The Coffee Shop Chronicles No. 19

I stood in my closet looking at the metal clothing rods filled with workout clothes, a few dressy things and jeans and t-shirts. What does a writer wear to work? I was pondering this question because this was my first day of work. Now before you get too excited and think I got a new job and you missed the grand announcement, this is a self imposed job.  A writing work day. I am finding that an hour to an hour and a half every morning is not enough to get all the writing done that I need to do. This is especially true since I started journaling. My morning writing is filled with random thoughts, to-do lists, goals, dreams and story ideas. This leaves absolutely no time for writing blog posts or writing and editing The Coffee Shop Chronicles. Hence the creation of a writing work day. One day a week devoted to writing, usually involving a coffee shop. While I am working, no phone calls from the family are allowed until after 3 p.m. Unless they are dying and then they had better text me instead of call, since my phone ringer is turned off.

Back to the closet and my pondering. Writers usually wear black don't they? Perfect. I would wear my black skinny jeans, but what to wear on top? Something fun and colorful to balance out the black. What about that coral colored swing bottom top that I usually pass over, feeling it is never appropriate for a casual trip to the grocery store. Well this was no grocery store day. This was serious business. Me taking myself seriously at long last.

So the coral top was the winner. Everybody looks good in coral anyway. A nice bright pop of color with the black jeans. Then because it was only in the 50's when I was leaving the house I added a little black sweater. After adding the sweater I happened to looked down where the edge of the coral top and the sweater met the jeans and began to have second thoughts about the whole outfit. Either this outfit was going to be very cute or I could add a tall pointy broad rimmed black hat, orange and black striped knee high socks and thick heeled gold buckle black shoes and it would look a lot like a Halloween costume I had as a kid.

My coffee shop destination was in the city. I had scouted out a new place the previous week when I was in the city for a YMCA fundraiser luncheon. I didn't have enough time to write that morning and to be honest I am a little afraid of city coffee shops. They are so hi-tech, so shiny, so modern, filled with either well dressed business men and women, or the fashionably dressed hipster crowd, where guys wear mint green chinos and navy blue, pattern button up shirts and it seems perfectly normal.  A world that I am not all that comfortable in. But being a writer means stepping out of my comfort zone and documenting my thoughts and feelings in these unfamiliar places. True, honest, fresh and yes a little bit scary are all good things for a writer.

I drove into the city in my halloween costume and parked in my favorite parking garage. The reason why it is my favorite parking garage is because I know how to get to it and I can easily find a place to park. A short walk across the Blue Bridge which spans the Grand River and I am in the heart of downtown.

As I walked across the Blue Bridge I remembered why I don't wear this coral swing bottom top very often. A slight breeze drifted up from the river catching and raising the bottom of my swing top. I quickly positioned my cross body purse strap more securely in the front of me to help keep the top in place. The last thing the world needed to catch sight of was my beige undergarment, even if the label did say Victoria's Secret.

Safely across the bridge and the breeze gone, I set off in the direction of the coffee shop.

I arrived at the coffee shop at five minutes to ten. Holy packed with people! When I had been there the previous week, granted it was later in the morning, there was no line of people placing orders and no line at the pick up area. This was not the case this time. Contributing to the large amount of people was also the fact that this was the first day of ArtPrize. ArtPrize is a radically open, independently organized international art competition. For 19 days, three square miles of downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, become an open playing field where anyone can find a voice in the conversation about what is art and why it matters. Art from around the world pops up in every inch of downtown, and it's all free and open to the public.  It's unorthodox, highly disruptive, and undeniably intriguing to the art world and the public alike. You can read more about ArtPrize here if you are intrigued. It really is an amazing event.

I knew ArtPrize was starting and I knew it would be busy, which I figured would either add a considerable amount of interest to my story or it would drive me crazy. I actually took it in stride pretty well.

I stepped up to the coffee shop counter and ordered my chai latte, which comes in only one size. They feel that some drinks are at their optimum at one particular size, so chai must be optimum at 12 oz. good to remember for the future. Since I knew it would be a while before I would be able to get lunch, I had a noon historic building tour on the agenda for the day as well, I ordered a healthy but yummy granola bar.

I moved down to the pickup area and waited with business people, college students, a trio of older ladies in brand new tennis shoes, and a mom with a jogging stroller. Let me just say that jogging strollers are not meant to be inside packed coffee shops, as I had backed into the front wheel of the stroller when I exited the order counter.

One of the many things that amazed me as I was standing there waiting is that people will order and then sit down and start having an in-depth conversation. They are totally oblivious to the fact that the tall, dark, bearded, twenty something Barista is calling their name. And the fact that he calls it numerous times. It was very noisy in there so it was best to stay close and pay attention.

At last my name was called and my chai delivered with a sprinkle of nutmeg on top. There was no way I was staying inside, too noisy, too distracting to write, but thankfully there were numerous sets of little cafe tables just outside the front door.

When I was here the previous week I had sat outside as well. I had watched with interest a woman named Beverly who had a couple of folding card tables set up outside the entrance of the coffee shop. She was selling homemade knitted potholders and handmade beaded bracelets. My initial impression of Beverly is that she is someone on the verge of homelessness, maybe a potholder or two away from sleeping on a park bench.

I was amazed how everybody knew Beverly, many college students coming up and giving her hugs. I watched as she would duck into the coffee shop now and then for a glass of ice water or a quick trip to the rest room. Obviously the coffee shop didn't mind her being there.

I wanted to come back and observe her some more and maybe be brave enough to find out some of her story. But due to ArtPrize the streets have been decluttered a bit, not wanting to cast a bad view of the city. I didn't see Beverly in her spot outside the coffee shop, instead the space had been filled with more of the cute little cafe tables. One of which I was sitting at while I wrote.

I wanted to wander around a little with my camera before my noon tour, so I packed up my journal and pen, discarded my trash and set off. I am not confidently familiar with all the downtown streets, so many one ways, and streets shooting off in various directions. Which is why I love walking as opposed to driving, each time I come downtown I work on expanding my familiarity a little bit more.

I arrived outside the building we were touring with a few minutes to spare, thankfully I spotted a couple I knew from the last tour we had done together. Shortly thereafter Jim, our tour guide arrived and we were off to explore. Gosh what an amazing old building with fabulous ornate details that had been covered up by drop ceilings and bad 1950's paneling. Now being painstakingly uncovered and restored.

After the tour I was needing to find someplace for lunch to quiet the rumbling in my stomach. As I walked back towards the coffee shop who did I see, Beverly. She had moved a few store fronts down from the coffee shop and must have arrived while I was on the tour. She was in a less high foot traffic spot, but the awning she was under was better to shield her from the very warm September sun. People were still calling out her name and saying hello, so maybe all will be well.

The perfect ending to this story would be that I stopped and browsed her handcrafted masterpieces and decided to purchase a few colorful knitted potholders and a beaded bracelet or two. That I chatted with her and learned a little of her story, promising to return again another day. But in reality I walked on by, just like lots of other people were doing that day trying to ignore the less than perfect parts of society.

The Dock

The dock has become my sanctuary. My place to go to be still.

A place to listen to the world around me, and yet there is no need for me to be an active part in any of it.

The dock isn't fancy, no benches or chairs to sit on. Instead I bring down the pink and white checkered blanket that I found tucked away in a hall closet. I lay it out as a cushion of sorts between me and the hard man-made white plastic rectangles of the dock. It isn't very comfortable, but then neither is the hard, clear plexiglass of the tanning bed that I willingly submit myself to during the long, cold, dreary months of winter. Submitting myself just so I can get some Vitamin D and a little color, so why wouldn't I do the same here on the dock. Here I am getting Vitamin D, warmth, some natural golden color, as well as a refreshing breeze and time to be still. Time to close my eyes and just listen. 

I hear the sound of a lawn mower some dozen cottages away. I don't mind the sound, it is the sound of summer.

At the moment there is one Sunfish sail boat on the water, as well as, a couple of fishing boats. Most K-12 schools just finished classes this week, so the lake is quiet yet, not filled with Sea Doos and small speed boats pulling screaming teenagers on over inflated inner tubes. Next weekend may be a different story, so for now I will enjoy the moment.

As I lay here the sounds of birds calling and chirping are plentiful. There is one call that is quite fascinating to my husband, it sounds like someone whistling. There are waterfowl nearby as well, a pair of Mallards float near the shore and lying at the end of the dock to my right is an unusual looking and sounding duck. I will have to bring my binoculars out with me next time so I can figure out who this unusual guy is. 

The best sound of all though is the sound of the water gently lapping against the shore. So peaceful, so soothing. A sound that gently pulls you in and before you know it an hour has passed. A little vacation nap with time to be still.

Joining Heather at The Extraordinary Ordinary

Missing Things

As I sit here writing this, I am anxiously awaiting the clock to strike the 8 o'clock hour. I need to cancel my haircut for 9 o'clock this morning. With a real time temperature of -1 and a wind chill of -23, my hair can wait another week. With these horrifying temperatures my hair is going to be living under a hat whenever I go out anyway, and hat hair looks like hat hair whether it has been cut or not.

As I sit here writing, Scout is sitting closely by my side, starring at me woefully. He is wondering what has happened to his morning walks, or any walk at all for that matter. The best he has right now is to go from the downstairs slider, along the path that Glen has shoveled to the bottom of the deck steps, up those and back into the house through the slider on the porch. A good 50 yards at the most. The poor darling, his is bored out of his mind.

As I sit here I think "well I was going to start writing on Tuesday mornings", but that was suppose to start next week. No time like the present I guess.

Most of all as I sit here starring out the window at this wintery nastiness, I started thinking about all the things I miss…

I miss a fire in our fire pit, sitting around it reading a book and enjoying its warmth.

I miss grass. I even miss mowing it, but don't tell Glen that.

I miss the splashes of color that the flowers in my garden offer.

I miss the growing heirloom tomatoes in my narrow little vegetable garden.

I miss my "Taking the Backroads" adventures. My wanderlust is hugely unsatisfied right now.

I miss Lake Michigan and the beach.

Most of all I miss walks with the dogs. Walking through the neighborhood making sure everything is as it should be.

So even though I know I need this time of year, because it forces me to stay inside and do all the things I put off the rest of the year. I am just not an inside person, there is too much to see and explore out in the world, and I hate missing it.

What Blogging Has Taught Me

It is always interesting when I sit down to write a blog post, thinking I know exactly what direction I want to go with it. Then I start writing and it becomes something entirely different. That is what happened with today's post. I was going to lament on the fact that I always feel so unmotivated to blog once I get home from a vacation. It doesn't matter if it is a big two week vacation, or a long weekend vacation, I have a hard time finding my motivation on Monday morning.

As I started writing, this is what came out instead...

As I sat down at lunch today to catch up on some of my friends blogs, I realized what it is about blogging that keeps me going, it is the sharing of our selves, the sharing of our lives. We share the good days and the bad days. We share that life is not perfect and crap happens. We also share the joys, our children, our grandchildren, anniversaries and birthdays. All the things that mark moments in life.

My dear blogging friends have taught me so much, how to stand strong in the face of conflict and disease. They have taught me to be brave and try new things. They have taught me very useful things like digital scrapbooking, iPhone Photography, and creative Photo Processing.

They have shared the beauty of their place in the world through their photography. They have shared from their heart and made me want to be like them, strong and courageous.

If I, in turn can be a strong and courageous inspiration for even one person through what I write on my blog, then this blogging journey has been more than worthwhile.