There's a 90-year-old Woman Behind Her Eyes

"There's a 90-year-old woman behind her eyes," Grandma Runyan told Mom and Nanny as they watched me leave our table at the Food Circus and find some little old man ~ eating alone ~ plunking my three-year-old legs down at his table ~ and then having a little chat.

Forty-three years later, and I have not changed.

My Food Circus is now diners across Santa Cruz County, and each weekend, I find myself surrounded by little old men ~ some are widowed, some are divorced, and some are just eating alone while their wives are out with their friends.

I have become a regular at many diners in Santa Cruz, Scotts Valley, and Soquel.

And just like when I was three-years-old roaming around the Food Circus in Arden Fair Mall in Sacramento, I make new friends wherever I go and even know some of the gentlemen by first name.

There's Bob who seems to know all my ups and downs of sudden unemployment last summer ~ from updates on first interviews and temp jobs ~ to upcoming unemployment again.  Always asking about the job search and always willing to offer support.  He takes a break every morning from his own care-giving duties of his eldery parents, gaining respite through cheery little chats with the diner staff and regular patrons such as myself.

There's Railroad Randy whose wife is named Robin, and we always get a kick of how my name is Robin, and my brother name is Randy.  He usually reads the paper, but some days he is quite chatty, telling me about his volunteer railroad repair vacations in Wyoming.

There's a couple of fellows who I don't know very well but always greet with small talk about the weather or what they are eating, Joe and Robert, who I see when I come to the diner late in the morning instead of early.  Sweet little old men with glasses ~ quiet and polite.

In Soquel at the Sunrise Cafe, there's assortment of strangers I meet when I squeeze between stools at the tiny counter.  A very elegant gentleman ~ all decked out in a fancy tweed suit coat and shiny, silver watch ~ and I recently discussed the difference between the comfort food here on a rainy day versus the "Plastic Parlor" offerings at Denny's.  I don't go to Denny's very often ever since they took out the counter.

And then there's Auntie Mames, my old favorite haunt in Scotts Valley.

I inched my way up to the counter this morning and carefully plopped myself down on the chunky stool between one man's jacket and another jovial gentlemen who reminded me of Santa.

All of a sudden, Santa looked at me with bemusement and sprinkled salt on my Santa Cruz Sentinel.

"What?  Don't you like what I am reading?!?" I asked half-seriously, half jokingly, looking down at the article about Black Friday.

Santa gave no answer.

Grabbing, the salt shaker, I chuckled, "Now I have to throw the salt over my left shoulder.  That's what my Mom used to say we had to do whenever we spilled salt." 

"Well, I toss it over my right shoulder because I am left-handed," he retorted. 

I giggled like a little girl.

"Next time, I''ll use sugar," he threatened with a gleam in his eye, pointing at the old-fashioned sugar holder. 

Still not sure what that crazy exhange with Santa was all about this morning, but I know the counter diner is less lonely whenever I show up.

I plunk my 46-year-old legs down on the stool and greet the little old men next to me.  I eat my eggs and have a friendly little chat.

And remember the little girl ~ who is now me all grown up ~ who left her family's table ~ all four generations of Runyan women ~ and sensing his aloneness, wandered over to the nearest widower ~ bringing a smile of amusement to his face ~ as I watched him eat ~ had a little chat ~ then heard Grandma Runyan in the distance ~ telling Mom and Nanny,

"There's a 90-year-old woman behind her eyes."