My mother loved a good storm. In particular she is known for standing in a purple poncho on the back porch of the Surf Hotel, at a 45 degree angle to the wind after all the windows had been taped, the furniture had been secured and the State Trooper had made it clear that no one was allowed outside. We watched her from the living room. Every few minutes I would go to the door and lean into it with my whole body weight. When it opened enough to shove my head through I would call out to her, “Mom, you are breaking the law.”
She could have cared less.
She was breathing the wind. She was laughing at the rain.
There are moments you have to live.
The keys are finally ours to keep for the cafe. Jonathan has pulled up the rug and we are waiting for the plans to go through the department of buildings. We may even be able to use the yard. The plan is to have the counter run along the left wall with a common table in the window. We will have coffee and every cake I can bake. We will have sandwiches made on beautiful bread and a cheese tasting plate with caramelized apples and toasted spiced nuts and a pate w/a green tomato confit. I remember one from Bourgueil that I can’t get out of my head. I want to have fresh mint leaves shoved in a pot with honey alla Casablanca. I want snickerdoodles.