Without local air service, there
are times when we feel like we
run an airport shuttle. Which is
quite a job given it's two hours
each way. In between here and
there (Billings) theres only one
place worth stopping at on the
way. Roundup's Busy Bee Cafe.
Thus at times we stop, drop, and
order a chop. Or better yet, a big
slice of Rhubarb Custard Pie!
Then all too soon it's time to
take a nap or hit the road home!
Recently we stopped by around
3 p.m.on a national holiday. The
place was packed with all of the
usual Montana suspects. Cowboys,
ranchers, ladies lunching, plus a
family chowing down. We settled
into a booth, got comfy, and then
ordered from our friendly waitress.
I love local places like this as they
always capture the essence of their
community. The Busy Bee is simple,
spotless, and in it's way... humble.
And that's just the way I like it.
Suddenly a larger than life guttural
growl broke our solitude. "How are
you sweetie?!" Strolling across the
room came a lady of advanced age.
All dolled up in her wash and wear
floral pantsuit, matching heels, and
bijoux, she was ready for anything.
Her makeup amply applied. With a
coif of deep auburn curls amassed
into an over the top beehive. She
soon ruled said roost. And Frank
and I couldn't stop staring. The lady
was a gobsmacking sight to behold.
She was obviously not dressed for
an afternoon at The Busy Bee. It
was also clear by her demeanor
that putting on the dog was rote
for her. In a town where everyone
looks like they rolled out of bed,
you've got to respect an old gal
for maintaining her standards!
In all of her glory she sat at the
table next to us. Keenly aware of
our interest, it was clear that back
in the day she'd been a knock out.
And even now still busy as a bee!
Upon closer inspection all that
glittered was not gold. Her coif
was obviously a wig. A few grey
wisps peeked out from the back
of her neck. Her dangling earrings
were of the plastic variety. Her
makeup slightly smudged. None
of that mattered when combined
with her repartee. After several
minutes of chit chat, she loudly
announced that she would be at
the bar sipping a glass of wine.
Leaving behind a silent room...
Don't you wonder about gals like her?
Where does she live? What does she
do? And most important, what is her
story? My Mother considered women
like her "coarse". Yet I think there is
nothing as vulnerable than an elderly
broad. You see, they once knew how
to leverage their assets. Sadly as time
advanced said benefits slowly became
liabilities. Will I someday sit in some
booth in tattered regalia telling tales
of my youth over a Manhattan? Who
knows? It could happen to you!
