The walls of Jean’s Place are festooned with signs, saying, patriotic exhortations, and the artistic work of the customers. One of my favorite signs says “Beware Of Attack Waitress,” because even though the waitresses are the nicest I have yet met, they are definitely tough.

I wouldn’t choose to mess with any of them.  And it’s an odd definition of attack there, mostly the staff “attacks” with fast service and warmth.

The sign was a gift from Mary’s parents (she’s on the left). She and Robin agreed to pose with it. Jean’s Place has become important to Maria and to me. On the way over, we talked about how attached we are, and I wondered how long that would last.

Maria has this idea that we often move on from one thing to another. Yes, I said, this is so, but usually it’s because the places we go change, not because we do. She agreed.

I said Jean’s Place hasn’t changed much in 40 years, not since Jean herself died. The food is very fresh and good, I have never felt more welcome in any restaurant, and there is something about Jean’s that is just special.

Nothing in life is guaranteed.

They could sell the restaurant, retire or change in some way, but until that happens, if it happens, they will see a lot of us. Today, they told us they were serving a Pumpkin Spice pancake, and she ordered it. It was delicious, and I regretted getting eggs and potatoes instead.

I joked with Maria and said I made a mistake, a couple of minutes later a small Pumpkin Spice pancake showed up on a separate plate.

“Are you trying to kill me?,” I asked. Mary smiled, then shrugged.

Then the two “attack” waitresses posed with the sign, which Robin took off the wall. By now, half the diners were laughing.

Kelly came out of the kitchen to show me a photo of her dog “Chummy,” she said Chummy was the best dog companion she had ever had. I told her I was getting a Lab puppy.

Bring it in, she said,  and show it to us. I will, I said, but I don’t need to bring my dogs into restaurants when I eat, it seems rude to me, and not something restaurants would appreciate.  She smiled and nodded. I don’t throw dogs out, but it’s probably better if they stay in the car.

Robin and I talked about whether I should be giving cigarettes to some of the older Mansion residents who ask me for them once in a while. She said 80-year-old people have the right to do what they want. I agree.

Then I got a tin of giant muffins to bring over to the Mansion for the weekend aides.

I believe what Robin, Mary, and Jean tell me. If they say they want to see a puppy, then they do. They don’t say things they don’t mean. In that way, they are perhaps attack waitresses.

I don’t think I’m going anyway. It feels like home to me, it feels like family, it feels like a community. I value those things wherever I find them, and hang onto them for as long as I can.