My plate was as full as my heart yet again this Thanksgiving. The difference was, my plate did not remain full. It emptied out. True, it filled up again, but that problem was rectified soon enough.
In my 50s, I’ve discovered this shovel-as-flatware approach to dining brings a different sort of fullness. And this one is not quite so satisfying. And it lingers longer, too.
I have a new favorite eatery in my lunchtime perimeter. I have been three times now, and every time the same manager was on duty. And she is amazing. Let’s be honest, I’m there for the food. If the food were terrible, I wouldn’t care if Bruce Springsteen, LeBron James and Scarlett Johansson were dishing it up. As it happens, the food is great. And I’m prepared to believe this woman gets a lot of the credit.
I figured out why she impresses me so much.
She is always there.
She is always knowledgeable.
She is always busy.
And she is always smiling.
I am fascinated by the “Why” of things. The “What” is usually more important, but it is also usually self-evident. I don’t need people to explain the “What” in most instances. I ask my children, “What are you doing?” all the time, but usually I know already — either nothing at all, something that makes no sense, or something that is taking the place of what they are supposed to be doing. In other words, it’s a “Why” question in disguise.
