“Coffee at The Bodega”

I decided to treat myself yesterday and stopped in the brand new coffee house that just opened. The Bodega. In Spanish, bodega actually means grocery store. But a broader meaning is a meeting place where you get supplies. I knew when I walked into this sweet storefront…this wasn’t your average run-of-the-mill coffee house. There was something special going on here.

The atmosphere is soft, inviting, with a great big overstuffed sofa with a soft blanket and pillows. Next to it was a huge, supple leather chair. Small tables, fresh flowers, and a sort of fresh vintage farmhouse vibe made the place very comfortable. I ordered one of the homemade cinnamon rolls and a latte. Both were delicious. The staff were warm and inviting and are willing to accommodate the Coffee Divas when we gather for our monthly caffeine infusions.

“I am hoping this is the one!”

The last time I was a Mother of the Bride was in 1995. It’s been a while. I’m an entirely different person this time around than I was when my older daughter got married. I was a hyper-involved helicopter mom back then. Just ask my daughter. She will tell you that she really had very little to do with her wedding because it was MY party. Many years of therapy later, I can now see that I lived the life I wished I’d had vicariously through her. I had terrible stage fright. She was in theater. SO cool! I wasn’t popular or athletic enough to be a cheerleader. She was. Uber awesome! She had cool friends that I got to hang out with. She got to go to college and live in a dorm! I was positively green with envy. She married the first young man she met in college and they were (and still are) perfect for each other. I wanted the fairy tail life she had. She loved me because I was her mom. But she hated me all the same. And I don’t blame her.

“Tea is my friend!”

Sunday after church, my little great granddaughter couldn’t wait to come to me after her mama got her out of the kids area. Oh….she is the sweetest little thing. She reached out and I took her in my arms and she promptly stuck her full hand in my mouth. Ugh…you have know idea where that little hand has been but she’s a baby. What can you do? You extricate her hand and give her squidgy kisses all over her little face, that’s what you do!

“Awakened Women know from whence they came. Overcoming brokenness takes a great deal of hard work and patience.”

It would probably be safe to say most of us have been wounded in one way or another in our lives. You don’t get to 65 without some bumps and bruises. I spent so much of my adult life as one of the walking wounded. Growing up with an alcoholic father, being subjected to sexual abuse, experiencing brutality at the hands of a teacher, and getting the pee scared out of me by a traveling preacher were the foundation of fear that wounded my little girl psyche. That led me down a path of self destruction that nearly ended my life.

“Ahhhh, the vagaries of youth…some I miss, most I don’t!”

So, here’s a topic we’ve never delved into…that dreaded part of being a woman during her reproductive years. Yes…that monthly visit from Aunt Flo. I can tell you this, when I had a total hysterectomy in 1994, I was tickled as all get out to get rid of that monster. Unfortunately, it was immediately replaced with a rampant case of “InstaPause”…full on menopause symptoms felt all at once when I came out of anesthesia. None of that slip-sliding into the quasi psychotic stages of hot flashes, weight gain, depression, anxiety, and hair growing out of places where hair should NEVER grow on a woman. Noooooo….I dove head first into that lovely mess. The only good part about the whole thing was saying goodbye to Aunt Flo for good!

“I love vintage embroidered linens.”

When we finally got home from town after church yesterday, I went out to TOW-Wanda and started getting her ready for the camping season. And, by getting her ready I mean I made the bed. And got in it. There’s nothing better than a good book in your camper on a Sunday afternoon. That, and a little snooze.

As I was getting the linens out to dress the bed, I came across these pillow cases. The blue and white one was purchased as part of a set made from antique German linens I purchased in Colorado in the ‘80s. The antique dealer had them embroidered…the pillow cases with the scroll embroidery and the shams with “Good Morning” and “Good Night”. I love this set and had forgotten the pillowcase had made it’s way into my camper at some point. 

“We’re all Irish on St. Paddy’s Day!”

According to my DNA test results, I am 23% Irish-Scottish. I wish I would have known this  before Mr. Virgo died because he was a very, very proud Irish lad. I mean…McKinney, right? It doesn’t get much more Irish than that. He acted like he had a corner on the market when it came to Irish roots. He adored St. Patrick’s Day. Every year, we had corned beef and cabbage and fried apples for dinner. He stopped short of wearing green since he worked in 5-Star hotels and restaurants. He had a certain decorum about him. But, ohhhhhh, that was HIS holiday.

“You don’t see tzitzit around these parts very often.”

The other evening, I was home by myself and had a hankering for pizza. I’ll bet I have had one slice of pizza in the last six years and Giovanni’s was calling my name. Mr. FixIt doesn’t like this place so, since he wasn’t at home, I decided to go by myself. Ohhhhhh, I wasn’t sorry. Although the crust was just the slightest bit too soft on the bottom center, it was overall divine!

“I know it isn’t officially spring, but….this is good enough for me!”

Beware the Ides of March, they say. March 15th hasn’t always been my favorite day. For instance, this was the day Hubby #2 told me he wanted a divorce. Not one of my better days. This was also the day of Mr. Virgo’s viewing and Rosary which knocked all previous bad days out of the bad day competition up to that point. I think the 16th nudged ahead of that one.

“Frieda got a new pair of shoes!”

West Virginia requires a yearly vehicle inspection. That’s a good thing. Without that, I can just imagine the kind of cars and trucks that would be out on these country roads. It’s a pretty rigorous inspection, too. You can fail if the tint on your windows is just a little too dark. Or if you have a hole in your muffler. Or, as was my case yesterday…Frieda needed a new pair of shoes.