uesday mornings,my girlfriends meet up at the "Olde Geezer" coffee house. No that is not the name on the door, it is really the backend of a craftstore/bookstore, with a row of cement blocks and boards with a combination of new and used books. Then there is a little bit of bulk coffee, a little bit of tea, a little bit of a lot of things hanging from the walls and on the shelves. But it is out in the "boondocks" near where we all live and most of us have no desire to drive the fifteen minutes to the larger town that has the nice, posh, coffee places- so it is the "Old Geezers" for us.
The Geezers are regular attenders, as rural westerners as you can get, their old pickup trucks lined in a row next to all our SUV with our cargo boxes and bike racks hanging off of them. The geezers take up the bar and the backtables, with their Carhart jackets over the back of their chairs, overall or Wranglers on, and chunky old boots- they "yarn" with Vern, the owner- as they have one ear caucked towards the girls conversations that go the gamit of our families to our faith, reading Vogue or traveling the world,as our cell phones go off-one after another.
We dont usually meet over holidays or breaks and today when we walked in, the Geezers cheered, glad for our return, having missed us over Christmas.
Why does this Tuesday morning mix work so well- because they all are sweet old man and we have seem to become a highlight of their week-