coffee is poetry, coffee is light. coffee makes me want to be a better person, every morning. coffee is stability, when you desperately need it and offers no judgements as it approaches your bleary eyes and shameless grin that isn’t doing a very good job at covering up your sins from last night. “don’t worry,” coffee says. “let me get to work.” i have all of these thoughts about coffee and then i have more coffee and then more thoughts about coffee so i had a feeling that a quick search for “coffee” in my evernote would come up with some gems. here i have collected them for you, in no particular order. take an consumer as you please. sit and sip and settle in. sweeten it if it feels too harsh. or if you;’re not quite ready, that’s ok. it will be here awaiting your first sip.
from the summer of 2012.
on unemployment and coffee…
There is a certain reverence that my coffee consumption now affords. No longer free and limitless- how much will I take? And when will I take it? And each cup leaves me thinking, tangibly – “I wish I had fifteen more”.
30 nov 2015
Brooklyn I’m trying… to hold on to my roots
I spent the last 5 days at home in Virginia for the holidays. when I boarded the crowded northbound train on Sunday, I sat beside a well dressed man tapping away ferociously on his laptop. I sensed his discomfort as I attempted to pull my laptop out of my overstuffed travelers backpack, clothing items barely gracing his defined space. I set up my workspace and hesitantly asked him to plug in my charger. I got up to pay a visit to the cafe car and asked him if he wanted a coffee- surprised, his countenance immediately softened as he smiled and politely declined my offer with gratitude. As we pulled in to we arrived in New York penn station he told me to enjoy my stay in New York!.. a city where I’ve lived for 5 years and proudly call home. And I realized that it was likely not my lack of all-black uniform not my inefficient packing abilities but my kindness that led him to the conclusion that I was not from here. And after 5 years, this is something I strive to hold onto daily. well that, of course, and preferring my coffee with a little added charm.
sometime in 2016.
I love being overly nice to my barista. The relationship here feels like more than just business, the exchanges warm and light. A gentle understanding created when he knows I’m dependent on him to get me through my day, to make me feel better. Zi show him appreciation.
Even if I don’t go in, I wave at him as I pass on my bike. We share light conversation about our weekends, about business, about the days baked goods selection and the ever-changing neighborhood.
as he is Argentinian, I recently asked him, playfully, if he could teach me to tango. he said no. I laughed and said ok and scooted along to the creamer station. as I was leaving, he handed me a piece of paper- “I will learn tango and teach you,” as a rare smile spread over his normally serious countenance.
I can’t call him. because I have probably been into that coffee shop with 5 different men in the past month of weekends. and he knows that! but if I call out of politeness and then we meet up and I slowly let it fade, u cannot go in there anymore. he’ll have questions, he’ll be angry.
i won’t call. i’ll just play it cool. he must know the tango thing was just me, talking, as i was getting my coffee. searching for a (moment, glimmer) of connection before shuffling onto the subway and behind my desk. every interaction is an opportunity.
that’s how we southerners get ourselves into pickles up here.
the next time i went in, my coffee was free. he grabbed my hand across the counter. “i was thinking yesterday, about how lovely you are. and it made me start to cry liz. do you want to come upstate with me?”
i have switched coffee spots. and given up on my tango dreams. and never forgiven him for either of these inconveniences.