|Baking from the Pantry|
In the redwoods, in an old logging town, in a butter yellow Victorian with a grand piano and old creaky wooden stairs, the girl in tall black leather boots would bring me a delicate cup filled with coffee leaving just enough room for cream.
While I waited for my coffee, I would gather my journal, a book I was reading, and my pen and place the three items within easy reach at the empty setting across from me.
Jazz soothed the tiny sparks in my stomach as I nervously waited to order, memorizing my choice from the menu seated softly on the white tablecloth.
As the Sundays grew from one season to the next, I would invite a family member or friend to dine with me. It was wonderful company. I always ordered the same dish. Salmon Eggs Benedict. I savored the squeeze of Meyer lemon I detected in the hollandaise sauce, the smoke of the salmon, and the avocado tucked underneath.
My favorite Sundays were the ones I spent alone in the company of my journal and the girl who graciously served my food. I learned to tip well.
The jazz played. The music became familiar as the years went by. I dreamed of travel and hikes with soon to be companion dogs and homes I would live in. And most of all, a soulmate. A soulmate I could share my life and adventure together.
I mourned the loss of my special Sunday place knowing someday it would close. Nothing lasts forever. One Sunday I climbed the stairs finding the restaurant shuttered and empty.
Over twenty years later, I have found my soulmate. One of many visions answered.
A Sunday morning, not too long ago, he played a track of music for me which he does quite often. He loves music.
All of a sudden emotions washed over me. I went back and forth in time. I was seated at my table in the Victorian waiting for the girl in the black tall boots.
"Who is that playing. I know that music. I love that music."
My soulmate rolled over and looked into my eyes. It's Thelonious Monk".