French Bric-a-Brac

There is no morning seminar at the Cannon Beach conference. This wet and windy day is ours to enjoy. M and I head out for a drive to the Tillamook cheese factory. I point to a sign which reads, "Mo's". M takes the turn-off. That's one of the pleasures of a long-standing marriage ... when it works. You point, he understands and responds: no negotiation or explanation required.

We've found the restaurant on the beach where we apparently have to stop for clam chowder. Today's not the day but at least now we know where it is. And what a view it has of Haystack Rock. We're sure to be back.

We trundle on to Tillamook, spend time at the monolith cheese factory and drive a little further. We don't know why. On a wet day like this we don't need to know. We pull into The Blue Heron French Cheese Company. No-one said that this is a must-do in Tillamook but it sure is. This is my kind of store: nooks and crannies, tables scattered around the store in private corners or clustered together near the window. It has oodles of atmosphere: bric-a-brac of the French kind, and samples galore of brie cheese, jams, chutneys, dips and mustards - just dip a pretzel stick and savour.

I'm in French heaven.

I find us a secluded table near the window. M orders a toasted ham and cheese sandwich for us to share. As busy as the store is, we are alone in our spot. I feast my eyes on the bric-a-brac: the French style side tables, the baskets and statuettes. A caged planter catches my eye. That will work in our home. I give it closer inspection. Yes, I like it. I lift the price tag.

I think not. It will stay just where it is.

But what an inspiring spot. I'm refueled, ready to be sequestered in my room to write. What a writing-perfect day this is turning out to be.