Cheesecake, please.

My time dwelling with the good souls beyond the Mason Dixon line was spent wisely.

I studied, gained new job skills, wrote like a maniac, and ate some very rich cheesecake.

In fact, my ex-husband and I never parted ways when it came to food. Or coffee. From breakfast at a mountain diner, church potlucks, and Carnegie Deli sandwiches in New York City, where they served scrumptious cheesecake, we were happy to, as Billy Joel sang, forget about life for awhile.

In fact, soon as we left the courthouse, divorce papers signed, we stopped in the street, looked at each other and said the only thing we could say at such a moment.

Wanna get some coffee?

Afterwards, as my ex drove away, I figured it would be awhile before we ever spoke again.

A few minutes later my cell phone rang. He called to ask me if I knew about some cool bakery, where he’d stopped on his way out of town.

I guess we’ll always have fond memories of coffee and food.

In my first novel attempt for the religious market, I wrote a scene about family strife at a birthday party. The child narrator observed her disgruntled grandfather at the cake table.

No matter what was going on, it wasn’t worth ignoring a perfectly good piece of cake.

Ain’t that the truth?

I drove a former neighbor to Sam’s Club to go shopping. We didn’t always have a lot in common, but had a friendly neighborly relationship. She bought a big box of frozen cheesecake bites.

It was a hot summer day and my car AC wasn’t working.

No worries.

I parked under a shady tree and we sat in silence. Partaking the deliciousness.

Sometimes that’s all it takes to push through another day.