Away From It

Mary had taken a vacation; a much needed holiday away from friends and family and Mary's Place. It had been a long winter and most of it had been spent working or worrying.  What usually interested her was annoying and tedious.  She had no idea why but decided to take the time to leave it behind and see if things changed once she was in a different place.  And so she found herself in this waterfall park.  Speechless.  True, Mary was a good listener, but she was also incredibly good at chatting up just about anyone.  It was mostly for their benefit.  It's not that she didn't care, but she had been collecting people's thoughts for most of her life and the burden of them was heavy to carry. The people she truly trusted knew how much she could talk.  When it suited her she could fill a room with words and tell a story with vivid description and hearty animation.  But here, in this place of trees and water and birds she was unable to describe, even in her own mind, what it was like to be staring beauty in the face.  On the surface, this could have been just another waterfall, but put together with the aromas of wood and leaves and grasses the sound of the water as it continually flowed and hit the surface of the pooling area made her want to stay here forever. 

She sat down on a bench, aware that she was not alone.  There were people walking on the paths in the park, some of them sat across from her on the grass.  After a few moments of absorbing the warmth of the sun she pulled her journal and pens from a canvas tote.  The journal had been given to her by a customer at Christmas.  People often brought her small gifts during the holidays and anyone who could think understood from the decor of Mary's Place that books, pens and papers were a safe bet to be a favorite thing of hers.  This journal had been thoughtfully chosen.  It had a deep blue cover with the image of a pen and paper embossed into it.  Caroline had given it to her on Christmas Eve.  She had run into the bar just before early closing and stopped just short of the double doors to the kitchen.  Mary had been helping to clean up so that they could all go home by 8:00 and as she passed by the small sliding door to the bar she caught a glimpse of red.  Caroline was famous for splashing most of her outfits with a dash of red. Sometimes red boots and purse, others a scarlet scarf and gloves. This time she was wearing a full length red coat that was stunning on her.  Caroline was tall and dark haired.  She had confided to Mary that she was 50 but she looked 10 years younger.  Most people stopped to look at her when she walked in.  Maybe it was her face and hair or maybe the flash of red, but she always turned the head of somebody.  It was her energy that seemed interesting to Mary.  She was very involved in life and invested in things that went on in the world.  Her conversations were always interesting, whether they were about the mundane daily grind or the latest piece of news of the day.  Somehow, she would make Mary feel as if she cared about whatever it was.  This could be annoying. It left Mary rattled sometimes.  There were just some things she would have been better off not knowing about. If left to herself Mary would have buried her head in the sand but people like Caroline kept coaxing her to put her head up and stay in the present.  When she had seen Mary she called out her name and with a very large and contagious smile held out a small bag whose handles had been tied together with ribbon.  It had been a nice moment.  Although they were not exactly friends,  the two women had a connection.  Caroline usually came in with a group of friends most of whom were polite and pleasant but seemed oblivious to anything past their small circle.  Caroline always had time for Mary.  If she was not at the bar she would make a point of getting up from her table to exchange some private words with Mary.  One evening they had talked about ex husbands and found they had a lot in common when it came to that subject.  Both had been involved with the same kind of man; someone who fell madly in love with a woman and absolutely could not live without her. Then, after a year or so of marriage, there had come a change.  The wife became more of a proud possession.  Educated and employed, the woman was used to impress business associates and to help build a financial security blanket.  She also kept the secrets.  Some of them were too embarrassing to talk about or had only been spoken of in rooms with lawyers.  Women who share this kind of thing have a quiet understanding that it didn't need to be spoken of again.  They elevated each other to a special place and knew each one could trust the other.  

Mary smiled as she ran her hand across the cover of the journal.  She thought briefly of untying the ribbon and pulling the journal out of the gift bag.  She had smiled and Caroline had clapped her hands.  "Get to it Mary", she had said.  "You must have more stories colliding in your head than just about anyone else I know!"  It was so true and to open it for the first time in this magnificent place gave honor to the gift giver.  

What to write?  Should she try to draw something?  Mary was no artist.  She used rubber stamps and scrap booking papers to decorate home made journals.  She picked up a red pen, in honor of Caroline, and wrote:  This is a place of found things.  This is a place where souls and hearts and minds and broken spirits fly around in a circle and gather hope and dreams and courage as they spin.  

She pulled out a tiny digital camera and took a picture of the waterfall.  Then she sat back and took the time to pull every bit of energy out of that place and filled herself up until she couldn't handle anymore.  When she had had enough she put away the journal and pens, gathered her bag and began to walk on the path away from the waterfall.  She didn't turn back to look.  She wold only ever see it again in her photograph.  But she took away with her so much more than she arrived with.  She was tired and looked forward to a nap.  Even the very best things could be heavy to carry.

Mary's Place:

Mary's Place is in an inherited building that came to Mary from her father.  The first floor is completely taken up by the business;  tables and chairs surround the bar that seats about 12.  When asked about the theme Mary simply says "books" and leaves it at that, but it really deserves a better description.  Books do indeed line the walls on shelves built by a friend who needed the work.  There are also prints lining the flat paneling, most of which are photos taken by Mary but some have been donated by regulars like Tom who was quite happy to frame the winter walk snapped in his home town while visiting family over Christmas a couple of years ago.  Tom is  one of Mary's favorites.  He arrives promptly at 6 every other night and sits for an hour or so nursing a beer or two.  Sometimes he orders a burger and eats dinner while chatting with Mary.  He was one of her first customers and over 5 years they have established a conversational trust.  He looks to be about 60, but carries himself well. 

Gone to fit rather than fat but shows the years through some creases here and there on his face and a spatter of white hairs fanning out over dark brown.  He works for a Kinko's after a long career with a private printer.  As he says, those are all gone now replaced by large print factories.  Over time Mary found out he was divorced and a grandfather of 2.  Sometimes it feels as if he is watching over the place and her while he's there. Even though only 10 years separates them, he seems much wiser than most people but allows an exchange of point of view which attracts Mary.  She is a listener but likes to interject her own story too.  Tom is one she can trust.  This January evening is typical as Tom sits with a draft and slowly chews the burger that is one of the house specials.  It's a cold night and most of the patrons come in rubbing their hands together looking for warmth both inside and out.  Jack, the waiter is taking care of the tables and Mary has the bar to herself, which is as she likes it.  Early in the week, business is slow but steady so Jack, Mary and Joanne are the only staff.   There are 4 others sitting at the bar and the tables are full enough to keep Jack moving.

Mary has a TV for special events but normally plays music she has chosen herself.  Stacks of CD's line the lower shelf of the bar and more times than not requests are yelled out.  If she can, she honors the desire and makes the customer feel special.  She noticed that Tom is thoughtful this evening; quiet but has a word or two to say when she returns to stand by him between serving.  He looks up from his meal and shoots her a smile.  "Do you think of your father much Mary?" he asks.  She takes a moment to answer.  "Odd you should ask, Tom.  I had a dream about my dad last night.  He never spoke to me, but stood up from where he was sitting and smiled at me.  He was dressed in a suit, which is how he always spent Sundays when I was a little girl.  Since he ran a restaurant all week and wore chef's garb, he always enjoyed putting on his Hickey Freeman and going out to get the New York Times.  It was funny how he always dressed up even if he wasn't going anywhere special.  That's how I remember him."  "Do you miss him then?"  "Always," she answered.  "I think about him at least once a day.  It's only been 4 years but sometimes it feels like forever, you know?"  "Yes," he responded.  "I miss my own pop a lot.  He's been gone much longer.  About 15 years.  But I have been feeling him around me lately.  Ever feel that?"  She is startled by this.  She has felt the same thing off and on but hesitated to tell anyone.  "Oh, yeah.  It happens to me at the oddest moments.  I'll suddenly realize that he's there.  Around.  And I wonder if he's trying to tell me something or if he's just visiting.  Most people would think I had been inhaling too much of what I serve if I was to admit this!"  Tom nods.  He wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his plate away.  "I know the feeling.  I was having a bad day yesterday.  Rumor has it that my ex is going to remarry.  I was feeling bad, you know?  Even though we parted after agreeing that we were just not right for each other after the kids left, it still feels as if I am losing.  Funny.  I don't want her back, but I would marry again if the right one came along.  Anyway, I couldn't sleep and I had the TV on mute.  Just sitting up watching and all of a sudden I had a gust of my da.  Shocked the hell out of me."  Mary understood the feeling exactly. "They do take us by surprise, don't they?"  she smiled.  It was a sad smile.  She missed her father.  He had been her best friend.  He was the only one who could calm her sudden panic once she had divorced and was left with two sons to raise.  He loved her boys and stopped by almost every day to visit on his way to or from work.  "You know, after my dad retired he couldn't relax. He kept going back to work.  I used to beg him to quit each time.  It was too stressful for him.  Being the executive chef for a hotel is tough stuff and he was in his late 60's when they hired him," Mary went on.  "I had a feeling he was drinking like the old days.  I was right.  When I cleaned out his car, I found a bottle in the back. Rum.  So unlike my father to drink rum.  It made me sick that he must have been leaving the hotel to take a drink to get through the day."  Tom was surprised that she was being so candid.  This was a much more personal conversation than they usually had.  Mostly they complained about the lack of a good candidate to vote for or the price of housing.  But this was a sharing of lost things; of things that were so well loved.  "Yet here you are serving alcohol, Mary.  And you don't drink!" he said.  "Oh, I drink a bit.  A glass of wine or Bailey's over ice.  Holidays and special dinners out," she said.  "It's the smell of the alcohol.  The scent.  It reminds me of my father.  Most people would say that was a bad memory but for me, it's comforting.  All those years dad knocked back Canadian Club just to get through a long day in the kitchen and he would give me a kiss and hug when I arrived after school.  The faint smell of whiskey would be on his breath.  Not offensive.  Just there.  He was a functioning alcoholic.  How sad some would say, but you know he enjoyed his drink.  And he used it to prop himself up against some bad memories."  She left to serve someone and Tom sat wondering what those memories could be.  "World War II,"  he said when she came back.  She nodded.  "Lots of stories about that but I know there are things he never told anyone."  They were both quiet for a bit.  Then Tom looked up and said "My father was a drunk, Mary.  A falling down drunk. The neighborhood knew it and the family knew it.  But he was a fine man anyway."  He looked at her and smiled.  "Fine to me."  She nodded.  "I understand.  My dad was the best.  Just the best."  She was close to tears and he could see that the conversation had upset her.  She didn't speak again and he took out his wallet and paid the check.  It gave her something to do as she rang it up on the old, brass cash register that her father had saved from his last restaurant.  She used it for the bar only and it was a little bit of an homage to him.  As she handed him his change she patted his hand.  "You never know Tom. Maybe your dad was trying to console you. You have to believe that love never dies.  Where the hell does it go?  It's real.  It's something we still feel."  He was grateful for the kind words.  Although friendly, Mary kept her distance. She made it very clear to everyone she wasn't available and this night she had given up precious information about herself.  "Agreed.  We're here to feel it even though they're not here to receive it. Spills over though and what are we to do with that?  My da told the Irish stories as if he invented them.  That's what I remember about his most drunken moments.  And, like you, I don't ever recall it as offensive.  He was at his best mid bottle," he said and nodded.  She said nothing but looked thoughtful.  Maybe she was getting a picture of a man older than him, sweeter than him and much more easily hurt.  "Goodnight, Mary.  Mind the cold.  I'll see ya," he said as he put on his coat.  "Stay warm, Tom."  As he walked out she thought about what they had said and felt the warmth of friendship, even though it was safely separated by the bar.  And she thought about her father and how she had never been able to take away the demons that made him so sad.  Jack came up and snapped his fingers in front of her.  "Hey!  Are you with me or against me?  I have a very anxious just turned 21 crowd at table 2 and they want all these strange concoctions.  What the hell is a Sloe Gin Fizz?"  She smirked as she pulled out a battered drink recipe book.  "Oh, Jack. You're the most uninformed waiter, but you're all I have right now.  Just leave me the list."  He dropped a white sheet of paper on the bar and gave a laugh as he turned back to walk to the small kitchen.  As she filled the order she looked in the mirror and saw herself with a small, thoughtful smile.  "Oh yeah, dad. I can feel you in every corner of this place."    

Welcome To Mary's Place!

Welcome to Mary's Place!! Pull up a stool, grab a chair or just lean over the bar and have a chat. What will it be today? The latest news? The oldest memories? Come back for some good times and good whines. I'm looking forward to the journey.
I'll share some of my thoughts and scares for the day and wonder about yours.

Today the atmosphere is festive. We're decorating for Christmas and the place is buzzing with lights and trees and wreaths around the necks of some of the employees. From 6 PM to 1 AM Mary's Place buzzes and most of the clientele is anything but boring. And the thoughts and ideas fly through the air and land on anyone who chooses to tune in. Follow the light and beat a path back as we open our very special place for
musing and brewing.

Mary