?)
"That's what a mop is for," she replied, waiting as I fumbled with more dishes. Finally she said, as I swiped at a storm of crumbs all over the table, "And we have cloths to mop off the tables, too."
Now the woman is wiping off the rack of gift cards by the check-out, her hair lustrous under the recessed lighting--and I realize that she's pregnant, close to her due date. Is it her first child? Heh, heh. Life is about to change forever, lady.
Another couple just came in with a baby strapped in a car seat--the man, an older guy with trendy glasses and hiking boots, just paused from working on his Blackberry to tuck in a striped green, white, and blue blanket back into the seat. His wife, also working on a Blackberry, speaks low in German. Goopy, spineless, relaxing music--high female voices singing indecipherable but probably Christmassy lyrics-- spread over us all like a vague blessing. . .the man utters a long stream of oogie-boogie--ahs and unearths his son, a surprisingly chunky kid, suited up in shades of blue, from the depths of the blanket. Now, over the loudspeaker, there's a disturbingly operatic cover of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah.
Just a few minutes ago, this corner of the box bookstore up on a hill just over the PA border in West Virginia was a blur of hands waving soup spoons, smashed bagel pieces, crushed green straws, and an arc of hot chocolate that spattered two out of five family members--Bea had already speckled her white turtleneck with chocolate and Elspeth, who dropped the cup, missed the fountain entirely.
It was shortly after the chaos that Martin offered to take the girls to the children's section and the woman with the gleaming hair came and saved our table from its sad state.
And there you have it. Just another peaceful family outing. And still the Christmas music streams on--now a 1950's beat, a perky female voice, and lyrics that include: bells, ring out, Christmas every day.
It's a magical time, all in all.
Now Italian, a duet of two of the world's most full-throated tenors.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
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