I’m at the Oregon coast on a 2-day mini-holiday. We ate lunch yesterday in a favorite place of mine in Cannon Beach and I had my favorite Crab Louie. As we were finishing up, three older women at the end of the long room were paying their bill and ordering caramels to go. They were quite a ways from me (maybe down five tables) but my ears perked up. How is it that my radar is that keen?
I love those caramels. They’re made by a local candy maker and I’ve been known to buy a half-dozen and eat them on the way home. I felt a pang of regret, of grief at the thought of not eating them again. Of course, those women ordered one a piece. How sensible! I wondered if any of them wanted more and said nothing.
We moved on to a small bakery/ coffee shop that has the most delicious coffee, called Sleepy Monk, also roasted by a local purveyor. I ordered a latte and a couple of their yummy rosemary foccacia rolls. My friend Cynthia got a decaf and a cookie, a buttery chocolate chip cookie.
She asked if I’d mind and I said no. I’m not about to be a downer on someone else’s enjoyment of sweets, someone who can have it be a treat instead of a medication. But I saw that there were pecan praline cookies too, my favorite from that bakery, and I thought fondly of earlier times when I would have bought three when my companion’s back was turned or bought three and lied and said I was taking the other two home for my cat sitter or my next-door neighbor or my sister and then eaten them in secret after lights out.
I ate one of the rolls as a late afternoon snack and it was delicious and I was okay with just one (and an orange). Cynthia had asked me earlier if I still found myself craving sweets. It’s been three months now and I said no, not craving. But wanting, yes, the wanting is still there.