Yummy

 Journal Day 34

My first thought is that I really miss the park. Unlike the park, the only things to lay my eyes on at a book store are the books that I will not be buying, sea salt caramels, sugar cookies and pumpkin scones that I should not have. Let's not forget the coffee menu tempting me with an eggnog latte. I say "yes" to the latte!

Tomorrow, I will change it up and go to my old stomping grounds, Estabrook Cancer Center. It was where I received radiation treatment at 10:00 a.m., every day, for six weeks straight. It's a large building with lots of places to sit. I won't venture to where radiation takes place, even though there were always plenty of seats in that part of the building. Too many memories that are just a bit raw. 

The first month of radiation was not too uncomfortable. The last two weeks were a slow torture of knowing that my poor burned chest was getting zapped again and again. I look at the photos T took of my chest, and I am amazed at my own tenacity. I had a chest that was a bright red, peeling, bubbled mess. 

For six weeks, I drove myself to that building and took my medicine. During those last two weeks, I cried every day all the way home. I did it, and now it's behind me. So, why you may be asking, would I want to go back to Estabrook CC to write?

It's ridiculously simple. It was in that building, and in its sister-facility in West Omaha, in which I met the bravest, most interesting people that I have ever known. As for another reason - all be it selfish - I want to see what it feels like to be in that building and NOT have cancer that has to be burned out of me. I will sit and people watch with a fully healed chest and happier spirit.

The coffee shop in the bookstore looks charming, but doesn't feel charming. All of the goodies are in the showcase. There are many varieties of coffee to drink. (I highly recommend the skinny, eggnog latte with cinnamon, nutmeg, and sans whipped cream.) Out of the seven open tables, I found every single one was tippy, making it uncomfortable to write upon. Let's talk chairs. Ugh! Starbucks has chairs that beg to be slid into for long cozy conversations over coffee. The chairs here are small cafe chairs made for butts the size of Christian Bale's in The Machinist. They are only barely cushioned, so it is hard to get comfortable. These tables and chairs say move along; these aren't the accommodations you are looking for. (Bing and her altered StarWars quotes!)

I order my latte and lie when the perky barista requests my name. I lie. I do this frequently at coffee houses. They are one of the few places where you can lie about your name and not feel guilty. I always make up names I like to use as my "coffee shop name." Siobhan. Clarissa. Melody. Bellee - the gypsy spelling with two e's, mind you. Amanda. Catherine. Rebecca. Cecily. Today, I decide on Claire.

I sit down (uncomfortably) and look around. The guy to my side appears to be balancing his checkbook online. Two young women are sitting across from me. One is African-American; the other White. They are from the same family. They are comparing Christmas lists.

"So, you get Daddy and Brent, and I'll get Mama and Chris," one says. "The books can be from both of us."

The other agrees. They discuss what to buy. Mama will get a book about baking bread. Chris and Brent both will get video games. Chris will get get something called The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Brent will get Battlefield 3. 

"I think that's the one with Kit Harrington" one of the women says.

"Yummy!" the other answers.

Yummy, indeed, is what I'm thinking when it comes to the Lord of the North!

They talk about a book for Daddy. They agree that he doesn't need any more political books. 

One of the sisters reaches for her sunglasses and gathers up her purse while draining her coffee.

"He's already so pissed about the election. Let's not feed that flame," she advises.

The other sister laughs. "Well, I suppose getting him The Art of the Deal is off the table," she jokes.

"Good Lord, Grace!" her sister says." Tony Schwartz wrote that book, and Trump took full credit."

"Just like him stopping Ford from moving plants to Mexico, when Ford never planned on moving them in the first place," her sister says, sighing.

I am really liking this sister pair. As they put on their coats, they agree to do research on books for Daddy and get back to each other before the family dinner on Sunday. They hug and kiss cheeks before leaving.

I sit and watch the coffee house fill and empty, and fill and empty once again. The music over the speakers is some sort of holiday jazz that leaves me feeling antsy. The patrons around me seem all the same. Most are alone. Most are taking a break from shopping for Christmas. Some have books which they open carefully and read while they sip their coffee. I don't think they've committed to buying the books just yet. I'm kind of the same. I could never afford to buy all the books I want, so I wander up and down the aisles, feverishly writing down titles in my notebook to check out later at the library.

"Claire?" I hear a pleasant voice ask. I look around, but no one answers. It's the barista talking.

"Claire?" she calls out again. This time I note the name on the cup and turn stupidly to look at this very perky barista.

"How's the latte?" she asks. "Sure I can't get you a blueberry muffin or pretzel to go with it?"

I shake my head no and smile. I begin to gather up my things.

I believe that I've overstayed my welcome.

@MeaningOfCare @BookwormOmaha @BNBuzz @Starbucks @GameOfThrones