The recommendation from a medical facility in a city suburb. A chiropractor that knows his craft well and his front desk advised a nearby cafe’ for breakfast. I decided to make a go of it. After a year or two of ‘you gotta try it! I finally went. It was an easy drive through a condo development of duplexes and triplexes, then the restaurant’s parking lot hove into view. Still stunned by the beauty of the neighborhood, I walked up to the front door and an older couple held the door. They were as friendly as the wait staff and a brief chat gave me the hometown cafe’ feeling. They were from Hudson.

Triple stack of cakes, thick sliced bacon and sides of raspberry jam and real maple syrup. An elongated plate that promised and delivered. After the astounding meal (how many big city restaurants make their own maple syrup and jam?), I asked for a shot of expresso with a bit of sugar. Mas certo (Italian for of course) The thought of a two dollar tip ramped up to a five dollar bill. Extraordinary. The predominant rendezvous’ of diners seemed to be older couples. Muted and delightful conversations of wise seniors. Most of them were married.

“Five stars!” with a thumbs up to the front desk as I left. I had introduced myself at the entrance desk that I was a columnist. What paper was not asked and as the actor that I am, with my leather bound journal, a reasonable assumption would be the Minneapolis Tribune or the Pioneer Press. The service was exemplary as was the meal and it didn’t have anything to do with my supposed review. Ask me where it is and it’s name, and I will be glad to fill you in. It’s worth the drive.

So, being in the big city, I decided to meet a friend that was at an assisted living facility about half an hour further into the metropolis. The friendly Google lady was blue toothed into the radio and the drive was freeway fast, but effortless. I drove yellow cab decades ago and those skills help with traffic. My newer car with side cameras and warning beeps helps too. Arriving at my friends facility, I met security measures that reminded me of the Spanish jail in which I spent a lovely summer at hard labor. This facility was multi layered with passcodes to elevators up and down. Badges. Id’s and forms to submit. No stairs to be used without triggering an alarm.

After figuring out the code procedures in and out and getting past the doors that were labeled : Elopement area. At first glance it seemed an odd place to put future giggling spouses to be waiting for a ladder. Close description. In this case it means an area where someone should not leave due to medical conditions.

The visit with a fellow veteran was hard. He did not know who I was and so I listened a lot and responded in the military way of truth accompanied with a bit of call and response. “He was a real Jerk that CO” Yah, well so are you” sort of thing. I also told him he was getting fat. “The food is good” Yah, I can see that! Is that shrimp on top of the rice? my friend was talking of his father and other relatives as they had just passed away. I managed to bring it back to the special forces he served in and his jumps. It worked.

Then screaming began in the eating area and yelling from someone that his back hurt. Distracting. Finally, I had to leave and after patting my old friend on the back, it was time to go in reverse with the elevator codes and sign out protocols. Both the restaurant and the visit were highlights of the day. Different food adventures and both a rendezvous. The drive home with the usual insane drivers passing on curves with double yellows and turning a half a mile ahead. No bother, I had my mind elsewhere. A good place. Digesting the adventures and focusing on the bright spots and the expressions of love given and received. It’s pretty good. Jack

photo taken by Roger Albertson with an instamatic camera at angels ten.