Diner Talk

I sit alone at the counter. I’ve sat alone at this and other counters like it since I was old enough to drive.

For me, this is my most guilty pleasure.

When life becomes too much, or maybe I’m on top of the world I find myself seated at the counter of my local Japanese rice bowl, teriyaki quick dining restaurant. Sitting at the bar I enjoy the ritual of rubbing the frayed wooden chop-sticks. The slowly working my way through a chicken and rice bowl covered to entirely way too much pickled ginger. Doing this somehow puts the magnetic lines of the earth’s axis back into proper alignment.



All my grand decisions about life are plotted and re-plotted out here. My failures dissected and examined for their meaning and direction. My accomplishments are added to the listed Excel spreadsheet in my head. Each column growing slowly with each visit to the counter. Each Chicken teriyaki bowl somehow marks the passing of my life. Upon the passing of my Step-Mother and visiting with my Father in Boise I discovered that the old man did the same thing. Just with pancakes and coffee.



I most certainly don’t need to be alone at the counter to click the beads on the abacus. It just mostly works out that way.