"AND VENUS WAS HER NAME"

March is Women’s History Month, and to celebrate, I’m doing something a little different.

This week I’ll be sharing three special posts—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday—honoring women who have made a lasting impression on me.

After this series, with a bit of the “luck of the Irish,” we’ll return to our regular Tuesday schedule on St. Patrick’s Day.

Thank you for your continued support of this blog.

03.09.2026

In Greek mythology, there are many storied groups of three—the Graces, the Gorgons, the Fates—each with their own attributes and destinies to fulfill. This essay isn’t about them, but the ancient Greeks did get one thing right: sometimes the power of three is magic.

Today, I want to celebrate three women who have made a lasting impression on me—not mythical figures, but real-life heroines who have served as beacons of warmth and dignity in the most unexpected of places: a restaurant, a diner, and a fast-food “emporium.”

Let me introduce you first to Luciana.

For decades—yes, decades—she’s been a familiar face at a pizzeria in the heart of Little Italy in Cleveland. I often marvel at the staggering number of miles she must have logged over the years, weaving between the kitchen and a dozen patron tables, navigating the two steps down to the lower level while carrying armloads of pizzas, pastas, and baskets of garlic bread.

When she greets you, her words are wrapped in warmth, her accent carrying a gentle echo of home. Years ago, when I lived in the neighborhood, I frequented the restaurant weekly. Since I moved, I don’t go to that part of town very often anymore, but when I do, I make it a point to stop at Mama Santa’s, where Luciana never forgets my order: piping-hot manicotti with a side order of garlic bread.

Over the forty-plus years she’s worked there, her family has grown, her children have married, and they now live lives of their own. Yet Luciana seems almost untouched by time. Is it heredity, the marathons she’s walked, or years of breathing in the secret ingredient of the best pasta sauce in town? I’m never sure. But I always hope I’m there on the day she’s working.

Our brief exchanges in Italian warm my heart, and as I watch her navigate through the crowd of hungry diners, I think of her as the Goddess of Hospitality.

Then there’s Kendall.

She’s a server at L.A. Pete’s, a local diner located just off the crossroads of a congested business district and a highway. I haven’t known Kendall very long, but she already has my breakfast drink order—apple juice—committed to memory, and she knows my friend prefers her bacon extra crispy.

When our meals stretch into long conversations about life, books, art, politics, or Star Trek, Kendall stops by to check in with a gentle, “Need anything?” or “Did you solve the world’s problems today?”

She never hurries us. Her presence feels like a quiet reassurance that we’re welcome to take our time—to savor both our meal and our friendship. She is the Goddess of Patience and Grace.

And finally, Annie.

I met Annie when she was already in her seventies, working at the Wendy’s across from the hospital where I worked. She wasn’t a server, but the one who meticulously cleaned the tables—and she did it with so much pride, her crisp apron and signature Wendy’s bow tie always perfect. What others wore as a compulsory uniform, Annie transformed into an ensemble - all elegance and style.

But it was her bright blue eyes and generous smile that melted my heart. Watching her, I saw someone who treated her work with joy, dignity, and care—and by default, I did too.

Annie taught me that respect for a job is contagious. She elevated the atmosphere around her simply by taking her work seriously, but never herself. When she passed, I felt as though I’d lost a member of my own family. Annie: Goddess of Pride with a generous helping of Humility.

These women don’t hold the threads of fate in their hands, nor do they wield supernatural powers. But in their kindness and generosity, they offer something equally precious: daily reminders of grace, resilience, and genuine human connection.

Anyone who has worked in a restaurant knows the job is both physically and emotionally demanding, and whatever they earn in tips is always less than they deserve. Still, these women show up with a smile, delivering much more than food, drinks, and extra napkins.

I think about these women often. I’m grateful to know them, even if they don’t realize how their small acts have inspired me.

They remind me that we are surrounded by goddesses who quietly make the world a better place—one plate, one smile, and one piece of extra-crispy bacon at a time.

Thank you AI for doing the best you can with the request "Please generate image of shoes for three goddesses who work in restaurants."