The closing of the Black Water cafe has left a hole in my coffee heart.
There are no substitutes; the void is real and palpable. Whereas before I awoke to the happy prospect of venturing to the Black Water with laptop and Berr Symon in tow for a leisurely sit over the town's finest espresso, cruising on Vox and watching the world ebb and flow, now there's a thud in the room.
There are three cafes within equal walking distance of the Black Water and each pales for its own reasons. None fulfill the thirst for coffeehouse culture.
Oh Black Water, ye are missed.
* * *
I'm distressed as I sift through my cupboards and refrigerator each day, generally as the coffee's percolating, for food for the large birds and find nothing. I am Mother Hubbard.
My dilemma's resolved as of yesterday when I found this on the Goodwill shelves:
I've never owned an air popper so I stopped a shopper with a motherly look to inquire about its use and quantity of corn. Popcorn's cheap and giant jugs are available at Costco at a price that won't break the piggy bank.
I'm joyful to have found a way to keep the food coming for the birds. It's win-win; the feedings help them and bring broad smiles and chuckles to me.
I still must continue learning how to feed myself.
* * *
It's said that finding coins on the ground is how the angels alert us to their presence. If that be the case, angels are circulating about me in numbers lately. Either that or I look down way too much as I walk.
Such melancholic countenance has its rewards, beyond the obvious. Such found coins are never put into my wallet. Instead, they're placed on my special little gold Buddha dish, my gratitude dish. In time they'll be rolled and taken to the bank in exchange for bills that are ideally channeled into a special fund.
Ideal, however, often conflicts with reality. However, the thought's there. I've collected as much as $12 in loose change. That's a lot of looking down. Like I said, gloominess does bear fruit and in ways unthought.
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