Diner

There's a little diner that sits in the shadow of Plymouth State University where my daughter is attending college this fall, (shameless proud father plug, thank you very much.)  The diner is one of those classic places with a long counter, anchored stools, heavy white coffee mugs and a sign that boasts booth service.

My daughter and I were attending the second day of Plymouth State's orientation, and with a little salesmanship I persuaded Vanessa to abandon breakfast at the cafeteria to try out the greasy spoon. Upon telling Deb this, she was less than pleased that I was already conditioning our little one to skip things.

The diner was fairly quiet with only a handful folks of drinking coffee, reading the morning paper and chatting about the news of the day. Vanessa and I sat and were doing the same when she asked me why I liked these types of places. I told her that they were usually an anchor of small town life where people gathered. I told her that you can get a sense of the community and by talking with people you can learn just about everything that is going on, from the recent scandal,  local politics and little league scores.

We ordered breakfast and were talking about Vanessa's upcoming adventure when Neil Young's "After the Gold Rush" began playing on the radio. Without prompt or acknowledgement the waitress started quietly singing the verses to herself, as did the gentleman sitting at the counter. The couple a few booths down from us were each contributing with one quietly singing the few select words he knew while his companion only hummed along. Admittedly, I was quietly doing my best falsetto as I was all in a dream, all in a dream.

It only lasted a few seconds, but it was a great spontaneous demonstration of my point. A brief moment in time that was pure, nostalgic and simple, just like the diner.