Coffee at No. 10: Chapter Fifty-Six: Happy Birthday No.10!

Happy Birthday No.10! It was hard to believe the newest business on Downing Street, the coffee bar at No. 10, was already a year old. And now, the veteran employees of the establishment, Poppy and Stella, were given charge to plan the celebration. They were both, immediately, pleased with the duty and distinction. Marjorie could … Continue reading Coffee at No. 10: Chapter Fifty-Six: Happy Birthday No.10!

Coffee at No. 10: Chapter Fifty-Five: Elinor and Marianne

   “The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much!”         Anne Dashwood impatiently clicked the remote, silencing the television with finality. She sat still, grateful her mother was not home, would not see her sudden scowl, her own face a screen of emotions. She stood, stretching, and walked to the kitchen. She dumped the half glass of mango juice, absently watching the swirls down the drain. She had settled into the recliner to enjoy an old Jane Austen favorite, but found, it had not been all the sentimental pleasure she had hoped for. Half her mind had watched, half her mind had flitted between memories of two men . . .

Coffee at No. 10: Chapter Fifty-Four: A Birthday Trip to . . . the Nether Regions

 Jane Austen had posed a “reality” immortalized in her most famous work, Pride and Prejudice.      “It is universally accepted that a single man with a good fortune is in want of a wife.” And while Marjorie Dashwood's reality was personal to her, and never to be that famous, she suspected it was, in fact, widely agreed with.       “It is universally accepted that every human hates going to the DMV.” 

Coffee at No. 10: Chapter 51: A Winning Word, and a Long Look

The door to No.10 was propped open, with sunshine pouring in, not too hot, though the clock showed midafternoon of a late summer day. It was one of the lovely benefits of a mountain town—summers were mild, beneficent, treasured. At the entrance, a large clay pot on either side, of riotous red geraniums, welcoming banners of color to those who ventured into the coffee bar for a caffeine pick me up. Marjorie Dashwood, polished glasses behind the counter, pausing, as if someone had said her name quietly but firmly at her shoulder . . .

Coffee at No. 10: Chapter Fifty: Against Dark Velvet

Kindness.             Thank goodness there was no end to it, no limited supply, no expiration date, no final performance. Websters or Google confines it to eight words.        “The quality of being friendly, generous, and considerate.”        But Marjorie Dashwood knew it could not be confined to eight words, or eight million words. Kindness was in limitless words. And, it was beyond words.        May, June, early July, slipped by as mere pages on a calendar, the sweep of a clock, with all the world continuing its tempo and pace, but in Marjorie’s home, time had slowed to being measured in tears, in silence, in anger, and then, in slow and shaky steps of healing. Marjorie hardly noticed the weather those long weeks, or what she ate, or what news threaded into her world from the outside. What she remembered ever after was . . .

Coffee at No. 10: Chapter Forty-Nine: Through the Opaque Hour

 Henri Dylan was home. Thinner yet stronger, battered but not beaten. And new hair growth that was promising in the early stages, to be a distinguished shade of silver, less web like in texture, with only one side part instead of three. New times indeed. With chemo and radiation treatment behind him, with a doctor’s blessing of health in front of him, he was feeling like a man released from prison, from death row, a survivor from a sinking ship, cast up on shore, and feeling the firm ground was the finest thing he’d ever felt. Gratitude and appreciation flowed through Henri Dylan like a new found pulse . . .