Note: This reflection was written by Liz Sorensen Wessel

We planned to meet for an early morning breakfast at Café Luca’s. I had meant to call the day before but time slipped away from me. Once before, we had arranged a lunch date and because we never confirmed I did not go. Although she was gracious about me being a “no show” I was determined not to make that mistake again. This time, she did not show! Ha!

As I sat there by myself, I realized that I never eat out alone. I am usually in the company of friends. I wondered why that might be, it's almost as if I need protection but from what; life? I seem to move about, always on the alert for some imagined danger. Yet, as humans we are naturally communal and enjoy the custom of sharing a meal together.

Luca’s is located in the heart of historic “Old Towne” Orange. This is the one part of our sprawling metropolis that has resisted the conforming arms of progress. Orange has proudly held on to a few pockets of her original beginnings. When traversing the circle you feel as though you are a time traveler visiting another era. A time when you knew your neighbors and engaged in the art of conversation to enjoy the passing of time together. Yet, how often are we in such a hurry to “get somewhere” we do not notice.

The Orange plaza is a hub of community life, drawing people in with her quaint antiques shops and unique family owned eateries that maintain their own special personalities. Folks here like to meander, gaze in window shops or sit on a park bench shaded by towering evergreens. Some read, others walk their dogs, people stop to chat or to listen to water splashing in the fountain. Moms push their babies in strollers, family’s ride bikes and people soak up sunshine. Kids get messy licking ice cream cones melting too quickly and if only for a little while people are transported to a simpler time.

It was a beautiful summer morning. Luca's has a small courtyard in front with a lovely painted garden mural and the ceiling holds white billowy clouds. Luca's charming atmosphere seems to say, “Come in, welcome, sit, relax, enjoy, and stay a while.” The story goes that the owners visited a shop in Italy and loved it so much that they tried to recreate the experience here. Homemade bread, gelato, pastries, soup, and various sundries are their specialty. 

I ordered breakfast and sat at a table that faced the little alcove in front. I listened to the ease of peoples' conversation, the greetings and salutations as people came and went. On the other side of the beveled glass windows, two older couples shared in idle conversation. I noticed the woman’s lips moving as she spoke and the turn of his head. The glass reflected points of light and soft music floated through the air. I relaxed into beauty of the moment.                                                                                                           

I began to experience a pleasant sensation, a dream-like state, as images flowed through my mind. Images of a young  lighthearted woman who seemed completely at ease without a wisp of self-conscious worry. She moved with a natural cadence as she hung out clothes to dry. She was steeped in warm sunlight offering a calm, peaceful glow. Oh, how I have longed for that kind of ease of acceptance; of homecoming.

I imagined her to be my grandmother,  Svea from Sweden.  Even though I never met her (she died long before I was born) I felt her presence. I’d like to believe that she came to visit me that morning. I left elated and headed to work with a lighter step.

Internet photos: Mural at Luca's,  Fountain @ Orange Circle, Pencil sketch of Svea that I drew in my youth.

Postscript: Our stories are like photographs and they can connect us to our treasured memories. I originally wrote this reflection in 2009, but I have rewritten it. Curiously, what I never revealed in my original story was the precious pearl. How I felt I connected with my grandmother's spirit for a fleeting moment that day. Perhaps, because it was all so dreamlike or rather that someone reading it would think me odd. Funny, but this is no longer a worry. Odd can be a lovely homecoming. :-}