Comfort

When Bill came home from work Thursday afternoon, he was tired, he’d had some rough things to deal with at work. He wanted to go to the place we go to at times like that. Justa Pasta. We’ve been going to Justa Pasta for I don’t know how many years. Seven? Eight?  Ten? Whatever, it’s been long enough and often enough that it’s our “go to” place for all kinds of things.

We usually go to Justa Pasta when we’re having a date day – a matinee and early dinner. But we’ve celebrated birthdays there, brought friends for small or big dinners, we’ve taken each of my siblings to Justa Pasta when they were in town for a visit. Bill and I got into a fight there once and I spent most of my meal crying. The staff kindly pretended they didn’t see. We’ve been there with our friends Dane and Mary and laughed so hard we may have scared a few guests away. One night, after a few glasses of wine, I let the owner, Roland, know just how cute I think he is. When our niece Devin died, we came here on our first night back in town from the funeral in Condon.  Angelina, one of the lovely people who work at Justa Pasta, knew what had happened and she greeted us with hugs and good care.

It’s a fine thing  to have a place to go that’s familiar and comforting, a place that smells good and has consistently delicious food, low lights and people who remember who you are and know what you like, people who make it easy for you to be there even when life isn’t easy. What’s your place for comfort?

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