Her name is Eileen. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to catch her if I'm having lunch at the Reagan Library Cafe. You can't miss her. She's the warm soul with a radiant glow perched between the cole slaw and the chicken pot pies. Her smile lights up a room like the shining city that the 40th president used to dream about.

It doesn't matter if there's traffic on the 23, if the stock market dumped 300 points, if my latte was a loser or if I'm booting up slower than the California economy. Eileen can find a melody in a bucket and make it sing like Caruso—and serve a pretty mean enchilada plate at the same time.

The lyrics from the Nat King Cole song "Sweet Lorraine" describe her to a patty melt:

"A pair of eyes that are brighter than the summer skies."

Don't you love and admire radiant people who can find joy in the simplest things? I can walk into that cafe with deadlines busting my brain, diet dilemmas plaguing me, budgets to write and axes to grind, yet when she says, "Honey, what'll ya have today? Gee, you look pretty. Did I tell ya about the party I'm going to with my sweet husband? I got a new dress!"—suddenly, I feel like a doofus. She's remarkable. She hasn't changed the direction of the wind, but she sure changed my sails. Maybe I won't crash into the rocks after all.

I'm in awe of this dear soul laboring on her feet, scooping slaw and bailing beans with the emotional grace of a ballerina and with a song in her heart.

Occasionally the cash register calls, and Eileen's duties fall to the monetary side of the business. It's not her thing, but she giggles through the process, makes hilarious Buster Keaton faces and tells stories, like one about her aunt, the nun.

"Oh yeah, I placed my Super Bowl bet with her," she proudly announced one day last month, tossing her red ponytail aside and blushing a little. "Who ya pulling for? Gotta love those Cardinals!"

One of the guys said he didn't watch football. She grimaced and guffawed like Carol Burnett, sending us to the floor in laughter. "No football?! What kind of Americans are you guys?" She slammed the drawer of the register and threw up her arms. "My aunt, Sister Mary Roethlisberger, never misses a game!" Guess she's a fan of the Hail Mary pass.

So when I'm feeling sorry for myself and sneaking out to the bowling alley isn't an option, I just look for Eileen to get my fix of fun. I get more than eggs sunny side up.

You can reach Elizabeth Kirby at kirby@theacorn.com.