The next morning we awoke in varying stages of a hangover, which we decided to overcome through breakfast at DK Diner. So we got ourselves mobile, picked up K.'s friend A., and got down to the business at hand. DK Diner is a pretty small space with about maybe eight or so booths, chairs along the windows and three or so tables. It's a 'pick your own mug and get your own coffee place,' which I generally enjoy though it seems to be so popular that you inevitably seem to have to step over babies in carrying cases and avoid rogue toddlers to get from your seat to the coffee. It seems that the spot used to be only about donuts, but that over time and a switch in owners, it's now a go-to breakfast/lunch spot as well as donut mecca.
I was torn between going my usual breakfast route of two eggs and sausage links and branching out to one of DK's more esoteric combinations of pretty much the same thing. In the end I chose the path of gluttony and ordered the DK Skillet, which was an open faced omelet piled high with potatoes, sausage and cheese, which was then covered in sausage gravy. I know, I know, the state of my arteries is nothing if not constantly on my mind. This was an ooey gooey mess, but tasty. Maybe a little heavier a meal than I really needed. The gravy was a cut above some diner gravy for sure, and the cheese was properly melty. No complaints. Everyone else's breakfast looked equally good. I'd love to go back, order a simpler breakfast and maybe a donut to boot. I think A., A. and I felt relatively revived by our meals. K. didn't fare quite as well and needed a nice nap to fully recuperate. So after breakfast we parted ways; K. going home for a nap while I zoomed off to German Village for some quality time at the Book Loft.
There are about three constant places in my memories of visiting Ohio with my mother. The first is my aunt and uncle's house, the second is the Book Loft, and then there's COSI. The Book Loft is a sprawling building chock full of books at pretty decent prices. It really is a warren with three floors worth of wares, laid out so that there are twists and turns, rooms that feel like secret finds, different music piping into to different sections and just so many books in a much homier and true atmosphere than, say, Barnes and Noble. As a kid I could literally become lost while exploring the books on puppies, bird migration, religion, celebrity, crochet, and of course fiction and military history. This trip I was generally able to navigate around in a purposeful manner, though I enjoyed getting slightly turned around when looking for the fiction section, as this made actually finding the section more of a feat of accomplishment.
At one point I was carrying around six or seven books, but in the end I curtailed my spend-money ways and chose to abandon my Jasper Fforde and Margaret Maron books in favor of buying Carry the One, by Carol Anshaw. Carol was a particularly meaningful and good professor during my time at SAIC. She was a great teacher, wonderful conversationalist and, also, by the bye, a ridiculously good writer. So I bought her book on a Friday, and in between the family meals and activities and playing with kids and dying eggs and hiding eggs, I managed to finish the book by Sunday. This is a testament to the story's ability to take hold and insist I know what happened to all the characters as soon as possible. What I'm trying to say, in other words, is to go out and buy the book.
Once my purchase was made I got back into my car and drove along one of the smaller alley/roads of the German Village area, all brick and cobbled, all bumpy and teeth rattling. It was a beautiful day. Sunny, relatively warm, flowers out. Good stuff. Then I drove home not using any freeway and saw how quickly Columbus, like most cities, can go from a rather prosperous neighborhood to a markedly not prosperous one and then back again.