Posted by: mesabimisadventures | May 16, 2009

Breakfast with Lindsay

“I’d like a little more fear in my religion.”

I stared at her, unable to blink, completely unable to show any level of support whatsoever in her quest to learn more about Catholicism.  Instead I looked at my pancakes, took a bite or two, swallowed them and my pride and asked her to elaborate.

A few weeks later, we met up at Mary’s Morsels in Eveleth for breakfast.  When I walked in, I noticed her flipping through a large book full of post-it note bookmarks.  I scooched up and said that she must really be diving into this Catholicism thing to be bringing a bible to breakfast.  She then pointed out that it was a cookbook and I remarked that I was surprised that she had decided to become Polish Catholic.

Badum-CHING

I heart breakfasts in small cafes where the coffee is just coffee and your meal options are limited to eggs of some style, meat of your choosing,  toast, and hashbrowns (although they probably cost extra).  The world  just seems more honest in the morning.  Deception and pretense don’t seem to be early-risers.  Maybe it just requires too much energy to be a poseur at seven in the morning.

Conversations that you’d never have with someone at lunchtime seem perfectly normal at breakfast.  Those mind-bending talks that you used to have back in college at 3 in the morning have now migrated to the Saturday breakfast as we’ve gotten’ older.  The inhibition isn’t there when you’re snuggled into an unassuming booth in an unassuming cafe in an unassuming town.  Over the years Lindsay and I have dissected our relationships with our parents, our siblings, our significant others  and ourselves with candor usually reserved for those who through cruelties of old age have forgotten how to censor themselves. 

I think it’s the influence of coffee that has no cha-cha-cha-chino in its name.

When I was growing up in Moose Lake, I decided that someday when I was old, instead of being one of the red-hat society women,  I wanted to be one of the old-timers who had breakfast every morning at Art’s Cafe.  I wanted to come in after morning chores on the farm, drink my coffee and fight with all of the other old-timers about why the world was going to hell in a handbasket (where are we going and why are we in this handbasket?).  I wanted to be able to sit around, shooting the breeze with my best friends and fiercest enemies and tell the young kids why the world was so much cooler back in ’96. 

Breakfasts in small cafes make the world go round.

If you really want to know what’s going on behind the scenes in the Iron Range, get your butt out of bed and get over to the nearest, perhaps not the most brightly lit cafe, order a cup of coffee and shut the hell up.  Go to Megan’s in Aurora, Four Corners in Embarrass, Riverside in Side Lake or any of the similarly sized, non-chain cafes.  Granted there will be the battles of ego between the miners, just like there were between the farmers in Moose Lake and the loggers in Alaska at the cafe Jennie and I stumbled into after a long night of being lost.  But there is also knowledge and there’s definitely wisdom.

And if nothing else, there are great stories to be heard.

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Responses

  1. I find what you say about very true about small town cafes. Even in Little Swan (outer Hibbing) you can find people gathering at the small gas station (we don’t have a cafe) on Hwy 5 sitting with their cup of coffee and talking about now and the way it used to be. They also go about how to fix their tractor and local gossip, but it is a place in the community where people are allowed to be people. I hope that this custom never goes away.


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