This story has been ruminating in my writer’s soul for some time. The exact date and details of the meeting are recorded in one of my numerous journals which I have recently searched unsuccessfully. In the meantime, the memory of this providential meeting of several years ago begs to be written here.
We awoke to a blue sky and bright sunny day much like that on May 29, 1971 our wedding day. We had no plan other than taking a drive and exploring some area which turned out to be Route 611 along the Delaware River by crossing the Portland Bridge into Pennsylvania. It was a day trip we had taken several times before, usually ending in New Hope, Pa. After enjoying an extended breakfast and coffee on the deck while deciding where to travel, as usual, we got a late start around 11 am.
We zipped along the country roads in our silver 2000 Mustang, free as the breeze feeling quite entitled to a weekday off. We came to a small town and a bar restaurant we had never tried and it was lunch time. Once inside we were greeted by a rather short stocky dark haired man who turned out to be the chef, waiter, and dishwasher.
The place did have a certain atmosphere all its own with a trellis hanging about a foot below the ceiling with artificial grapevines and clusters of grapes and greenery with the carpet worn enough to reveal years of foot traffic. The lights were dim in contrast to the bright sunlight outside and our eyes had to adjust to the dimness. We were totally alone except for the interesting man whose nationality we couldn’t quite identify by his appearance or slight accent. He came with our menus, smiled. and left us. Somehow it already reminded me of the Twilight Zone and the theme song from the old TV show kept running through my mind: duda duda, an eerie melody.
To be continued…