Party Line

Welcome readers from little Indiana
C'mon on in and sit a spell.  Sign the guest book (comment) if you feel inclined.  Thanks for stopping by and nice to meet ya.

If I knew one dad gum thing about running a restaurant, I'd rent me some space at a little spot in town and serve up good strong coffee with real 1/2 & 1/2.  We'd be open for what us Hoosiers call; breakfast, dinner, and supper.  We'd even open up after  high school sporting events  basketball games, so the youngins' could get a pop and burger.  Loitering allowed.  I dreamed of such a place not too long ago and so I may just place the still imaginary "Half Way Cafe" as the setting in my novel.

I long for a simpler space and place in time. I want to walk down a brick-lined street at dusk, just before the gas lamps need to come on, and yet you can see their unnecessary glow.  In this perfect neighborhood of camaraderie, the roast beef aroma lingers as your family waves me in for pie and percolated coffee.  

Maybe you live in a brownstone and we chat for a bit while you throw a couple of wet dish towels over your fire escape wash-line.  Like the Honeymooners, when Norton comes in without knocking and Alice and Trixie share a telephone that they lower and raise via the kitchen window.  

I continue down the tree-lined street always to the same destination; a mom & pop owned coffee shop where the neon sign flashes, "Open" and everybody knows my name.  We sit outside for three seasons and then every paned window gets decorated in fake snow until it's rubbed off or replaced by red hearts.

Internet cafes have not been invented in this world of which I envy.  People talk and you can see eyebrows lower and eyes twinkle. They shake hands and hug when you walk in.

We all stay awhile and share life stories, opinions, and you tell me straight up when you disagree or if I have spinach in my teeth.  We discuss politics, sports, theology, the hereafter and whether we think it will rain next week.  We mention how blessed we are and speak about brave actors, soldiers and missionaries who walk their talk.  We ask questions about each other's family and you can sense if my heart is hurting. We take no notice of the outward appearance.   

You say "When do your parents head south?" And I say "How's your mama and them?" because your fathers have passed on. Then we solve global crisis and claim it's a wonderful world. After all.

We entertain ourselves with each other. Did you hear about the new grandbaby or the wreck out on 65 where everybody walked away? The TV gets only three channels and at midnight goes straight to the rainbow screen after the National Anthem.

In my idyllic world, I attend church just beyond city hall and the theatre marquee. Church is just church, nothing special 'bout it but the Gospel.   If we haven't connected during the week, I'll likely meet up with you in the vestibule. The church which welcomes all and never waivers from the truth.  The church with its steeple and cross, to warn and warm. It's like a moral compass, held up for all the villagers to see.

There's the library on the corner and a 5 & 10¢ store with a soda fountain counter ...

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