I’ve had a semi-eventful weekend, as far as things go in my hermit life. Friday morning, as usual, found me at IHOP. I love their crepes, what can I say? When I opened the first set of doors, I was greeted by a buggy full of grocery bags stuffed with…well, stuff, I guess. Possessions. Clearly the style favored by the homeless. Seated on the bench, facing the bright sunshine coming in over the tops of the trees, was an old black woman. “Good morning,” I chirped brightly to her. Then I realized she must be the owner of the buggy and bags, and probably had some mental health issues and would not understand me. “Good morning,” she returned clearly. Huh. How bout that? Before I had time to puzzle on her much more, I was led to my table. The thought did cross my mind that if I were a better person I would offer for her to dine with me, but I’m not that brave. When I looked back for her, she and her buggy were gone. The poor waitress was the server for the entire dining room, and looked like I felt most days. She was making laps with drinks, straws, and food. Another girl finally showed up to help and she relaxed a little. I’ve discovered it’s pretty much impossible for me not to eavesdrop at IHOP. I’m by myself…