"May I help whomever's next in line?" the light voice spoke cheerfully over the counter of the coffee shop, a sweet round face surrounded by dark curls appeared above the shiny rows of danish, cakes and other pastries in the large case.
"Would you mind telling me how you make your cambric?" I asked politely, secretly hoping that I would be assured of a high quality delicate earl-gray and steamed milk tincture...
"Well, it's traditionally Earl Grey tea, but we can do whatever you like, and that's with your choice of steamed milk."
"Lovely, I'd like a cambric with soy milk, and I've brought my own cup," I replied.
The woman behind the counter, who was standing on a box so that her chin could've rested on top of the food display glass, but not much else, gave me a winning smile as she took my mug.
I adore bookstores and old libraries. I do. I love them, and often I wish that I could live in one. They're wonderful and delightful places most of them.
J and I have been building a lovely library in our house, and I wish it was bigger. As it is, we only have two real bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a tiny office and what would be the dining room had we not recently transformed it into the library.
It is one of the three places in our house that the ceilings are slightly lower (as opposed to the 10'5' or 11' that make up the rest of our dwelling) and it is painted in gold, with scales fanning out and gleaming like a fish undulating above our heads.
We have put shelves on every wall. One is currently covering part of our intake vent: our HVAC fellow told us to move it, but we have apparently conveniently forgotten, or we're being stubborn because it's in our library. We can't mess with the library.
Back to what I was blathering about before: The Tattered Cover is an especially wonderful bookstore because of the warmth of the atmosphere and the expanse of the building.
I was supposed to do massage sessions all day for some students on J's research research team.
However, their esteemed (and really nifty and nice) professor neglected to ask his lab partner professor if such a thing would be accepted, so now I sit down the road from J's school in a delightful setting, preparing myself for a lovely day of writing instead of massage (though both are fun for me).
Mmmmm... cambric delicious cambric....
Is 8:00 AM too early for dark peppermint chocolate?
I think not.
Now, back to work.