I remember a year ago about this time of year, it was Miles Davis and an Anchor Steam. This evening its Vince Guiraldi and a 471.
Our staff has all gone home, Karen has taken a friend to church, our kids are with friends, and I sit and ponder the beauty that is this Christmas season.
I’ve been here since 3:45am, making cinnamon rolls to fill the orders for people to enjoy with their friends and family tomorrow morning. It was an expected slow day, but nonetheless, a pleasurable one, as I think back on the road traveled to get to this point.
Because of our business, I have much for which to give thanks. Second on the list of top restaurants of the decade by our local paper. An establishment that bucks the trend of our dreary economy. Numerous guests that are now our new friends. I recall my dad saying countless times, “If it gets any better I couldn’t stand it.”
I know I should go home soon, but I am drawn to linger in silent moments like this one. Its when I hear the most profound messages. I am humbled to receive such gifts. I know the story could have taken any number of turns, but the lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.