The cookie lady

I’ve been breakfasting every morning at the Brass Compass, the type of café that is the center of the social life of a town. It feels like an antidote to the glut of art galleries and upscale clothing stores that clog these coastal villages. The place is always nearly full by 7:30 in the morning, and the waitresses have that efficiency of decades of practice.

Midweek I took photos of the plate of fresh cookies on the counter, and one shot of the woman who had baked them. I made a print and dropped it off the next day. "She’ll love this," my witress said. "She’s not in now, I’ll be sure she gets it."

Today I came in, camera around my shoulder as always. "You’re the guy who took Linda’s picture!" Everyone knew who I was now. Linda, the cook came out, "That was a lovely gift, thank you.!" On the way out, she was transferring a new batch of oatmeal cookies from the baking sheet. "These are my favorites," she said. "I really like what I do." "That is the best gift of all in life, isn’t it? I feel the same way."

This exchange is making me want to think about travelling with a small photo printer now.