Widowers Walk Unnoticed

The November weather had suddenly turned chilly. Jessica turned up the collar of her coat and leaned into the wind.

Good thing she had bargain shopped at the thrift store last month. The coat was a camel colored, long woolen coat with a broad shawl color. When she turned up the back of the collar, it was almost as if she had a hood for cover. It wasn’t snowing, but the air smelled crisp and clean, as if the snow was lurking like a villain around the corner. Winter was coming early this year, she sighed.

Winter wouldn't be the same without a trip (or several!) to the antique store. The bells on the Dutch door announced her arrival. She loved that old refurbished barn - the wide plank floors and heavy exposed beams seemed welcoming as she stepped in out of the wind.

"Good morning!" the clerk sang out to her.

"Morning!" she feigned a smile in return.

How can people be that chipper in the morning? Especially before coffee. Ah, well, fake it 'til you make it, she always said. That motto has served her well.

The store smelled of warm cinnamon and age; the kind of musty, well-worn smell that antiques had. She breathed deep and smiled. Homey.
She'd always gotten the feeling that she'd been down this road before. Touching items that called to her soul. Wondering how many loving hands had held it, how many times people celebrated around it, how many heartbreaks had it seen. In this Dixie cup, throwaway age, what use did an antique have?

She lovingly slid her fingers along the cool Jadeite dishes and Bakelite silverware set up on the cobalt enameled topped table. What a beautiful contrast between the blue and green, she thought.
Brightly printed table cloths and aprons neatly folded in piles spilled from an old Hosier. She stroked the rim of a hobnailed vase and smiled. How many lovely blooms had graced this braille-like vessel?

The music they had piped throughout the building fit, too. At the moment, Sunrise Serenade by Glenn Miller Orchestra was triggering feelings that she couldn't explain. She closed her eyes, let herself sway to the rhythm and let the music fill her soul.

"May I have this dance?" a low voice asked.

Startled, her eyes popped open. She gasped and quickly turned. Nothing? Wait a minute. What was going on? A cold chill ran up her spine.

She felt a bit dizzy, and had leaned on an old radio in its gleaming wooden case. She brought the handkerchief to her lip to blot the perspiration. Wait, a handkerchief?
She tried making sense of it, but fainted before she fully understood


After years of working in kitchens across the state, Jessica , through prompting of her friends, family and coworkers, decided to test the waters as a personal chef.

From the new moms, to the single business man looking to impress a client. Add the young professional couple with no experience cooking, or the 'special occasion' dinners that the normal home cook didn't have the skills to perform. She volunteered to make dinners to take care of the cancer patients that needed nourishment.

Although it wasn't making her rich, but everyone benefited from her nurturing.
Food is love, she thought.

She lived in a modest house in the suburbs of Albany, New York. The cost of living was pretty high here, but lesser in the suburbs. That made a lot of her job description as traveling. She didn't cherish that part of the job, but it was fruitful.
She cared for and relied upon her trusty Jeep to get her where she need to be. She nicknamed it Meep.

Her modest home was a small rural town called Berne. There were trees and land and peace and quiet. Much the opposite of the hustle of Albany. The small farmhouse had once been on a plot of land that produced produce for the families in the area. The property had been pared down over the years, leaving Jessica with just shy of three acres. One of those was wooded, and had remnants of an old orchard on the western edge. She was able to harvest some apples and pears, be they somewhat ugly fruit, were now considered mostly organic and truly delicious.